jefflong.yearzero-第31节

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　for　an　hour　or　two；　then　fall　asleep；　forted。　Strangely；　the　closer　the　plague　came；　the　further　away　it　seemed。　The　havoc　had　grown　over。　Only　beauty　was　left。
　Miranda　was　certain　the　pilot　had　no　idea　she　had　electronic　passengers　watching　from　the　other　side　of　the　planet。　But　then　one　night　she　announced　that　theTruman　had　acplished　its　mission。　〃We've　finished　our　part　of　the　map；〃　she　said　softly。　〃If　you　can　hear　me；　I'm　ing　home；datchu。〃　Miranda　didn't　know　that　last　word；　but　it　lacked　the　jagged　consonance　of　military　diction。　It　seemed　tender　and　personal；　and　she　wondered　who　the　woman　could　have　been　talking　to。
　The　pilot　was　a　stranger　to　her；　nameless；　faceless。　But　the　news　filled　Miranda　with　joy。　〃She's　ing　home；〃　Miranda　told　the　Captain　next　morning。　It　was　unnecessary。　His　eyes　were　beaming。　That　was　her　first　hint。
　〃Datchu；〃she　repeated　the　word　from　last　night。　〃Is　that　you？〃
　〃My　wife　and　I；　we　still　call　herkola　t'sana；〃　the　Captain　answered。　〃Our　little　chile。　ing　home　at　last。〃
　
　11
　The　Petroglyphs
　
　FEBRUARY
　The　clone　lumbered　east　through　the　shin…high　snow。　He　fled　down　through　the　canyons；　away　from　the　sun；　out　into　the　wilderness。　His　clothing　hung　in　tatters。　His　blood　steamed　in　the　frozen　air。　It　turned　the　white　snow　pink；　leaving　a　trail　both　fleeting　and　indelible；　like　the　story　of　a　life；　or　afterlife；　whatever　this　was。
　He　might　have　guessed　the　gleaming　silver　coils　that　surrounded　their　city　would　have　thorns　like　knives。　It　was　a　supernatural　city；　brimming　with　sharp　edges。　In　his　country；　the　shepherds　sometimes　made　overnight　pens　of　bramble　bushes。　Here　even　the　bushes　were　made　of　iron。　He　had　nearly　flayed　himself　pulling　free。
　For　the　moment；　however；　he　was　on　his　feet　and　away　from　them。　The　mesas　loomed　on　either　side　of　this　wadi。　No　sun　this　deep。　In　the　distance；　a　desert　of　sorts　beckoned。　Where　it　led；　God　only　knew。
　He　had　never　witnessed　snow　with　his　own　eyes；　and　it　was　a　horror　to　him；　cold　and　beautiful　to　be　sure；　but　deceptive。　Underneath　the　blank；　smooth　surface　lay　rocks　that　twisted　and　threw　him。　The　whiteness　proclaimed　purity；　and　yet　the　forest　through　which　he　passed　was　charred　black。　The　trees　were　like　spears。　Digging　down；　he　found　the　earth　was　scorched；　too。　He　clawed　at　his　hole　with　a　stick；　and　the　soil　was　ash；　sterile　and　fruitless。　The　sky　was　gray。　Truly；　a　land　of　the　dead。
　With　each　backward　glance；　the　fugitive　saw　his　escape　painted　in　the　snow。　If　they　chose；　they　could　hunt　him　by　his　blood。　That　would　be　in　keeping。　His　blood　was　their　hunger。　It　had　been　so　from　the　beginning。　In　his　last　life；　now　in　this　one。
　Their　needles　had　drained　his　blood。　That　was　how　he　had　e　to　mark　time；　the　intervals　between　their　visitations。　The　needles　merely　stung。　But　the　violation　of　his　body　had　grown　wearisome。　Not　that　his　flesh　and　blood　were　his　to　possess。　Like　it　or　not；　he　belonged　to　the　devouring　universe。　But　at　least　in　his　previous　life；　he　had　been　able　to　offer　up　the　pieces　of　himself　with　a　certain　freedom。　Terrible　as　his　death　had　been；　he　had　largely　participated　in　his　own　destruction。　In　this　new　captivity；　though；　he　was　no　more　than　an　animal；　his　veins　tapped　for　one　blood　sacrifice　after　another。
　Day　and　night；　his　keepers　caged　him　in　this　metal　afterlife。　Metal　holes　took　his　dung　and　piss　away。　Metal　tubes　provided　water　to　drink。。。water　that　tasted　like　metal。　Even　the　light　was　held　balled　in　glass　and　trapped　in　metal。　The　underworld　was　not　a　place　of　shadows；　after　all。　Everywhere　he　turned；　there　was　his　own　bright　reflection　in　the　metal　walls。
　He　knew　this　was　the　afterlife；　because　he　had　died。　Remarkably　there　was　not　the　slightest　proof　of　his　death；　no　scars；　no　funeral　souvenirs；　only　a　memory。　Since　waking　in　this　place；　the　memory　had　grown　so　powerful　that　it　began　to　consume　all　his　other　memories。　He　had　started　to　forget　his　family　and　rades　and　land。　The　blue　sky；　the　taste　of　bread；　the　sound　of　women　singing：　a　thousand　things　had　dimmed。
　He　had　grown　lost　in　his　own　darkness。　It　was　a　darkness　of　his　own　making；　this　hell。　For　he　had　forsaken　God。　God　had　forsaken　him；　first。　He　couldn't　get　over　that。　After　so　much　love　and　devotion；　he　had　been　cast　into　shame　and　suffering。　He　objected。　What　kind　of　father　was　He？　To　even　think　the　thought；　though。。。that　was　his　sin。
　Against　the　memory　of　his　terrible　death；　the　snow　and　his　slash　wounds　and　deadly　confusion　were　almost　wele　distractions。
　Only　upon　escaping；　had　he　finally　glimpsed　the　edge　of　their　empire。　Their　entire　city　was　built　of　metal　and　glass　and　wires。　Ice　hung　like　wolves'　teeth。　The　roads　were　made　of　night。　And　light！　Such　light！　Their　might　was　terrible。　They　had　unlocked　the　secrets　of　the　earth　and　trained　iron　to　be　silver　and　glass　to　grow　in　tall　sheets。　Even　so；　the　sight　of　their　frozen　city　had　strangely　forted　him。
　He　had　begun　to　think　the　afterlife　was　a　universe　without　history；　a　punishment　without　past　or　future；　forever　rooted　in　the　opening　and　closing　of　his　metal　door　and　the　taking　of　his　blood。　The　view　of　their　city　had　revived　in　him　a　sense　of　progression。　Time　still　existed；　he　saw。　The　generations　marched　on。　In　his　day；　the　Sons　of　Darkness　had　lived　in　legendary　cities　made　of　marble。　But　these　were　like　the　Sons　of　Light。　Perhaps　they　had　won　the　great　war。
　All　the　races　of　Adam　were　gathered　here；　every　color；　every　shape　of　eye。　That　was　marvelous　to　him；　too；　the　earth's　flocks　assembled　into　one。　It　was　like　Rome；　but　not　Rome。　They　were　his　enemies；　but　they　were　not　devils；　no　more　than　the　Romans　had　been。　That　was　the　awful　truth。　His　keepers　did　not　hate　him。
　When　he　broke　free　and　sprinted　off；　they　had　shouted　at　him　and　their　faces　had　filled　with　fear；　not　hate。　Devils　would　not　have　been　afraid。　These　were　people　like　any　other。　He　had　terrified　them　for　what　he　represented；　a　moment　of　chaos。　He　was　like　a　lion　that　had　escaped　in　their　midst。　He　realized　that　the　hateful　things　they　perpetrated　on　him　were　not　acts　of　punishment。　He　was；　to　them；　simply　a　wild　animal。
　Shuddering；　his　hot　breath　smoking　in　the　air；　the　fugitive　listened　for　any　pursuers；　and　there　were　none。　He　heard　only　his　own　lungs　and　heartbeat。　Birds　did　not　sing　in　this　forest；　there　were　no　birds。　The　sun　did　not　shine；　there　was　no　sky。　He　looked　up　at　the　great　empty　gray　vault　overhead　and　the　light　was　fading。　Night　was　falling。　Part　of　him　took　hope。　Perhaps　they　would　give　up　the　chase。
　The　possibility　drove　him　deeper　through　the　canyon。　He　craved；　not　freedom；　but　exile。　If　only　they　would　leave　him　to　wander　in　this　dead　white　desert；　he　would　gladly　suffer　its　hardships。　His　desire　was　a　hunger　more　powerful　than　the　ache　in　his　stomach。　With　all　his　being；　he　wanted　to　start　over　again。　He　would　eat　the　nettles　and　sleep　with　the　snakes　and　wash　his　wounds　with　sand。　Anything　to　re…enter　the　great　cycle　of　his　people：　captivity；　exile；　renewal。
　Father；he　prayed。Forgive　me。
　He　had　always　tried　to　do　his　duty。　He　had　listened　to　his　heart。　He　had　fasted。　Invited　voices。　He　had　taken　the　footsteps　that　he　thought　were　written　into　the　earth　for　him　to　follow。　And　this　snow　was　like　the　desert；　trackless；　and　at　the　same　time　rich　with　paths。Let　me　be　lost；　so　that　I　may　be　found。　Deliver　me　from　my　enemies。
　High　above　him；　perched　on　the　side　of　the　striped　cliffs；　a　village　appeared。　He　came　to　a　halt　in　the　snow；　half　certain　it　was　a　vision　sent　to　torment　him。　From　the　ground；　he　could　see　only　the　upper　tips　of　the　buildings；　and　they　were　in　ruin。　But　they　looked　like　home。
　He　was　no　stranger　to　such　places。　At　Qumran　and　elsewhere　along　the　River　and　the　Sea；　caves　had　been　his　second　home。　And　so；　he　had　a　knack　for　the　slight　niches　cut　into　the　rock。　He　brushed　the　snow　from　footholds　and　they　formed　a　vertical　staircase　that　led　to　a　ledge；　a　hundred　feet　off　the　ground。　The　ledge　wound　around　the　wall；　rising　slightly；　suspended　halfway　between　the　canyon　floor　and　the　top　of　the　plateau。
　The　ledge　came　to　a　dead　end。　There　the　village　stood。　It　was　decayed　and　roofless；　its　windows　barren。　It　was　larger　than　it　looked　from　the　ground；　and　also　much　older。　No　one　had　lived　here　in　many　generations。　Yet　the　collapsed　walls　had　been　tended　and　repaired　and　plastered　with　fresh　mortar。　That　suggested　its　antiquity　held　some　special　meaning。　Why　else　would　anyone　take　the　time　to　restore　its　fallen　walls？
　Here　had　been　the　sleeping　quarters　and　the　fire　pits。　Gutters　were　carved　into　the　stone　to　channel　drinking　water。　Far　below；　evident　from　this　height；　he　saw　slumped　terraces　where　the　fields　would　naturally　have　laid。　If　this　had　been　an　outpost；　such　as　Masada　had　bee；　where　was　the　road　it　manded？　Why　set　it　in　this　remote　canyon？　That　left　another　possibility；　that　remoteness　was　its　appeal。　Perhaps；　like　Qumran；　this　had　been　the　asylum　of　aha…edah；　a　religious　congregation。　But　at　first　glance；　it　seemed　more　a　mon　farm　village　than　a　fortress　or　a　monastery。
　He　wandered　about　the　ruins；　putting　off　the　cold　and　the　pain　of　his　wounds　for　as　long　as　possible。　It　was　going　to　be　a　long；　brutal　night。　He