The Ephemera by Hal Duncan, Neil Williamson Page A
Authors: Hal Duncan, Neil Williamson
Tags: General, Literature & Fiction, Fantasy, Short Stories, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genre Fiction, Anthologies & Literary Collections, Anthologies, Anthologies & Literature Collections, Anthologies & Short Stories
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isn't it? How isolated everyone has become. No-one talks to anyone else. They just struggle along on their own and send their dead to me. No-one takes chances with the sick. Sometimes they throw them out as soon as the headaches start, sometimes they shoot them on the spot. One of the outcasts found his own way here once, looking for somewhere to die. I shared my blood with him, and he stayed with me for a while."
David could hardly believe it. "You gave him an open transfusion?"
The man's expression remained implacable, "It worked, didn't it? Gavin lived here for six months."
"Shit." Unwelcome possibilities were blossoming in David's mind. "What happened then?"
The intensity was back in the man's eyes, his voice carried a raw edge.
"He went home to spread the good news. Within a week he was back, dumped at the side of the road. With a bullet hole in his head."
David felt outrage and amazement well up. "If you are immune there must be some way to make them listen. You can't just sit here feeling sorry for yourself, you have to keep trying."
The man's eyes flashed angrily for a second, but it faded quickly.
"Maybe you weren't on sentry duty the last time I tried to tell your town," he said wearily. He unbuttoned his shirt, opening it fully to show a livid scar which creased the left side of his lower abdomen. "I got this for my trouble. Wasn't the first time I've been hit, but if I can help it, it sure as hell's going to be the last."
David could only shake his head. "No, look, I'm sorry. If we'd known..."
The man's laugh was short and harsh. "Story of my life. Believe me I still try, but what can I do? If I let myself get killed, what then?"
David sat silently absorbing all this. Finally, warily he said, "What about Sophie?"
The man spread his hands before him.
"I meant what I said. I can cure her. I'm no medical man, but I do know that incompatibility and the risk of blood poisoning alone should kill any chance of it working. But it does work, somehow. She is still young, still growing. The deformities in the bone won't disappear but they won't get any worse either. Probably she'll look better as she gets older. I don't know. I'm just guessing. Maybe she'll always move a bit stiffly, find her breathing difficult, but she's got a better chance than most at a decent life."
Quietly David said, "I still don't know. I'll have to think about it."
"Of course."
David got up and went outside. He was scared about the extent to which he was putting his trust in this stranger, wanting so badly to believe him. Deep in thought he made his way up the curving road towards the church. Evening was coming on, spilling shadows among the hills. The west facing wall of the church glowed in the deepening light like the inside of a kiln, the leaded windows shimmering warmly.
Approaching the church, he walked out onto the rocky promontory, bringing most of the valley into view. To the east, the town at the head of the valley was becoming harder to determine, painted out by a wash of twilight. He made his way down the path which led around the church towards the graveyard. He rounded the corner, and then stopped.
The graveyard was thirty yards to a side, surrounded by a crumbling two foot high dry stone wall. Because of the lie of the land it sloped steeply downhill and was bordered at its farthest boundary by what had once been a field. The plots were arranged in regular rows. Closest to the church the grave stones were ancient, worn smooth. More recent stones were further away, and at the very back, simple wooden crucifixes. The neat rows of crosses continued into the field below the stone wall, spreading out to the sides, curving around the hillside. There had to be at least two hundred plots but David could not see their full extent. They were obscured by the towering shape of the tree.
The tree seemed to have originated at the end of the original yard, but had long since outgrown it and had in places reduced sizeable portions
David could hardly believe it. "You gave him an open transfusion?"
The man's expression remained implacable, "It worked, didn't it? Gavin lived here for six months."
"Shit." Unwelcome possibilities were blossoming in David's mind. "What happened then?"
The intensity was back in the man's eyes, his voice carried a raw edge.
"He went home to spread the good news. Within a week he was back, dumped at the side of the road. With a bullet hole in his head."
David felt outrage and amazement well up. "If you are immune there must be some way to make them listen. You can't just sit here feeling sorry for yourself, you have to keep trying."
The man's eyes flashed angrily for a second, but it faded quickly.
"Maybe you weren't on sentry duty the last time I tried to tell your town," he said wearily. He unbuttoned his shirt, opening it fully to show a livid scar which creased the left side of his lower abdomen. "I got this for my trouble. Wasn't the first time I've been hit, but if I can help it, it sure as hell's going to be the last."
David could only shake his head. "No, look, I'm sorry. If we'd known..."
The man's laugh was short and harsh. "Story of my life. Believe me I still try, but what can I do? If I let myself get killed, what then?"
David sat silently absorbing all this. Finally, warily he said, "What about Sophie?"
The man spread his hands before him.
"I meant what I said. I can cure her. I'm no medical man, but I do know that incompatibility and the risk of blood poisoning alone should kill any chance of it working. But it does work, somehow. She is still young, still growing. The deformities in the bone won't disappear but they won't get any worse either. Probably she'll look better as she gets older. I don't know. I'm just guessing. Maybe she'll always move a bit stiffly, find her breathing difficult, but she's got a better chance than most at a decent life."
Quietly David said, "I still don't know. I'll have to think about it."
"Of course."
David got up and went outside. He was scared about the extent to which he was putting his trust in this stranger, wanting so badly to believe him. Deep in thought he made his way up the curving road towards the church. Evening was coming on, spilling shadows among the hills. The west facing wall of the church glowed in the deepening light like the inside of a kiln, the leaded windows shimmering warmly.
Approaching the church, he walked out onto the rocky promontory, bringing most of the valley into view. To the east, the town at the head of the valley was becoming harder to determine, painted out by a wash of twilight. He made his way down the path which led around the church towards the graveyard. He rounded the corner, and then stopped.
The graveyard was thirty yards to a side, surrounded by a crumbling two foot high dry stone wall. Because of the lie of the land it sloped steeply downhill and was bordered at its farthest boundary by what had once been a field. The plots were arranged in regular rows. Closest to the church the grave stones were ancient, worn smooth. More recent stones were further away, and at the very back, simple wooden crucifixes. The neat rows of crosses continued into the field below the stone wall, spreading out to the sides, curving around the hillside. There had to be at least two hundred plots but David could not see their full extent. They were obscured by the towering shape of the tree.
The tree seemed to have originated at the end of the original yard, but had long since outgrown it and had in places reduced sizeable portions