After: Nineteen Stories of Apocalypse and Dystopia by Ellen Datlow, Terri Windling [Editors]
Authors: Ellen Datlow, Terri Windling [Editors]
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stairs end in a narrow stone passage, no more
than elbow wide. I dive along it and come to another flight, straight this time, a
glimmer of daylight at the top. I struggle up and tumble out and grab at the wall.
I’m out on the ledge where Billy was. It rims the bottom of the dome, hugging what
looks like about a circular mile of space. Windows march ’round the walls above me.
There are huge shadowy paintings up there. Way, way up, higher than I like to look,
there’s another gallery hanging right in the middle of the roof. Dusty rays of light
slant down.
I peer into the gloom. “Billy?”
Well, he ain’t here, a’course he ain’t, that’d be too easy, wouldn’t it? He’s wandered
off again. And the Hairy’s on the stairs and we gotta get out—I’m wild with Billy
but I’m furious with myself. What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I shoot when I got the chance? Next
time I’ll pull the trigger for sure.
I try Billy’s cell, which is switched off, and I call for him again, not very loud
coz it echoes, and the place spooks me, and then I set off marching around the circle.
A heavy iron railing fences off the drop. Once it musta run all the way around, but
now there’s big gaps, places where it’s torn down and twisted. I peer over, careful.
A helluva long way down there’s a pattern in the middle of the floor, a starburst
so big I never spotted it when I was down there. It’s like a target. If you’re gonna jump, aim right here. I pull back, shuddering, and press close against the wall.
Billy whispers at my shoulder, right in my ear, “Hey, Charlie!” I spin around. And
he’s not there .
Christ, the voice—the voice was so weird. All hoarse and hollow. Not like Billy alive.
Like Billy’s ghost.
It’s too much—the dome hanging over me like a thundercloud, the Hairy on the stairs,
them bloody pigeons what never stop cooing…and Billy’s voice coming outta nowhere.
My knees go weak. I croak, “Where are you?” an’ there’s a pause, and his voice whispers,
“Here”—still sounding like a ghost—and I go, “Where?” and there’s another pause and
he says, “By the door.”
Well, there’s no door anywhere near, and then I look far out across the open space
and see the doorway I come in through, more than half the circle away. Next to it
I can just make out the shape of Billy, standing there waiting. Relief soaks through
me, but I’m exasperated too, chasing each other around like a game of ring-a-roses.
I shout, “Stay put! Stay there an’ wait for me!” There’s the pause, and he answers,
“All right,” still in that dragged-out hollow whisper, like it’s traveled right up
into the cup of the dome. So it’s got to be some kind of echo.
From where I am, it’s quicker to go on than turn back. I’m picking my way careful-like
over slippery piles of fallen plaster and pigeon droppings, when I suddenly know I’ve
just made the most terrible fucking mistake.
I told Billy to wait where he is—and the Hairy’s on the stairs.
It’s like a fist in my stomach. I start to run, past gaps in the rail where there’s
nothing to stop me going all the way to the bottom, and then I come to a place where
the rail’s all twisted over the ledge and I hafta stop and clamber over it, and watch
where I put my hands and feet in case I break an ankle or fall, and I can’t even look
to see what’s happening—if it’s already there, and Billy’s all alone. It gives me
the horrors. I gotta get there first, before it reaches the top.
I vault the last tangle of metal, and run on. All of the circle looks the same, like
I’m getting nowhere, like the building’s revolving and I’m staying still. I’ve lost
sight of Billy, don’t know how far I’ve come, I’m dreading to hear him scream. I grip
the gun in my hand. I’ll use it this time, I really will. I’ll kill it if touches
him.…
I come around the last
than elbow wide. I dive along it and come to another flight, straight this time, a
glimmer of daylight at the top. I struggle up and tumble out and grab at the wall.
I’m out on the ledge where Billy was. It rims the bottom of the dome, hugging what
looks like about a circular mile of space. Windows march ’round the walls above me.
There are huge shadowy paintings up there. Way, way up, higher than I like to look,
there’s another gallery hanging right in the middle of the roof. Dusty rays of light
slant down.
I peer into the gloom. “Billy?”
Well, he ain’t here, a’course he ain’t, that’d be too easy, wouldn’t it? He’s wandered
off again. And the Hairy’s on the stairs and we gotta get out—I’m wild with Billy
but I’m furious with myself. What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I shoot when I got the chance? Next
time I’ll pull the trigger for sure.
I try Billy’s cell, which is switched off, and I call for him again, not very loud
coz it echoes, and the place spooks me, and then I set off marching around the circle.
A heavy iron railing fences off the drop. Once it musta run all the way around, but
now there’s big gaps, places where it’s torn down and twisted. I peer over, careful.
A helluva long way down there’s a pattern in the middle of the floor, a starburst
so big I never spotted it when I was down there. It’s like a target. If you’re gonna jump, aim right here. I pull back, shuddering, and press close against the wall.
Billy whispers at my shoulder, right in my ear, “Hey, Charlie!” I spin around. And
he’s not there .
Christ, the voice—the voice was so weird. All hoarse and hollow. Not like Billy alive.
Like Billy’s ghost.
It’s too much—the dome hanging over me like a thundercloud, the Hairy on the stairs,
them bloody pigeons what never stop cooing…and Billy’s voice coming outta nowhere.
My knees go weak. I croak, “Where are you?” an’ there’s a pause, and his voice whispers,
“Here”—still sounding like a ghost—and I go, “Where?” and there’s another pause and
he says, “By the door.”
Well, there’s no door anywhere near, and then I look far out across the open space
and see the doorway I come in through, more than half the circle away. Next to it
I can just make out the shape of Billy, standing there waiting. Relief soaks through
me, but I’m exasperated too, chasing each other around like a game of ring-a-roses.
I shout, “Stay put! Stay there an’ wait for me!” There’s the pause, and he answers,
“All right,” still in that dragged-out hollow whisper, like it’s traveled right up
into the cup of the dome. So it’s got to be some kind of echo.
From where I am, it’s quicker to go on than turn back. I’m picking my way careful-like
over slippery piles of fallen plaster and pigeon droppings, when I suddenly know I’ve
just made the most terrible fucking mistake.
I told Billy to wait where he is—and the Hairy’s on the stairs.
It’s like a fist in my stomach. I start to run, past gaps in the rail where there’s
nothing to stop me going all the way to the bottom, and then I come to a place where
the rail’s all twisted over the ledge and I hafta stop and clamber over it, and watch
where I put my hands and feet in case I break an ankle or fall, and I can’t even look
to see what’s happening—if it’s already there, and Billy’s all alone. It gives me
the horrors. I gotta get there first, before it reaches the top.
I vault the last tangle of metal, and run on. All of the circle looks the same, like
I’m getting nowhere, like the building’s revolving and I’m staying still. I’ve lost
sight of Billy, don’t know how far I’ve come, I’m dreading to hear him scream. I grip
the gun in my hand. I’ll use it this time, I really will. I’ll kill it if touches
him.…
I come around the last
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