After: Nineteen Stories of Apocalypse and Dystopia by Ellen Datlow, Terri Windling [Editors] Page B
Authors: Ellen Datlow, Terri Windling [Editors]
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him, wandering lost and mad in a place like this.
Only one person coulda given Billy a packet of nirv, and that person is Morris. And why? He
never lets anyone in the Krew take nirv. No chances, zero tolerance. “Keeping the
family clean,” he calls it. He’s never let Billy anywhere near it before, in case
he spilled it or tried some. Plus, it’s expensive, why waste it?
This is about me, not Billy. This is a deliberate threat.
Coz he’s guessed, hasn’t he? Morris has guessed I’m planning to go, and he ain’t going
to argue, he’s just letting me see what’ll happen to Billy if I do. He knows I’d find
out. He gave the nirv to Billy to show me Billy won’t be family without me around.
Won’t be safe. Coz Morris has to have things his own way, and he wants me under his
thumb.
You don’t cross Morris, the crooked, devious, evil bastard .
I feel sick. Bitter and sick and stupid. I shoulda known Morris couldn’t be trusted,
not really, yet somehow I did trust him.…I pick up the gun and wish I could shoot
him with it, and then I think I couldn’t even shoot the Hairy, and anyway what good
would it do? Then I think, So I’ll hafta stay in London, and the minute I think that
I’m so miserable I know I can’t, I jist can’t. So I put the whole idea away, coz right
here and now I hafta put things straight with Billy. And then get us both out. I crouch
beside him.
“Billy-boy, I’m sorry I shook you. Forgive me? Please?”
He whimpers.
“I’ll make it up, right? Whatever you say.”
A grunt this time. He’s got his eyes shut tight, his head buried in his arms.
“You can thump me if you want.” I pause. “Hey, I’ll even kiss Bunny.”
He unfolds and looks at me. “On the nose,” he says.
“On the nose. Right.”
He don’t exactly smile, but I feel some better. “Let’s go home,” he says, and I say,
after a moment, “Let’s do that.”
I get up first, and then I pull him up, and we look at the Hairy laid out on the floor.
“It’s asleep,” says Billy, and I say, “Yeah, it’s asleep,” an’ he says, “But its eyes
are open,” and I see he’s troubled by that, and I say, “Yeah, it’s asleep with its
eyes open. Time to go.”
As we set off down the stairs I say, “Come on, Billy, who give you that stuff?”
His eyes flash sideways to see if I’m going to lose it again. I say, trying to keep
my voice level, “Okay, when Morris give you that stuff ”—I wait, but he don’t say
nothing and my heart’s like lead, it was Morris all right—“did you try it? Did you”—I
lick my finger, dab it in the air, lick it again—“did you taste it?”
He nods once. My heart’s beating really hard. I say, “How many times?”
But he shrugs. I know I’m not going to get an answer.
It’s dark on the stairs now, the light coming in from the little barred windows is
feeble and poor. Without talking anymore we go down and down, hundreds a steps, around
and around and around and around, and push through the doors to the cathedral floor.
Now I’m looking, now I know they’re here, I see them moving. A long way off across
the floor, something wanders slowly past one of the big statchoos and disappears again
into the gloom. Under the breathy cooing of the pigeons there’s other noises—hoots
and cries, quiet raps and echoes. It’s getting dark outside and the Hairies are coming
home.
I grab Billy’s hand, and we hurry past the heaps of rubbish, and around the black
openings in the floor. The statchoos loom like huge pale ghosts. We reach the ten-meter
slice of dim sky that shows between the open doors, and scramble over the rubble.
It’s raining—big, splashy drops. Evening’s on the way, but it’s lighter than I thought.
And much warmer out here. The tide’s going out, the wind smells of seaweed and fresh
mud, the river’s gray with streaks of silver. We run down the steps to the boat and
lift it
Only one person coulda given Billy a packet of nirv, and that person is Morris. And why? He
never lets anyone in the Krew take nirv. No chances, zero tolerance. “Keeping the
family clean,” he calls it. He’s never let Billy anywhere near it before, in case
he spilled it or tried some. Plus, it’s expensive, why waste it?
This is about me, not Billy. This is a deliberate threat.
Coz he’s guessed, hasn’t he? Morris has guessed I’m planning to go, and he ain’t going
to argue, he’s just letting me see what’ll happen to Billy if I do. He knows I’d find
out. He gave the nirv to Billy to show me Billy won’t be family without me around.
Won’t be safe. Coz Morris has to have things his own way, and he wants me under his
thumb.
You don’t cross Morris, the crooked, devious, evil bastard .
I feel sick. Bitter and sick and stupid. I shoulda known Morris couldn’t be trusted,
not really, yet somehow I did trust him.…I pick up the gun and wish I could shoot
him with it, and then I think I couldn’t even shoot the Hairy, and anyway what good
would it do? Then I think, So I’ll hafta stay in London, and the minute I think that
I’m so miserable I know I can’t, I jist can’t. So I put the whole idea away, coz right
here and now I hafta put things straight with Billy. And then get us both out. I crouch
beside him.
“Billy-boy, I’m sorry I shook you. Forgive me? Please?”
He whimpers.
“I’ll make it up, right? Whatever you say.”
A grunt this time. He’s got his eyes shut tight, his head buried in his arms.
“You can thump me if you want.” I pause. “Hey, I’ll even kiss Bunny.”
He unfolds and looks at me. “On the nose,” he says.
“On the nose. Right.”
He don’t exactly smile, but I feel some better. “Let’s go home,” he says, and I say,
after a moment, “Let’s do that.”
I get up first, and then I pull him up, and we look at the Hairy laid out on the floor.
“It’s asleep,” says Billy, and I say, “Yeah, it’s asleep,” an’ he says, “But its eyes
are open,” and I see he’s troubled by that, and I say, “Yeah, it’s asleep with its
eyes open. Time to go.”
As we set off down the stairs I say, “Come on, Billy, who give you that stuff?”
His eyes flash sideways to see if I’m going to lose it again. I say, trying to keep
my voice level, “Okay, when Morris give you that stuff ”—I wait, but he don’t say
nothing and my heart’s like lead, it was Morris all right—“did you try it? Did you”—I
lick my finger, dab it in the air, lick it again—“did you taste it?”
He nods once. My heart’s beating really hard. I say, “How many times?”
But he shrugs. I know I’m not going to get an answer.
It’s dark on the stairs now, the light coming in from the little barred windows is
feeble and poor. Without talking anymore we go down and down, hundreds a steps, around
and around and around and around, and push through the doors to the cathedral floor.
Now I’m looking, now I know they’re here, I see them moving. A long way off across
the floor, something wanders slowly past one of the big statchoos and disappears again
into the gloom. Under the breathy cooing of the pigeons there’s other noises—hoots
and cries, quiet raps and echoes. It’s getting dark outside and the Hairies are coming
home.
I grab Billy’s hand, and we hurry past the heaps of rubbish, and around the black
openings in the floor. The statchoos loom like huge pale ghosts. We reach the ten-meter
slice of dim sky that shows between the open doors, and scramble over the rubble.
It’s raining—big, splashy drops. Evening’s on the way, but it’s lighter than I thought.
And much warmer out here. The tide’s going out, the wind smells of seaweed and fresh
mud, the river’s gray with streaks of silver. We run down the steps to the boat and
lift it
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