Dwindle

Dwindle

  Audrey Higgins

  Copyright 2013 by Audrey Higgins

  Originally Published: 11th March, 2013

  Publisher: Audrey Higgins

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise transmitted without explicit written permission from the publisher. Circulation of this publication for resale with any other party in any format, professional or otherwise, is strictly forbidden.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work and dedication of this author.

  This book is dedicated to Will, for being one of my best friends who still cares about the faraway War in the Stars and for reading this idea before it was even a coherent thought.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: The Interrogation Room

  Chapter One: Great Deviant

  Chapter Two: The Ambush

  Chapter Three: The Night Shift

  Chapter Four: The Wraith in the Grey

  Chapter Five: Things Found

  Chapter Six: Hunter, Hunted

  Chapter Seven: Safety and Peace

  Chapter Eight: Uncomfortable Introductions

  Chapter Nine: Elusion and Discovery

  Chapter Ten: A Reverse Set of Questions

  Chapter Eleven: Reporting the Incident

  Chapter Twelve: Relations and Relationships

  Chapter Thirteen: The Beginning of the End

  Chapter Fourteen: The New Watermaster

  Chapter Fifteen: The Silent Cartographer

  Chapter Sixteen: Upsetting News

  Chapter Seventeen: Order and Argument

  Chapter Eighteen: And Then There Were Two

  Chapter Nineteen: Secrets and Dreams

  Chapter Twenty: New and Powerful Beginnings

  Chapter Twenty-one: The Birth of a Murderer

  Chapter Twenty-two: The World as They Saw It

  Chapter Twenty-three: The Name Game

  Chapter Twenty-four: The Past of Oliver Dark

  Chapter Twenty-five: Impossibility

  Chapter Twenty-six: The Path for Coming to Terms

  Chapter Twenty-seven: The Nature of the Beast

  Epilogue: Death in the Snow

  Prologue: The Interrogation Room

  The man with the silver face sat. He didn’t breathe. He didn’t move. He just sat. Motionless. Staring at me without eyes, scowling at me without a mouth, accusing me with his posture of all the things I already knew I’d done.

  He was terrifying to me. Only the dim light that emanated from a light bulb, of all things, shone from the ceiling, casting pale shadows against the harsh corners of the silvery table that stood between us like two hands separating a fight.

  “Are you the one they call Elizabeth Myth Fisher?” his face asked coolly.

  I blinked, but remained still otherwise to hide my surprise. There was no mouth. And yet, I heard the voice of a man as clearly as day. No, not quite that of a man. Something different. Something bad. It had a vibrating quality to it, as if he might have had a severe cough the prevented his speech to produce regularly. The vibrating quality seemed evil to me.

  Clearly the product of science, I couldn’t help but to think.

  “What are you?” I asked, narrowing my eyes where I thought his mouth might be..

  “I am an electronic platform that is being contracted by the Primary Reconnaissance of Overpopulation of Biological Entities.”

  I recognized the acronym.

  “Probe?” I asked. I glanced at Ollie, who didn’t appear as if he’d heard me.

  “We’re at Probe?” I asked him, sitting forward.

  “It would be best if you answered my questions directly, Deviant,” he persisted.

  “I don’t understand many of your words,” I said to him honestly. “From where do you hail?”

  “The creation date and origin of this platform is irrelevant,” he said immediately.

  I sat back. This response, though a little mysterious, struck me as very rude.

  “Have I done something to offend you?” I asked him.

  “Identify yourself, Deviant,” he said instead of answering, so I sighed.

  “I have a lot of names. You pick.”

  “What is the name on your birth certificate?”

  I shifted uncomfortably, squeezing my hands into tight fists in my lap just out of the silvery man’s line of sight.

  “I don’t have one,” I said quietly.

  It made a small noise of disapproval. I felt inadequate, and this made me angry, but I was too afraid to voice it.

  “Where are your registration papers?” came the silvery man’s vibrating voice.

  “I…I’m sorry, I don’t have those either,” I explained.

  “Your passport and visa?” the vibrating voice pressed.

  I didn’t reply, but my silence was answer enough. I felt red with shame. What were these things that it required of me? And why was I without them? If it was etiquette in their land to have these items on your person, I must have appeared very rude, indeed.

  “Where can I get them?” I asked hopefully.

  It made something close to the clucking of a disapproving mother explaining something to an ignorant child.

  “Passports are given with birth, as are visas. One does not simply apply for one like they did in the Old Times.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know anything about the Old Times, but I felt like this thing knew this. His tone of voice infuriated me.

  “I’m not dumb,” I said to it quietly.

  The silvery man ignored this and asked,

  “So you have no verification of your name or birth date?”

  “No,” I conceded, and irritation spilled into my tone like a wound might spill blood through clothes. “They must have forgotten to shove one up my ass when I was unconscious. But that sounds sort of like an internal problem, don’t you think?”

  He made a whirring noise that I took to be anger.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, not sounding at all very sorry, “to what do I owe this malice? Have I done you wrong, strange creature?”

  “You have mutilated, perhaps irreparably, two other platforms like this one, and you have broken the arm of and disfigured an Exterior officer of designation three two one four. Harm of such officers can and often is punishable by death.”

  “Death?” I asked, smirking.

  This was the only word I caught.

  “That seems a little harsh, doesn’t it?” I pressed, leaning forward with the feigned confidence I’d grown famous for in my homeland.

  “Exteriors are the law,” his vibrating voice explained with what seemed to be exasperation. “If the law is broken, in this case literally, there will be lawlessness. Weakness of any kind cannot be tolerated.”

  “Then your man wasn’t doing his job properly,” I said, smirking again.

  “This platform does not recommend flippancy, Deviant,” the silvery man stated coldly. “You would do well to remember where you are.”

  Something in the way Ollie shifted gave the enduring smirk on my face pause, and it dripped away into the creased flat line of worry it had assumed for so many weeks prior to this. I felt uneasy. The silvery man sounded powerful, and his anger inspired in me a degree of fear I hadn’t felt up until that moment.

  I shuddered as I thought of all the terrible things Ollie had taunted me with when we’d first met. He’d warned me repeatedly of the terrifying capabilities of his precious government agency, Probe. It hadn’t occurred to me until just then that this Probe department might actually have all that power and more.

  I was backed into the wall. My defenses flew up, and every muscle in my body tensed. I felt th
e first drippings of a cold sweat peeking out of the pores in my skin, and the tense fists below the table began to weaken and wobble under the duress. My weak and tired body reacted poorly to the stress, and I felt anger at the change the silvery man’s voice could invoke with so few words.

  “What is your name?” the silvery man asked.

  “Why do you even care?” I asked bellicosely. “What’s this even about?”

  The silvery man – and Ollie – chose not to answer.

  I was just a bad dog to them, I suddenly saw, a thing to be trained and used for their pleasure, a thing to condemn when it attempted access to free will. My name was to be given only for the purposes of ownership, nothing more, nothing less.

  “Am I in trouble?” I asked loudly.

  “The very nature of that question, my sad little Deviant friend, reveals that you are far denser than you already appear to be.”

  I did not understand, but I could hear in the way that the thing spoke that he was mocking me. I glanced at Ollie again, but he stared stoically forward, as if my feelings of fear and anger were magnified by a hundred inside of him. I felt angry at this change in him. The Ollie I knew never backed down, even after it was inappropriate not to yield. And there he was, next to me, in the face of my suffering, yielding.

  It melted something warm, gelatinous, and disgusting in my center, oozing out to my extremities. It tasted something strongly of bitterness.

  “If I am in trouble,” I finally said, tearing my eyes from the man I’d thought to be my ally, “I do not understand why I am not being punished. Get it done and let us be on with it. Why the dramatics?”

  “We must more thoroughly understand the status of your condition,” the silvery man said.

  “What kind of condition?”

  “The condition of your existence. It is inconvenient for our war effort that you are alive.”

  I opened my mouth, but closed it again. Even behind the wall of fear, this felt like a blow to the stomach. I had not believed Ollie’s stories, that my very existence was offensive to some. It should not have come as a shock, given the prejudice of my own people against me. I carried it everywhere.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Why do you foster a pathological fear for being inside?”

  I shifted, pulling at the sleeves of the new clothes strangers had handed me wordlessly.

  “I don’t, but…” I glanced at Ollie. Still nothing. “I felt sick. The water here tastes…strange. I do not like it. I wanted to find some like it is where I live.”

  “There is no water like that here,” the silvery man interjected. “What you call ‘your water’ is full of contaminants.”

  I felt that melting speed up, and the form of it began to sag inside of me, making me feel strange and deflated.

  “I refuse to believe that your quest for water caused you to become violent,” the silvery man said.

  I opened my mouth more aggressively this time.

  “Two strange men with these – these black faces came into this very small square I was sitting in and took my arms. They spoke nonsense to me, and I –”

  “The English language is the only recognized language by the High Council,” the silvery man stated matter-of-factly.

  I scowled at this.

  “Well, fine, be that as it may, your English is not my English, and I didn’t know what they were doing. I was…”

  “Yes?”

  “I was frightened, and I attacked them. So what?”

  “So, Probe is deliberating on whether or not to keep you.”

  For the first time, Ollie made a small noise.

  The phrase “keep me” rang loudly in my ears.

  “A person can’t be kept,” I said, feeling confusion, but also mild alarm. “Nobody can own another person.”

  “Probe owns you,” the silvery man countered.

  Tears entered my eyes.

  “What about the sky?” I snapped. “Does Probe own that too?”

  No answer. I sat back again, sagging further.

  “There is no sky here,” I whispered dejectedly.

  “Even if you had escaped, there would be no sky for you,” the silvery man offered.

  “Why?”

  “You are a mile underground, and you’re in Probe’s jurisdiction.”

  “A mile?” I asked, and for the first time, I could tell Ollie was listening because he said,

  “A really long way down.”

  “Down where?”

  “Beneath the Earth and many buildings.”

  “Beneath it?” I asked loudly, shifting to stand up. This caused me some alarm. “We need to get out then. I want to get out! The Undead live here, we cannot just sit here like this!”

  “Holes aren’t as dangerous here as they are where you’re from,” Ollie said gently, reaching his hand out to stop me.

  “Oh really?” I shouted angrily, reeling on him. “And why should I believe anything that you say?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ollie asked loudly.

  “‘Kingdom will be great,’” I said in a high pitched voice that clearly mocked him. “‘You’d just love it there!’”

  I saw him squeeze his fists into his pants, but he said nothing. This constraint of his anger was unusual for him. As was his yielding. As was his gentleness. I swept it aside quickly with the fear that laid behind his eyes, and I saw what was there. His eyes told me that we were not equals, not quite, but he and I were more on the same team than we ever had been in all of our acquaintance. It was us versus them. Or rather, it was do-whatever-it-takes versus them.

  Ollie would throw me at them to save himself.

  More than I had in some time, I felt the need for progress – whether it be towards a conclusion or a new beginning. So I asked,

  “Can we get on with the execution, please?”

  “Do not toy with me, Deviant,” the metal man ordered.

  I glanced at Ollie for security now, my only familiar light in a land full of strange darkness, but still found little. He would not look at me.

  “I want to expedite this – whatever this is,” I quipped. “Do what you will or do not, but suspend the dramatics, please.”

  The silvery man replied with that same clucking tone of the disapproving mother.

  “I cannot help you with this nasty mess if you do not allow me to assist you,” the metal man said. “Where will we be with that kind of attitude?”

  “Am I supposed to play your little game?”

  “This is your last chance,” the metal man said. “Final warning.”

  I glanced at Ollie. He said nothing, so, in spite of him, I laughed and lean forward, challenging the metal man to move.

  “Or what?”

  “Or we will rip the answers from your mind without your permission. We can do it this way, or you can be processed. One way or another, we will be hearing this story from you.”

  Ollie stiffened at the word “processed.” Whatever it meant, it wasn’t good.

  “You are to give a recorded report of your experiences up until the present moment of your interactions with Probe and all of its officers, which represent the companies interests at all times,” the metal man continued. “In this way, a proper background can be established such that, at the time of your hearing, you will be judged appropriately and with accurate context given by your own words.”

  I noticed that the metal man called officers, officers like Ollie – surely – “which.” Ollie was a “who,” not a “which.” Fear and sadness of the power of this agency began to inundate me.

  “What is a hearing?”

  “Judgment,” the metal man said.

  “For what?” I shouted, standing.

  Ollie finally stood and faced me directly. He extended his hands appealingly, but I was too angry to care.

  “No! Don’t you – don’t touch me! What is that thing?”

  I pointed to the metal man beside us.

  “He’s a computer,�€
 Ollie explained, hands raised in supplication. “Remember I told you about computers? Electricity brains. He’s here to make sure you’re not crazy.”

  “And what would that take?” I shrieked. “For me to exist? Does the nature of my existence render me insane? Since when? You’ve seen me, Ollie, I’m not crazy!”

  He shook his head in a way that was almost imperceptible, but I saw it. Ollie knew I wasn’t crazy. But the look in his eyes revealed to me how helpless he made himself to be. He might as well have been tied.

  “Why are you letting this happen?” I asked with a high voice. “What if they decide I am crazy? What then?”

  “Then he’ll process you,” he said urgently. “And that isn’t okay, Fisher, you can’t let him process you.”

  “But this isn’t fair,” I said to him quietly, “and you know it. Why am I being tried? For existing?”

  His mouth scrunched up with a moment’s pain that he hid well from everybody but me.

  “…yes,” he finally whispered.

  I leaned back, and the single word slammed into me.

  “Then why did you bring me here?” I asked him quietly, to the floor in front of his feet. “What motive have you?”

  The silence bubbled until his words burst through it.

  “Your home is scheduled for planned demolition,” he said to me.

  I could feel his eyes on me, but it was my turn to avert my gaze.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “They’re going to destroy it.”

  Numbly, I sat back into the chair beside me. Ollie took his place also. I didn’t move. I could hardly breathe. I tried hard to hide my tears. As much as I hated it there, it was my world, my entire world. There was no longer an option to go back there for any reason. It was gone.

  “What will they do with me?” I whispered to my lap.

  There was a long silence. He was a slave to their forces too, and he knew it. I knew it. We all saw it. He was not the person to be asking for answers. The metal man was. Ollie was a prisoner, just like me, but in a slightly altered way. He was one of the lucky ones. Indentured servitude with a place of “honor” on an involuntary basis. I could only imagine the desperation to get out, to escape, and I knew he would risk everything to get it. Even me.

  And for that, I knew, with sadness I did not expect to feel, that I would be lost for it, even if he had kept me safe for the present. It would be him or me. Of course, he would choose himself.

  “I didn’t ask for this,” I finally whispered to my lap.

  “Neither did I,” was his reply.

  I still couldn’t look at him, but he stared at the side of my face. I knew that look. He looked almost human when he came close to apologizing. Not that he ever did. I was too good at giving him the benefit of the doubt. One of those days, I was positive, my patience would snap and the both of us would bleed very inwardly at the violation of this trust.

  There were many things that I just assumed about him that he had never voiced. He rejected me repeatedly, but his eyes told the truth. He devalued me, debased me, and yet I insisted I was important. I was naïve to think that his budding affection for me – and the going of such growth had been so painfully slow – would be able to overcome his instinct to survive and to run away from Probe or his Master.

  There was a pained silence. Ollie kept opening his mouth to say something, but nothing came out of it.

  “You interact with each other as if I am not here,” the metal man observed abruptly.

  I said nothing.

  “Why are you concerned?” the metal man asked me.

  “I am afraid to die,” I said bluntly. “I believe his actions will bring about my death.”

  Ollie stiffened, and the metal man made a strange noise.

  “Afraid?” the metal man asked. “Deviants don’t feel fear just as much as they cannot die. Dear girl, you are not alive.”

  Tears brimmed in my eyes. I couldn’t ignore the small noise that escaped Ollie, a small sigh of frustration and powerlessness, like that of a wounded dog that could not walk. Was it wanting to defend me? And if so, why didn’t he jump to my defense? That he did not was wrong.

  “I know,” he whispered to me, leaning a little bit closer.

  He saw the tears. He recognized the hurt. He wanted to console me.

  “I know,” he said again, but all I heard was “I’m sorry.”

  “If you know, then act on it, coward!” I snapped back.

  He blinked, almost like he’d just been slapped.

  “Nothing? Shocker.”

  His eyes glowered with new malice now, a purer hatred that I’d yet seen in him. There was the start of something terrifying, the welling of a monster I didn’t want to see. It was anger – real anger. Wrath. It was a caged beast beyond the influence of Probe, but within its boundaries, he was a weapon to be unleashed. He was like a light bulb, and Probe was electricity.

  And I felt very small.

  “You’ve taken everything from me!” I said to my palms, and my tears finally broke the wall of my resolve, spilling down my cheeks silently. I turned up to look at him in anguish. His eyes roved all over my face, but his face was stoic, the perfect visage of a liar. Only his eyes spoke.

  He felt desperation, but again couldn’t speak.

  “I’m so sorry,” he finally said, but I just made a noise of disgust. I wanted him to be sorry, not to say that he was, not for my benefit. So I said so.

  Instead of a reply, he reached under the table and squeezed the tips of my fingers into his leg. I tried to remove my hand, but he gave them another squeeze. This contact was unique and unusual, not in that it was unwelcome but in that it was in a different manner of contact. He asked for my fingers with his. He did not demand it as he had before. This was progress, comforting.

  And distracting. His skin was soft in my palm, sweet, and the way his thumb moved a fraction upwards and downwards over my pointing finger forced chills to raise and fall on my skin. His hands were as beautiful as I secretly thought his face and body was.

  I glanced at him shyly, and he at me, but his eyes broke the spell. I saw there, on the other side of a coin, what was hidden, what was waiting. Part of him, no matter how small, would take my throat with those beautiful hands and hold me in the air against a wall somewhere until I died. I tore my hand away, and his eyes crunched together with a myriad of emotions that I was sure even he didn’t recognize.

  “You have corrupted him,” the metal man accused me, turning his flat “face” in my direction.

  “So it would seem,” I replied dejectedly.

  “How did you do it?” the metal man asked. “Did you seduce him?”

  My eyes widened, my face turning red.

  “No!”

  “Did you drug him?”

  I began to feel overwhelmed.

  “No!” I said again.

  “Then you threatened him?”

  “No!” I shouted louder. “I didn’t mean it! I didn’t want to –”

  “What did you do?” the metal man asked louder.

  “I don’t know!” I shouted, covering my ears. “I don’t know! I’m sorry! I don’t know!”

  Ollie cleared his throat, but otherwise didn’t even shift to come to my defense. I felt so pitiful.

  “You’re embarrassed of me…” I said, clamping my eyes shut tight. “No wonder you hate me.”

  He finally couldn’t take it anymore.

  He took my hands, and brought them beneath the table. He leaned over to me then, pressing his lips into my ear. His breath was ragged against the cool flesh of my neck, and my hair brushed against his nose as it pressed against the soft part of my cheek. It was the closest he had ever been to me.

  And he shook to his core.

  “Everything you say now they will use against you, Fisher,” he said, and when his lips pressed together to form words, they almost seemed to kiss the lobes of my ears. “If you show them, they’ll use it. Please, please be quiet.”
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  I felt small.

  But I nodded, seeing through the look in his eyes, a fire in the fog.

  “You are impeding her cooperation,” the metal man said abruptly. “Dark – leave.”

  “But I –”

  “Now.”

  After only a moment of hesitation, Ollie stood and left, without even looking at me. I almost wanted to stop him, I even shifted to get up, but I didn’t as I was suddenly aware that I was being watched.

  “Who can see us?”

  “That doesn’t concern you,” the metal man stated firmly.

  “Where is he going?” I asked.

  “Out of this room.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” I asked, turning to face the man.

  “Unknown,” the metal man replied coldly.

  I struggled to swallow suddenly.

  “If I…if I talk, will you help him?”

  “Yes,” was the immediate reply.

  “I have nothing to hide.”

  “Such is the way it always starts,” the metal man replied. “I will begin.” He cleared his throat. “Primary Reconnaissance of Overpopulation of Biological Entities, Progression Headquarters. Primary Log, Deviation case 314,159,265, subfield Higher 712, 462. 4:08 ante meridiem, January 2, 2298.”

  I made a sound of disgust, knowing not half of the terms he spoke, knowing there was nowhere for me to run, nothing for me to hide behind.

  “Where should I start?” I said, scowling with disdain.

  “Wherever need be.”

 

  “The end of the world was slow, and we were packaged into a region you all call the Dead Zone. We call it Dwindle, and it is comprised of three sections known to us as the Colonies. Hand, Turk, and Stronghold. They were havens, of sorts, safe holes in which the un-immune hid and the immune rested from a disease-riddled world. You call our sickness Necrosis, its victims Necros, but we called them the Undead, suffering from Undeath.

  We were survivors, but not for our skill or resourcefulness. It was in God’s hands what happened to us, and he found it humorous to allow the first survivors, people we call the First Families, to live. Living became the high road, however, as it became increasingly clear that death would be the easier route. Undeath was a fate worse than death, and no soul who was lost to it would ever be buried, damned to wander forever with the Horde until the body collapsed.

  The people on the inside knew it as a more fearful and real thing than any, and they were trapped within a cage to keep the rest of the world healthy and alive. We called the cage the Wall, its entrance the Great Gate. It penned us in like animals.

  This sacrifice was not one our First Families took lightly, and they hated the outsiders, people we called Outlanders. Stories were told only of their Great War, but the rest of their influence was silenced. Quickly was it learned to forget the outside of Dwindle, of Washington D.C. you say it was once called, but never was it taught to forgive.

  It was because of science that the world had turned so dark for us. And so science became a forbidden art. It had been science, after all, that had allowed the metal birds to drop the great fire from the sky on the Bad People. It had been science who had made the Bad People in the first place. Science’s only benefit was that it allowed the Bad People to become good, to change over time in their nature. Despite this very small benefit, science was still almost entirely frowned upon.

  To dabble in science was to dabble in the ways of the warmongering Outlanders. Such things were imprudent and unacceptable, and when any did, they were exiled from a Colony for exactly one day. It did not take a genius to learn the lesson that was taught to those who survived the rite of exile for that one day. Giant massive holes dotted the road every few hundred feet. There were huge craters to remind us of the day it had all started. And every day, new buildings crumbled, fell, and died. The ghosts of old wars wandered the streets, their zombie shells remaining behind to fester and to feast. It was because of science, because of the Great War, that our life was as it was. This was the only life we had ever known.

  And it was as such for many, many cycles. You call this time period years, I believe, and for that I will attempt to acclimate to your vernacular to more effectively communicate an understanding.

  When I came to the picture, it was two hundred and fifty nine cycles since the metal birds had dropped the great balls of fire from the sky on the Bad People. After so many cycles, our ways had changed, and other rites became necessary if our younglings were to survive our lands. The Rite of Tasks was one, and all who reached the age of fourteen were required to take it. While there are many others, the Rite of Tasks is the one most pertinent to this story.

  A lesion is made at a location of the child’s choosing and blood is taken to be sent to the Healer. The Healer takes the blood and determines the tasks of that child for the rest of their days. If the blood is Tainted, and such a thing is inherently rare, only a few per generation, then the child is ordered to walk a different path, apart from the rest of the children.

  Such a child is to be an Outsider, one who is allowed to traverse on the outside of the high, safe walls of the Colonies. In all other instances, going outside is said to be highly illegal if not accompanied by an Outsider, and most times those who do so without the watchful eye of a guardian are deemed exposed. The decision is made then to allow reentry or to exile such individuals. In most cases, and there have only been a hand’s worth in all the cycles of our time in Dwindle, exile is chosen to protect the many. It is said that it is better to risk the lives of few to ensure the continuance of the many.

  On my fourteenth year, they took my blood, and it was decided that I was Tainted. I was trained to be an Outsider, and, beyond that, a Cartographer. I was a navigator. A mapper. An elite among my peers. It was not an honor, but those around me said it should have been.

  Being a Cartographer was a title with many jobs. I took it very seriously, as there was little in my life that required such attention, and I sometimes felt that I obsessed over it to keep from missing things that I had lost. My job required the most detailed of evaluations in all areas of life. It was up to me to investigate and eradicate hives of the Undead, and to know the ins and outs of medicine such that I could vilify all those would were lost to Undeath. It was up to me to heal myself without the assistance of a Healer, as my blood was Tainted, and as such I had to take care of myself almost entirely.

  It was also my place to keep a vigil on the borders near the Great Gate where the Outlanders hailed from. It was forbidden ever to venture beyond there. I also kept a vigil on the land, kept surveillance on the creatures that lived among us, and gathered new resources to be examined by the Inventor.

  It was a tiring, boring, difficult job, considering the landscape, and I found myself diving into this with all my heart and soul to avoid remembering what was lost to me. The list was long, one I tried to hide underneath my responsibilities, but it was one that never grew shorter.

  People held Outsiders in high regard, and yet they were reviled by society for the Taint. Needed, but feared. Kept at arm’s length. And yet, they were called upon in nearly all matters of great importance, like if a Colony should be relocated, where the nearest Undead hives were, who the next leaders should be.

  This regard, however, did not seem to apply to me. I had been reviled even before I became an Outsider for the history of my family. As such, the stories I tried to tell others of the evolution of the Undead rang on deaf ears, and I was ignored. Warnings of the end were judged as paranoid ramblings, and I was brushed away by all but only the closest of my friends. Better stories were told of the treachery of the Outlanders, of the crimes of the Bad People, that kind of thing.

  People needed stories to keep from the knowledge of our impending doom, so the Insiders called those who saw the coming truth liars, thieves, murderers. Foot, my friend, was a story man. He was my right hand in our affairs outside the Wall, though by law he wasn’t allowed outside. Accordingly, Skate, my cousi
n, was my left hand man, and he was my very closest companion. I found this to be extremely appropriate as I was predominantly left-handed, as was I predominantly reliant on Skate than on Foot. I thought my uncle knew of their crusades with me outside too, but he hadn’t the heart to actually arrest them for it. Especially after Skate disappeared.

  It didn’t take much to stir people up where I am from. Skate and I were the only ones who knew this life was a secret joke – that this higher power was playing games with His land with strings. We liked to make it a game to trick this String-man. But Foot was a more superstitious kind, more respectful, so I held my tongue around him when talking of such blasphemous things. This, among other things, was one of the many unspoken truths between us that should have been said.