A World Without Heroes (4 page)

Bracing himself against the interior walls of the trunk, he managed to scramble up until he came out at the top, twelve feet above the ground. Still no sign of a hippopotamus or of the Vista Point Zoo. He did, however, command a clear view of the raft, which had drawn up even with his current location.

Small colored lanterns illuminated the vessel. A narrow man in a pale outfit hammered at a xylophone. A stocky woman blew on a curved flute. Another man alternated between racks of chimes and a tall set of bongos. A flabby woman with at least five chins plucked a strangely shaped stringed instrument. A short figure held an enormous brass horn with tubing that snaked around his broad chest and rested on his shoulders.

The raft swept behind a screen of weeping willows before Jason could apprehend more details, though a few other musicians tinkered with a variety of less discernable instruments. The haunting music permeated the air, floating to him across river and riverbank.

Jason’s head swam with questions. How had he gotten here?
Why was it nighttime? How would he get back to the zoo? Falling into the hippo tank was one thing—careless but possible. Passing through the mouth of a hippopotamus into a tunnel slide and coming out of a hollow tree beside a river was tougher to process. Everything he had ever assumed about reality had just been turned inside out. But his surroundings seemed so tangible. There was no denying his senses. He felt the damp, splintery texture of the bark beneath his hands; he smelled the faint odor of decay rising from a standing pool at the river’s edge. Oily sap clung to his skin. He sniffed his palm, and the pungent resin reminded him faintly of Fig Newtons and black licorice, but he had never smelled anything quite like it.

Jason sighed. He knew the difference between the vague impressions of a dream and the sharper sensations of wakeful consciousness. He certainly felt awake. Yet he could not help doubting the unreal situation. Perhaps this was simply a vivid dream. After all, a baseball had bashed him in the head. He could still be lying unconscious in the batting cage. Then he shivered. Maybe he had died—there could have been a clot in his brain. Or maybe the hippo really had eaten him. Could he have crossed over to some sort of afterlife?

He scratched his chin. The sensation felt genuine. His wet clothes clung authentically. His head throbbed gently, and he remained mildly dizzy. Would the symptoms of a concussion persist in a dream? In the afterlife? He listened to the music and the gentle lapping sounds of the river. Wherever he was, whatever the explanation, he remained alert, and he was immersed in a vivid, perceivable environment. He surveyed the vicinity—the mossy trees along the river, the shrubs below, the insects buzzing nearby—mildly astonished at how acceptable the impossible became once it had transpired.

Jason promptly discovered that his immediate problem would be getting down. He sat awkwardly on the lip of the tall hollow trunk, trying to position himself so he could descend as he had climbed. He couldn’t seem to get it right, and he began to experience light-headedness at the thought of sliding down the interior of the trunk, accumulating splinters, before breaking an ankle at the bottom. Attempting to climb down the exterior of the tree appeared even less inviting. Why was climbing up always so much easier than climbing down?

Finally, after many hesitant twistings and turnings, he lowered himself back into the trunk in a position where he could brace himself. Once he had squirmed down to the bottom, Jason exited the hollow tree, glad for the moonlight, and decided to follow the raft, since it represented the only trace of civilization.

Shortly he came abreast with the music, though foliage along the riverbank hindered his view of the vessel. Jason trotted ahead until he found a gap, and he discovered a little hunched figure squatting on a log.

“Hello,” Jason said.

A head whipped around. The face belonged to a kid, maybe ten or eleven. As the boy shifted, Jason realized he had a sizable hump on his back. “Why are you sneaking up on me?” the boy snapped.

“I’m just following the raft,” Jason replied defensively.

Looking calmer, the boy scooted over on the log to make room. Jason took a seat.

“What’s with the musical raft, anyhow?” Jason asked.

The boy turned a skeptical eye. “You joking? That’s the funeral dirge of the Giddy Nine, the best musicians around. Most folks are waiting for them down by the falls. That’s the only part they care about. But I like to hear the music. It’ll be the last time.”

“They’re headed for a waterfall?” Now that he listened for it, Jason could hear the distant roar.

The boy nodded gravely. “They’re trying to make some kind of statement. They were banned from playing together in public. I don’t see how this solves anything.” He gave Jason a hard stare. “You must have heard of them. Right?”

“No. I’m a stranger here. Just arrived.”

“Where are you from?”

“Vista, Colorado.”

“Never heard of it.”

Jason hesitated, unsure whether he wanted to hear how the boy answered. “How about America? Or the planet Earth?”

The boy scrunched his face. “Not really.”

“Can you tell me where I am?”

“The riverbank, obviously.” He returned his gaze to the river with a start. “They’ve passed us by. We’d better move on or we’ll miss the finale.”

Jason tromped along behind the boy, who moved surprisingly fast along a good route that skirted several marshy areas and shadowy thickets. The night air seemed to help his head, although a faint pulsing ache persisted.

They climbed a steep rise crowded with vegetation and came out on an overlook high above the river. The falls boomed louder. From the elevated viewpoint Jason peered upriver to see they were now well ahead of the little craft. The music sounded far away. Looking in the other direction, he could see where the river seemed to abruptly end. The falls.

“We’d better keep moving,” the young boy urged. “We’re ahead of them now, but the river picks up. Soon they’ll be traveling much faster than we can.”

Jason followed the boy down the rise, back under the gloom of
overhanging branches. Soon he could hear the water flowing more swiftly. The roar of the falls grew to a constant thunder, drowning out the distant music. Jason found himself short of breath as he hustled to match the increasing pace of his guide.

They came through a dense stand of trees and beheld a moon-silhouetted multitude congregated beside the top of the waterfall. At the very brink of the falls sat a few tiers of makeshift bleachers crammed with spectators. “Find a good spot,” the boy advised before scampering over to the riverbank.

Jason jogged over to the far side of the bleachers, discovering that they came right up to the edge of the dizzying precipice, over which the water tumbled like an endless tsunami. He had been to Niagara Falls once with his family—this looked almost as high with nearly as much water. Cool vapor misted his face.

Jason walked back around the bleachers to the riverbank. People lined the bank upriver from the bleachers for some distance. Some of them looked somber. Others munched on snacks. One group swayed as they tunelessly sang an unintelligible song. Jason moved upriver in search of an open spot. The majority of the people wore simple, homespun clothing, though occasionally he saw a sleek fur coat or embroidered vest. Nobody wore what he considered normal, modern attire.

After jostling forward a little, he found a space that would offer a good view of the craft flowing off the brink, although too far upstream to observe the downward plunge. He stood beside a middle-aged woman wearing a floral bonnet and a dress fashioned from heavy material. She stared anxiously up the river, wringing her hands.

“Can you believe this?” he said.

She turned to him. Her rather wide-set eyes came to his chin. “Can I believe that my brother is about to kill himself to create a ridiculous spectacle?”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “Your brother is on that raft?”

“He never had any sense. Or any backbone. He obeys whatever Simeon tells him. That madman has convinced the whole group to throw their lives away.”

She gazed back at the rushing water. The raft was still not in sight.

“Why are you here watching?” Jason asked.

She shrugged, her cheeks coloring slightly. “To show support. The Giddy Nine believe this sacrifice is important. I suppose that whatever happens, it’s better for Darren to leave this world feeling appreciated.”

“Is that what brought all of these people?”

She looked down the line toward the improvised bleachers at the brink of the falls. “These are mostly admirers of their music. Nobody gets what this is really about. I imagine many are here simply because it sounds like great fun to watch a raft full of musicians plummet off an enormous waterfall.”

Jason inwardly conceded that it would be an impressive sight. But at what cost! The waterfall was much too high for any of the musicians to survive.

“I wish there were something I could do,” the woman fretted.

“Why doesn’t somebody try to save them?” Jason asked.

“They don’t want to be saved. This is a funeral.”

Jason looked around. People stared expectantly upriver, some gloomy, some eager.

Should he try to rescue the musicians? It seemed like a tragic waste of lives. If he were out there, no matter what his convictions, he figured he would be changing his mind about going over the falls as soon as he got beyond the point of no return. What sane people would willingly drift off a tremendous waterfall? What sort of useful statement could that possibly make? From what he
had been told, it sounded like the others were following the orders of one crazy leader. What if he had brainwashed them, like with a cult? Most of the people on the raft would probably rejoice to be rescued.

“I want to help you,” Jason said in a low voice. “Do you know where I could find some rope?”

The woman glanced at him, hope flickering in her gaze. “You want to stop this? The rescue squad has a rope. Don’t count on them using it.”

“Rescue squad? Where?”

“They’re just a precaution. They’re not far upriver.”

Some in the crowd began to cheer. The raft had come into view. At the very limits of perception Jason heard the music playing.

Leaving behind the group of spectators, Jason took off up the riverbank at a full sprint until he encountered a pair of men. They had a long line secured around the thick trunk of a knobby tree that towered over the rushing water.

“Are you the rescue squad?” Jason asked.

The short man with one arm answered. “Aye.”

“Do you intend to rescue them?” The musicians were approaching rapidly on the swift current. Their instruments screeched and hiccupped as the raft pitched on the foamy water.

“Only if they call for assistance,” the short man affirmed.

Jason saw that the other end of the slender line was affixed to an arrow held by a slim man leaning on a longbow. The three of them stood approximately fifty yards upriver from the falls. The raft was racing along about twenty yards from the bank.

“Will your arrow reach, carrying that rope?” Jason asked.

“Certainly, long as I aim a little high,” the lean man replied.

“You a good shot?”

“None better.”

“Maybe you should just save them. I bet they’ll end up thanking you.”

“Doubtful,” the lean man sniffed. “They didn’t even want rescuers present. I’ll interfere only at their request.”

Jason turned to face the imperiled musicians. If he tried to swim the rope out to them, he would be swept away downstream before he got close. The tree did not overhang the river far enough to climb out to them. Time was running short.

“Try to save them,” Jason insisted. “This is wrong.”

“Not unless—,” the short man began.

“I hear them calling for help,” Jason lied.

“Go away,” demanded the lean man, his wide lips peeling back to reveal yellowed teeth. “The last thing we need is interference from some desperate, aspiring hero. If they really did cry for help, we wouldn’t hear it over your racket.”

“The sister of one of the musicians sent me,” Jason tried.

“I don’t care if the king of Meridon sent you,” the lean man said. “This is their decision.”

The raft would soon draw even with them. There was no time to think. Jason shoved the short man. Caught by surprise, he stumbled back over the steep bank and into the river.