In the Deadlands (30 page)

And that's about as much as anyone ever knows.

i mean, about where they are in the deadlands.

                                       
Step...

                                       
Scrape.

i hope that this one will be uneventful. This patrol, i mean. i hope we don't find anything.

i've been lucky so far. i've never been on a patrol where they found anything, but i've heard stories.

i heard one story...

                                       
about—

But it's supposed to be just a story.

                                       
i don't know.

We're probably five-six miles into the deadlands now.

We're supposed to go as far as we can.

The commander wants to make twenty today.

                                                
Step...

                                                
Scrape.

Man shouldn't be alone with his thoughts too long.

Least not in the deadlands anyway.

He starts thinking too many things.

                                                
About himself.

                                                
About his buddies.

i've heard about guys out in the deadlands who have just turned and walked away from their patrols,

just stepped right over the horizon and disappeared

with never a word to their buddies

and nobody even noticed.

One patrol

didn't notice until they had gotten out of the deadlands altogether

that their commander was no longer with them.

He'd wandered out by himself a few days before.

Step. . .

Scrape.

                                                      
The orange-black floor,
the while staring sun,
the deep dark sky.

                                           
Step. . .

                                       
Scrape.

Best to stay in a group in the deadlands.

Safer.

Thought about the City again.

City!

Not big, but the biggest i've ever seen.

i had forty-eight hours leave there when i finished training,

before i was assigned to the patrol.

                                           
Had my first woman in the City.
Did not enjoy it.

                                           
No stimulation.

                                           
The guys say i did not miss
anything.

There's talk about the deadlands patrol,

about what it does to you.

They say it kills your drive.

When i say
they,
i don't mean the other guys in the patrol.

i mean other patrols.

Not deadlands patrols.

Other
patrols.

Guys in the deadlands patrol don't talk about it

i heard stories when i first joined the patrol.

The deadlands kills the sex urge.

The deadlands keeps you from enjoying a woman.

Could prove it by me.

Could prove it by this patrol.

Rarely hear guys talking about girls.

No pinups in barracks either.

No regulations against it. Just no pinups.

When i was younger, i heard that the greatest sensation in the world was being with a woman.

i don't believe it.

The greatest sensation in the world is sleep.

Much more satisfying.

Especially sleep with no dreams.

Dreams are disturbing.

                                       
Step...

                                       
Scrape.

Twenty-three men.

Commander and eleven “two”s.

Carl—my other half—is new to this patrol.

So am i.

We are the next to last “two” in the troop.

We say nothing to each other.

i would like to talk to Carl.

In the barracks anyway.

               
Have nothing to say to him though.

So i say nothing.

                                       
Step...

                                       
Scrape.

The deadlands makes you feel

more

               
More intense.

Now,

i feel more of one thing than i have felt since Pa died.

i feel alone.

                                       
Step...

                                       
Scrape.

i do not like the deadlands,

               
and we are walking deeper into it.

                                       
Step...

                                       
Scrape.

In the Deadlands

                                       
Later,

                                       
numb now,

                                       
cannot think.

                                       
Can only walk.

Stop for night.

Day turns off.

                                       
Night begins.

                                       
We huddle around the light.

                                       
Not the warmth,

                                       
the light.

Temperature is 70°.

                                       
Air seems hot,

                                       
heavy.

The other men are talking

small talk.

                                       
i want to talk too.

                                       
i want to talk to Carl.

                                       
i want to talk to someone,

                                       
anyone.

                                       
i want to talk very badly.

i don't know what i want to say.

But i want someone to say it to.

Want

                                       
to look at someone.

Want

                                       
to touch someone,

                                       
anyone.

                                                             
Carl?

Anyone.

Carl is the other half of our
two.
Supposed to be my buddy.

He is not.

He is the buddy of the clique.

Every patrol has a clique. i am never in the clique. Carl always is.

                                           
Carl and i are supposed to be
buddies.
We are not.

                                           
i have nobody to talk to.
i am alone.

i try to sleep.

The deadlands floor is hard,

               
uncomfortable.

                                           
Faraway,
the deadlands croons

                                                      
tuneless
a lullaby of lonely,

                                                      
a distant chorus,

                                                      
a mournful sound,
of something

                                                      
faint and faraway,

                                           
waiting.
just below the horizon

                                           
crooning
tunelessly

                                                             
very softly
very far away...

                                           
and this time there are words.

               
Always before, i could never make out the

               
words.

               
Always before, i could never make out the

               
tune.

                                                             
too faint
too distant

But this time...

one word...

                                                             
very soft

                                                             
C o m e ...

C o m e ...

C o m e ...

That's all,
just

C o m e ...

The air is heavy,

the night is still

and something with icy feet is standing on my back.

In the Deadlands

Second day now.

i think it's the second day.

It could be the second year.

Or the second century.

Or the second ???

                                       
More lonely.

Carl jokes with the others,

not me.

He does not ignore me,

he is just indifferent.

                                       
More lonely.

Carl is one of those people who is in on everything.

He always knows what is happening. He is always the first one to get the joke,

as much as anyone jokes in the deadlands patrol.

                                       
More quiet.

More like . . . funeral.

Muted.

Pa's funeral.

Nobody cried.

Nobody talked.

Nobody said anything at all.

Just sat.

Muted.

Muted like the deadlands patrol.

Don't know how deep we are now.

Day and a half?

Two days?

Two years?

We will march until we reach the tortured rocks.

Then we will turn back.

It's two days march.

Maybe three.

Or four.

Or six.

Each time we march to the rocks it's different

                                       
Step...

                                       
Scrape.

i never prayed.

Never.

If i did pray though, i know what i'd pray for.

A safe comeback.

                                       
To what?

                                       
To Fort Borderlands?

Gray barracks. Gray grass. Gray flag. Gray food. Gray everything. Gray. Everything gray.

Too gray.

                                       
In the distance
                                       
is the first of the tortured rocks

                                                                                 
waiting.

The rocks are sized like men.