SLIDIN’

by Neal Barrett, Jr.

Readers who have missed Neal Barrett, Jr.’s incredible style and story-telling genius will be glad to see he’s back again. In the past, he’s graced these pages with tales such as “Perpetuity Blues” (May 1987), “Stairs” (September 1988), “Cush” (November 1993), and the wondrous “Ginny Sweethips’ Flying Circus” (February 1988). His new tale, “Slidin’“ shows he’s still uncertain about a perfect tomorrow…

“I can see it,” says Ducie, “I can see it, Laureen. I can see it real good!”

“You can’t see nothing,” I tell her, “there isn’t anything to see, Ducie Jean. Get your pants on and hush!”

It’s bad enough your baby sister’s hopping ‘round like a frog. Worse still she flat looks like one, ick-warts and all. ‘Course, there’s folks look worse than that. I got family it is hue-miliating to call ‘em kin. Like ol’ Jeb-Reb and Ducko Bill. Don’t even talk about Grandpa Foot. ‘Least Ducie’s got a head, and just one, we can be thankful for that.

“Laureen, now leave her be,” says Mattie Mom. “You know Ducie’s got real good sight.”

“Maybe so,” I tell her. “But she don’t see Dallis, Mom. Not unless she’s got bye-noclars in those bug eyes of hers.”

“Don’t you say that,” Mattie Mom says, lookin’ round to see if other folks are listening in. Like they weren’t more’n two, three hundred people in line, squashed in ahead and behind.

“Shoot, isn’t like God didn’t shit out Ugly all over Texass, Mom. Isn’t anyone here don’t look worse than Ducie Jean.”

“Laureen!,” Mom says, turning ‘bout ten shades of red. “How can you say things like that?”

“Don’t do any good to lie,” I answer back, watching a girl with six tits, all of ‘em biggern’ mine.

Truth hurts, I say. But don’t everything else?

We got up early, just before the sun come boiling up mad out of Lousy Anna, sucking up yesterday’s sweat, and loosing a wave of morning farts along the line. A whole new stink comes rolling in to greet the day, and I’d gag and throw up, but you got to breathe to do that.

Some retard up front says, “Likely rain be comin’ this afternoon. Kinda cool things off.”

God’s dick, I wonder where this bugger’s been? Any little kid knows that date in school. It hasn’t rained north of Wayco or anywhere near Dallis, Texass, in two-hundred-eighty-three years. Only, this pinhead’s expecting pre-cipitation late this afternoon. Crap springs eternal, as Grandpa always says.

The afternoon didn’t bring rain, but it did get us on past the Trinity Ditch where a river used to be. Everyone stopped, of course, it happens every time. You’d come to a dip in the dunes and there’d be another patch of petrified mud, shrunk up tight with a million little cracks in between. It’s those cracks that got to us. Told us we were looking at a place where water used to be, water and trees, critters that aren’t even here anymore, the way things were Back When. If you had a drop or two you were saving, you’d forget about later, and, without even thinking, drink it right there.

A couple of kids jumped down and started hopping from one patch of dry to the next, yelling and carrying on. Their daddy jerked ‘em back quick, tanning their hides and giving ‘em Willie-What-For. They were kids, and didn’t know better, but the crowd sure did. Most everyone there swept two fingers cross their eyes to keep the devil away. Me too, though I don’t believe in much of anything at all. Still, it’s not good luck to get water riled up—even if it’s where water’s been.

Just ‘fore dark we camped outside of Old Ferrus, up on a crest that looked down a pit deep as any you’d care to see.

“See-ment,” said Uncle Jeb. “That’s what they was diggin’ for. Way Back When in—”

“—pre-hysterical times,” finished Reb. “They built stuff with it, made con-kreet’s, what they—”

“—did,” said Jeb, “skycrappers, silos and such. You go

to—

—any big city

—still partly

—intact

—you’re

—gonna see where

—cement’s come

—into play most

—ever’where you

—look…”

Anyone tell you two heads is better’n one, they hadn’t never listened to Jeb-Reb yakking away, going at it nose to nose, way into the goddamn night. Mattie Mom and me pushed Jeb-Reb’s pedal-tater up near the little fire we’d built, and I got supper and water jugs out of my sack. When Jeb-Reb, Ducie, Mattie Mom and Grandpa Foot were settled in, the fire cracklin’ good, I whipped out supper and waved it all around.

“Ta-da!” I said, makin’ a real big show, “we got a treat tonight, folks. Sparrows-on-a-stick!”

“Aaaaah, Oooooh!” everybody said, as I passed the sticks around. Jeb-Reb clapped, one hand missing the other like it always did. Grandpa stomped himself good ‘til he fell over flat.

Sometimes, kids in school make fun of me ‘cause I’m kinda whole and they’re not. It don’t bother me. I beat ‘em to the ground and they don’t say nothing after that. You are what you are, like Mattie Mom says. There’s no shame in having extra parts like Uncle Jeb-Reb, or not hardly any like Grandpa Foot.

“You can thank Ducie for supper tonight,” I said. “She brought every one of these babies down Zaaaap! Just like that.”

“We’re proud,” said Mattie Mom. “We surely are, Ducie Jean.”

Ducie Jean blushed, a pretty awful shade of green. “I wish Ducko could’ve been here. He’s real partial to bird.”

“Ducie, your brother couldn’t come with us, hon,” Mom sighed, like she hadn’t told Ducie a million times before. “Ducko don’t breathe air like us. It’s kinda hard to take him on a trip.”

“Oh,” said Ducie Jean. “I don’t guess I knew that.”

“Hard to imagine what else you don’t know,” I said.

“Laureen…” Mom gave me that look and I shut up quick. I’m a pretty tough kid, and tall for my age, but when your mother’s nine-six you tend to kinda do as you’re told.

A hot night breeze set a little wave of sand a’quiver and sent it rattling down the road. You could hear all the other folks up and down the line, talkin’ real low, some of ‘em snoring and rattling in their sleep.

“We’ll be gettin’ in late tomorrow night,” Mom told us, when we’d gotten all quiet and settled in our sacks. “Now, you’re going to see something not ever’one gets to see, and I expect you to behave and do as you’re told. This isn’t no ordinary place we’re going, I don’t have to tell you that. It’d be something to tell your younguns ‘bout. I mean, if you was going to have some, which, God help us, you’re not.”

“What’s it going to look like, Mom,” said Ducie, “what’s it going to look like, huh! Huh!”

When Ducie gets excited, her skin starts sweatin’ and the icks start a’poppin an’ her voice goes ‘Lubbuk! Lubuk!’ and Lord help any flies in the nearby vis-inity of Ducie Jean’s tongue. Still, she’s my semi-natural sister, and there’s nothin’ I can do about that.

“I could tell you,” said Grandpa Foot, “but there’s no way describing it, child. Not so’s anyone would believe it. You can say it’s like this or like that, and not come anyways close either time.”

“That’s not a whole lot of help, Grandpa,” I said, the words popping out ‘fore I could make them stop.

I’ve known Grandpa since I was borned, but every time he opens that ugly big toe the hair stands up on my head.

“Be right careful,” he said. “Be right careful who you’re talking to, child. You don’t want them dreams coming back. I don’t reckon you do.”

Mattie Mom sucked in a breath. Even Ducie Jean got quiet.

“No, sir,” I said. “I surely don’t. I spoke when I oughta not to, Grandpa. It won’t be happenin’ again.”

“Well, fine,” said Grandpa. “You’re a good girl, Laureen. I always said you was.”

I didn’t sleep good. I had me a dream, all right, but it wasn’t wet and nasty like the ones I get from Grandpa Foot. This was a dream I’d had before. There was dark and there was light, and the dark was good, warm and heavy like my blanket on a nice winter night. Then the light come in, all fierce and razor bright, and it gnashed and it slashed, and it swallowed up the dark and all the warm and the good inside. The world changed forever after that, and all the people in it. There was sorrow and sin, madness and blight, and nothing was ever the way it useta been.

That’s the dream I had, the one I’d had before, and I never told it to a soul, not even Mattie Mom. If you’re different like me, if you’re cursed with Symmetry, there’s things you’d best be keeping in your head.

After we were up and moving, it wasn’t more’n an hour or so till we hit OLD THIRTY-FIVE. You could still see the road a’peeking through, where folks had wore the sand away. Ducie found a faded white stripe from Back When. Mom made her cover it quick ‘fore anyone else could get a look. There’s plenty of tales ‘bout THIRTY-FIVE. Grandpa called it Death and Dessy-cation, whatever that is. Anyway, religion can rise up and kick you in the ass, and it’s best to leave it be.

When we started up north, we hit a little rise and I looked up ahead and back south the way we’d come. There was folk as far as you could see—more than I’d ever seen before. The line seemed to wave, seemed to quiver, seemed to blur, as if it was changing, shifting into something different all the time. It wasn’t, of course. That’s what you call your opposite delusion, something seems like it is and isn’t at the very same time. It looks that way ‘cause folks are all twitching, jerking, quaking, and shaking, limbs going this way and that. Too many arms, not any at all, fingers a’sprouting out of ears, out of eyes, noses where privates ought to be. Legs stuck on where they shouldn’t, asses up front and tummies in the back. That’s how you know we all come from south of St. Atone, north of Big Salty where the Ugly Bomb hit Back When. Two hundred eighty-three years. The very exact same day the Raggys hit Dallis, or so the Book says. That’s your co-accident’s, what it is: Two big Yucks occurring at the very same time…

Do I mind being different, hardly like anyone at all? Sure I do. Symmetry’s what you call it, like Grandpa says. Folks like me come along now and then. It isn’t my fault and it isn’t how you look, it’s what you are inside. Uh-huh. Easy for a foot to say, old man, but I’m not about to tell him that. I got enough crazy dreams without him pokin’ in.

We were getting close now. If you know what happened up here it isn’t hard to tell. The ground gets harder where the sand’s turned to glass, crunchin’ and snapping where you walk. The sun slicks the earth, leaving long, silver cuts that burn your eyes. Getting toward noon, the blisterwind howled, splitting your flesh, sucking spit and grit.

“Guess you wish you’d stayed t’home, Laureen. Guess you’re not all that big on seeing Dallis now.”

See, that’s what Grandpa Foot’d do. If there wasn’t any trouble on the stove, he’d cook up a pot by hisself. I knew this was coming, knew pretty sure I’d open my yak and buy myself a woolly dream. Mattie Mom gave me a look, but it was too late for that.

“Now why in the world would you think so?” I said. “Figures I’d want to come, don’t it, Grandpa? Wouldn’t want to miss seein’ Dallis, something near as peculiar as me…”

That tore it right there. I could feel the wet fuzzy slippin’ in my head, laying there, waiting till the dark. I’d pay good like I always did, but this time I didn’t mind at all. It was worth it to hear Jeb-Reb and Mattie Mom suck up a sackful of ‘fraids. That, and a minute I’d never forget: Grandpa shook. The dirty gray mat that would’ve topped his head if he’d had one stirred like a bushel of snaykes. His toes all swelled and those awful black eyes tried to nail me to the ground. It was a terrible, frightening thing to see.

“Do whatever you like,” I said. “I don’t even care. I can’t do more than a nightmare at a time.”

“Maybe you can’t, maybe you can. I got some doozies you haven’t even thought of before.”

I squatted down and looked right in his eyes:

“Folks were different, then,” I whispered, singing the old time song, “Folks was all the same…”

Grandpa near had a stompin’ fit. “Shut her up. Shut her dirty mouth ‘fore I do something real awful, Mattie!”

Mattie Mom unfolded a good seven feet, leaned down and gave him a look of plain sorrow I’d never seen before.

“I don’t guess I can,” she said. “I guess Laureen’s growing into talking for herself from here on.”

And then she bent down and looked at me. “And maybe someone be talkin’ so much they’re forgetting ‘bout honor and respect for the family that brought her into this world. Maybe that’s something she ought to be thinkin’ at a time like this, Miss Laureen.”

I don’t guess I knew a person could be so full of love and anger at the very same time. There was things, right then, I’d never known about Mattie Mom before…

You could hear ‘em coming, the hearing right behind the awesome quiet, silence running up and down the line, not a single heart thumping, not a whisper, not a fart. And then they was there, right up on us, sitting bright and shiny, sucking in the desert sun. I’d seen ‘em once before, down near Lamp-asses when I was barely six. Too dumb to run, too scared to turn away, Mattie Mom right there swooping me up, hiding my face in the folds of her dress, not moving a foot, not giving a inch away.

You had to be scared, ‘cause there’s nothing as grand and fearsome as a Meckstex rider, sitting there spangles a’ shining, ten feet high, his great hound sniffing at the ground, black nostrils flaring, big feet pawing at the glassy earth. If I’d a looked at Grandpa then I’d have seen his toes a’quiver, seen every hair shaking. I didn’t have to turn to hear Ducie’s awful croak, hear the pee begin to trickle down her leg. Only thing I didn’t hear was Jeb-Reb yakking, and if that’s not a wonder, I don’t know what is.

“You come to see the marvel, yes?” The voice come hollow out behind the bright helm, a voice without a face that struck the heart of every living soul there.

“This is why we’ve come,” came the answer down the line. “This is why we’re here…”

“You have come to see the cost of greed and lust, to look upon the tomb of awful pride, to gaze upon the shame of the world, to see for yourselves the tomb of the damned, the ruination of Man.”

A groan rose up from the line, for we knew, as well as the Meckstex rider, the terrible words from the Book itself.

For a moment, there was deadly silence, only the creak of the great hounds’ saddles, the scrape of steel against steel from the riders’ heavy mail. There were six of them, six dark riders. Never more and never less. There might have been a dozen, a hundred, but never, could anyone recall, more than the six at any one time. Five, their armor streaked with black, scaled like beetles and hoppers and such. The leader colored red, red like clay, like rust, like the dull, blood-soil of the earth. And, as anyone knows, when the six were encountered, it was always the rider in red who spoke. Never, ever one of the five. Behind those helms these silent warriors might have been dead. And, givin’ the way folks made up stuff they couldn’t understand, most any fool’d tell you dead is what they was.

One of the great dogs snuffled at the ground, raising a cloud of foul air. The rider creaked and clanged, stretched in his saddle, bent real low, then looked down at me.

The hair stood straight up on my head. Something turned over in my belly and I knew, right then, I’d never again make fun of Ducie Jean when the pee started rollin’ down her leg. In about half a second, that was going to be me.

“You,” said the dark warrior, in a voice like gravel in a can, “you are of this family, you are their girl child, yes?”

“Yes, I’m th—”

Before I could get the words out, Mattie Mom was there, stretching up quick, between me and him, nearly as high as the Meckstex himself. “Yes, she’s family, that’s who she is,” Mom said, “my girl child come out of my womb, like every true child I ever knew. I can’t see your face, rider, for it’s black as sin in there, so I can’t say just who it is wants to know.”

You could’ve heard the world die right then and I shut my eyes tight, waiting for Mattie Mom’s guts to start spillin’ on the ground. Waiting to see her blow up, see her go flying, see her vanish, see her catch on fire, waiting for her ashes to scatter on the air. When none of that happened, I waited for the blood-red rider to think of something awfuller than that.

“I’ve got respect for a mother’s ire,” the raider said, “I can live with that. But don’t go an inch, don’t go a gnat-hair further with me, old woman, for you’re standing on the edge right now.”

“Why, the edge is where I live, rider,” Mattie Mom said, “where we all be living, ‘case you didn’t notice, sitting so high up there you can’t rightly see what’s crawlin’ down below.”

Something flashed, something glittered, something glowed behind the slit in the big golden helm, something old, something cold, like silver boiling from a star. I turned away fast, quick-quick-quick—but not before it found me, ‘fore it held me in its grip, kissed the warm-warm between my thighs, turned, quick enough, ‘fore it sucked my soul right out between my eyes.

Then, with a laugh, with a tortured cry from his fearsome mount, the rider was in upon us, his dog-beast flailing, thrashing, each great foot encased in clever iron spikes that defied the slick and glassy earth. The brutal thing struck, ravaged, tore at the ground, raising a deadly cloud, a fury of splintered glass all about. I heard them cry out—whine, whimper, beg for their lives: Ducie, Jeb-Reb, Grandpa Foot. And, though I hated myself for it, I cried out too. Everyone did.

Everyone, except for Mattie Mom.

Without a glance back, the leader jerked his horrid creature aside, kicked its shaggy sides and bounded off across the road, his soldiers on his heels. I could hear their laughter and curses as they echoed through their helms.

“Bastards, villains!” said Grandpa Foot. “Wretched, arrogant fellows all!”

“They are, indeed, a horrid—” said Jeb.

“—mean-spirited lot,” Reb added,

“—brutes—”

“—cut-throats and—”

“—no good—”

“—bloody band of devils!”

“Well, that’s so,” said Mattie Mom, holding Ducie close to quiet her fears. “It’s a terrible bunch, the Meckstexers be, but far worse still would be this land without ‘em.”

“Huh! A devil’s bad enough,” said Grandpa Foot. “There’s no damn need he’s got to act like he is!”

The night was peaceful enough, and the sky full of stars, and I lay there pretending I flew above them somehow, looking down on this blanket of lights, each a magical city spread below. My head began to swim with such thoughts and I soon grew dizzy and looked away.

I slept for a spell, but soon fell back into a dream, the dream I’d had before. Once more, I could sorta see the world the way it was in the Way Back When. Again, there was the bright and terrible light, then the darkness came and opened its terrible maw, and swallowed the light whole. The dream was real clear on that. The dark was forever, and the world and the people would never, ever be the same again.

Dawn seemed to fester, like the sun wasn’t sure it’d bother going through it all again. Then, when the day finally came I prayed it’d turn and go away, for it struck the glassy earth with a vengeance, with its fierce uncaring fire, and it blistered the people with its heat, seared our eyes, and nearly struck us blind.

And, when we could see again, we gathered ourselves together as best we could, and climbed a steep ridge from the side road, back to THIRTY-FIVE. The ground this close to Dallis was near solid glass, now, and even the time-worn path we followed was rife with twisty turns and hidden slicks that took you off your feet and sent you falling back, bringing down the curses of those behind. Ducie carried Grandpa Foot, who muttered and squirmed all the way. Mattie Mom and me struggled and slipped with Jeb-Reb’s clumsy cart. And, for once, these two old bastards had the sense to know it wouldn’t take a lot of sass for Mom and me to dump them and leave them on their own.

Then we topped the ridge and there they were … just waiting, watching, patient and thoughtful as could be, every demon, every devil, every horror from a hundred hells below. Mattie Mom never said a thing, never warned us, never dropped a hint at what she knew we’d see…

They lined each side of THIRTY-FIVE, near endless rows of gallows, pikes, cages and crosses, racks and stacks, terrible devices whose awful purpose was clear enough to see. And, such instruments and means so sly, so cunning and cruel they lay beyond the ken of ordinary folk, yet each designed to torture, kill, to slash and cut, to crush and sorely maim the soul within. And, adorning each awful presentation were creatures long dead, creatures yet alive, Rag-ohs, dopers, Popers and Yids, pale Baptistos and Arkansaw Blaks. Okiehoma Gooners, Lousy-Annie Slaks. Kanuks, Frangts, people on poles, people in sacks, people festooned with hairy rats.

It was just as Mattie Mom had said, the Meckstex Rangers were a fierce and wicked bunch, but it was them that kept us free, kept us clean of them that wasn’t us, them that didn’t belong. “With the good goes the bad,” said Grandpa Foot,” and who’s to say which one’s which.”

Ducie cried, and buried her face in Mattie Mom’s skirt. Grandpa muttered to himself. It wasn’t till we’d climbed the slope and left these horrors far behind that Mattie Mom stopped and told us all to gather ‘round.

“What you seen’s the way the world is,” she said, “and no way that’s going to change. There’s things have to be, and that’s ‘cause the way things was. You all understand what I’m saying? Yesterdays ain’t ever out of sight. They’re lessons is what they are. The Lord puts knowin’ in our heads so we can do right next time instead of wrong. Wrong is what you’re seeing now. Wrong’s what we mustn’t ever, ever think about doing again.”

Mattie Mom paused, and looked at me and Ducie Jean. I didn’t say a thing. Ducie looked like she always did. Like someone had turned the light out behind her bulgy eyes.

“You younguns listen to your mother,” said Grandpa Foot. “She’s right as she can be.”

“Right as rain,” said Jeb.

“—Righter’n that, she be,” said Reb.

“—Right and”

“—proper, Mattie Mom is”

“—couldn’t have put it”

“—any better”

“my”

“—self, I couldn’t.”

“Thanks, Jeb-Reb,” said Mattie Mom. “I appreciate your support, an’ I knows the girls do too.”

“Hmmmmph!” said Grandpa Foot.

We were getting close, now, no one had to tell me that. Not far ahead, the line had forked off to the left and the right, folks spilling over one another in great half circles, pressing against one another for a look at what there was to see.

“It’s Dallis, isn’t it?” Mattie Mom didn’t answer, just squeezed my hand tight.

Seemed like it took all day to really get up close. Three, four hours, maybe more’n that. The sun was harsh, and you couldn’t even walk without kicking up slivers of glass.

We were so close now, we could start to see a sight that made the hairs climb right up on your head. The closer you got, the thicker they was—hundreds of ‘em, maybe more than that, folks coming right at us, frozen in glass, just the way they was the very second the bomb hit Dallis in the Way Back When. Everyone’s heard about Lot’s Tots of course, but seeing them’s something else again. Some of them was standing, one leg in the air, glassy arms swinging this way and that. Some was lyin’ on the ground, still a’running fast as they could go. You could see how they was caught, their mouths, their eyes, their faces all twisted in one last awful moment before it hit ‘em and turned ‘em and froze them where they stood.

“Don’t look in dead faces,” Mattie Mom said, jerking me aside. Wasn’t any use though—couldn’t anyone turn away from that.

Mattie Mom wouldn’t let go. She grabbed me in one hand and Ducie in the other, and pulled us through the crowd, making her way to the front. She pushed the last lookers aside

And there we were and

oh-Lord-God-in-Heaven save

me! I thought for a minute I’d

faint dead away—

and Mattie Mom grabbed me and Ducie let out a wail.

It’s just like Grandpa Foot said—there isn’t no way to tell about it, it’s something you gotta see, and even then you don’t believe it’s real…

It’s like a bowl, a bowl of smoky glass so big you can’t see the other side. It takes in everything, everything there is, and so deep, deep, there isn’t any bottom, just a great and terrible dark that dies and fades away, and the more I looked the more I wanted to see, the closer I wanted to be—

“Best not to get real near, girl…”

Something grabbed me hard and I turned around quick, looked up and saw the Meckstex rider standing so close I could smell the heat of his armor.

“What you want,” I said, “get away from me!” I looked for Mattie Mom, but she was busy holding on to Ducie Jean. The rider was tall, even afoot. He held the reins of his mount, and I looked away from its awful eyes.

“You read about Dallis in the Book,” the man asked. “You know the story well?”

“Reading’s just words. Seeing is somethin’ else again. What—what you want with me!”

The rider shook his head. “The Book tells it clear, girl. Sin rose up from the East, and the West drew its swords and swept them back…”

“I can read,” I told him. “I already know all that.”

“Likely know more than you think, child. For the knowledge is in your blood. I knew that when I saw you.”

“You don’t know me. You never seen me before.”

“I know what you are. I know your symmetry.”

My heart nearly stopped. “I’m just like ever’one else. Looking different don’t mean a thing inside.”

“…and that was the year of the Sun, and the East slept in defeat, and the West put its great swords aside…”

“You got to tell me the whole Book? And keep that—thing on its leash. It scares the livin’ daylights out of me.”

“There are things you need to know. Listen to my words, girl—”

“No, you listen to me, rider!” Mattie Mom stepped right between us, tall as the man himself.

“You’ve no need to speak to my child. She don’t need to hear anything from you!”

“She is indeed your child, woman. But truly, she is a child of us all.”

I felt that chill crawling up my neck again. Mattie Mom drew herself up straight as she could be.

“Don’t you even think such a thought as that. I know your kind. Folk know more’n you think we do.”

“She is of your womb. But she is not the same.”

Ducie whimpered, clutching the hem of Mom’s skirt. The rider turned his hidden eyes upon her, and Ducie shrank back.

“She’s my child, is who she is. And how she looks, she can’t help that. There’s others like her too.”

“No. Not like her. There are others, but they are imperfect. She has the symmetry. She is cast in the mold. She—”

Mattie Mom’s face went pale as ash. I felt her shudder, felt her body tense, and in that instant she reached out, jerked me roughly to her, but the rider read her clearly; he was fast, fast, his movement only a blur. He slammed me against his armored chest so hard I gasped for breath, saw bright stars swim before my eyes.

Mattie Mom loosed a terrible cry, a shriek, a moan, a sound that held all the grief in the world, and when I could see again she was shrinking, falling, falling away, then she was gone, and I was sliding, turning in a dizzy circle, down, down, down. I opened my mouth to scream and a mailed fist quickly covered my face.

“Stop that. There is no need for you to cry out, girl.”

“God, you don’t think so? Let me goddamn go, you hear? Let me go!”

I knew, somewhere inside my rattled brain, that wasn’t a good idea, either. He held me tightly against his chest, but over his shoulder I could see the surface beneath us rushing by at a rapid pace. I thought I could see things, things down there below the cloudy glass, and I knew that couldn’t be, that there was nothing down there, nothing at all to see.

“…It is written in the Book, child. The way things were, the way that things must be. Surely you can understand this is so.”

I almost laughed through my fear. “What, I’m supposed to ride down this thing and we just—die, right? Tell me where it says that!”

“…and lo, the beaten foes slept, and when they woke they crawled out of the horror the West had left behind. And, though they had no Newks of their own, God had given them a great sea of sand, and from that sand they forged a—”

“I already know that,” I shouted through the wind, “I’m slidin’ down goddamn Dallis, I can see what they did.” That was two hundred eighty-three years ago. I didn’t do anything, what’s that got to do with me?”

“It’s all about you, child. All about you and the things that were and what has to be.”

“You keep saying that. I don’t want to hear it anymore!”

“It’s about done now. There isn’t much more.”

“Don’t. Don’t you tell me that!”

I couldn’t help myself. I tried to hold him close.

“I’ll be there with you. That’s what I’m supposed to do. And it does have to be, girl. You might breed, you know. And there can’t be any more folks like they were before. There mustn’t ever be.”

I could scarcely see the sky anymore. There was nothing but the great bowl of glass, rushing by, and nothing but the fast approaching dark down below, and I couldn’t look at that.

“What do you think it’s like?” I asked the rider. “What do you think it’ll be?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Whatever there is, is. The way it has to be. Lo, the Book has said—”

“Goddamnit,” I told him. “I already knew that!”

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