Now that things were tidier, Toby had felt she could relax. She'd steadied herself with a Gardener breathing exercise, timing it to the soothing rhythm of the nearby waves - wish-wash, wish-wash - until her heart had slowed to normal. Then she'd cooked a soup.
And then the moon had risen.
The rising moon signalled the beginning of the God's Gardeners Feast of Saint Julian and All Souls: a celebration of God's tenderness and compassion for all creatures. The universe is held in the hollow of His hand, as Saint Julian of Norwich taught us in her mystic vision so long ago. Forgiveness must be offered, loving kindness must be practised, circles must be unbroken. All souls means all, no matter what they may have done. At least from moonrise to moonset.
Once the Gardener Adams and Eves taught you something, you stayed taught. It would have been next to impossible for her to kill the Painballers on that particular night - butcher them in cold blood, since by that time the two of them were firmly roped to a tree.
Amanda and Ren had done the roping. They'd been to Gardener school together where they'd done a lot of crafts with recycled materials, so they were proficient at knotwork. Those guys looked like macrame.
On that blessed Saint Julian's evening, Toby had set the weaponry to one side - her own antiquated rifle and the Painballers' spraygun, and Jimmy's spraygun as well. Then she'd played the kindly godmother, ladling out the soup, dividing up the nutrients for all to share.
She must have been mesmerized by the spectacle of her own nobility and kindness. Getting everyone to sit in a circle around the cozy evening fire and drink soup together - even Amanda, who was so traumatized she was almost catatonic; even Jimmy, who was shivering with fever and talking to a dead woman who was standing in the flames. Even the two Painballers: did she really think they would have a conversion experience and start hugging bunnies? It's a wonder she didn't sermonize as she doled out the bone soup. Some for you, and some for you, and some for you! Shed the hatred and viciousness! Come into the circle of light!
But hatred and viciousness are addictive. You can get high on them. Once you've had a little, you start shaking if you don't get more.
As they were eating the soup, they'd heard voices approaching through the shoreline trees. It was the Children of Crake, the Crakers - the strange gene-spliced quasi-humans who lived by the sea. They were filing through the trees, carrying pitch-pine torches and singing their crystalline songs.
Toby had seen these people only briefly, and in daytime. Gleaming in the moonlight and the torchlight, they were even more beautiful. They were all colours - brown, yellow, black, white - and all heights, but each was perfect. The women were smiling serenely; the men were in full courtship mode, holding out bunches of flowers, their naked bodies like a fourteen-year-old's comic-book rendition of how bodies ought to be, each muscle and ripple defined and glistening. Their bright blue and unnaturally large penises were wagging from side to side like the tails of friendly dogs.
Afterwards, Toby could never quite remember the sequence of events, if you could call it a sequence. It had been more like a pleebland street brawl: rapid action, tangled bodies, a cacophony of voices.
Where is the blue? We can smell the blue! Look, there is Snowman! He is thin! He is very sick!
Ren: Oh shit, it's the Crakers. What if they want ... Look at their ... Crap!
The Craker women, spotting Jimmy: Let us help Snowman! He needs us to purr!
The Craker men, sniffing Amanda: She is the blue one! She smells blue! She wants to mate with us! Give her the flowers! She will be happy!
Amanda, scared: Stay away! I don't ... Ren, help me! Four large, beautiful, flower-toting naked men close in on her. Toby! Get them away from me! Shoot them!
The Craker women: She is sick. First we have to purr on her. To make her better. And give her a fish?
The Craker men: She is blue! She is blue! We are happy! Sing to her!
The other one is blue also.
That fish is for Snowman. We must keep that fish.
Ren: Amanda, maybe just take the flowers, or they might get mad or something ...
Toby, her voice thin and ineffectual: Please, listen, stand back, you're frightening ...
What is this? Is this a bone? Several of the women, peering into the soup pot: Are you eating this bone? It smells bad.
We do not eat bones. Snowman does not eat bones, he eats a fish. Why do you eat a smelly bone?
It is Snowman's foot that is smelling like a bone. A bone left by vultures. Oh Snowman, we must purr on your foot!
Jimmy, feverish: Who are you? Oryx? But you're dead. Everyone's dead. Everyone in the whole world, they're all dead ... He starts crying.
Do not be sad, Oh Snowman. We have come to help.
Toby: Maybe you shouldn't touch ... that's infected ... he needs ...
Jimmy: Ow! Fuck!
Oh Snowman, do not kick. It will hurt your foot. Several of them begin to purr, making a noise like a kitchen mixer.