MaddAddam (MaddAddam 3)

"It gives you a certain authority," says Toby. "In their eyes."

"That's like having a certain authority with a bunch of ... Crap, I'm so wrecked I can't even think of a smartass comparison. Clams. Oysters. Dodos. What I'm saying is. Because, I'm tired. My guru juice is all used up. They wore me out a while ago, to tell you the truth. I never want to think about Crake again, ever, or listen to any more crapulous poop about how good and kind and all-powerful he is, or how he made them in the Egg and then sweetly wiped everybody else off the face of the planet, just for them. And how Oryx is in charge of the animals, and flies around in the shape of an owl, and even though you can't see her she's there anyway and will always hear them."

"As I understand it," says Toby, "that's consistent with what you've been telling them. It's Gospel as far as they're concerned."

"I know that's what I fucking told them!" says Jimmy. "They wanted to know the basic stuff, like where they came from and what all those decaying dead people were. I had to tell them something."

"So you made up a nice story," says Toby.

"Well, crap, I could hardly tell them the truth. So yes. And yes, I could've done a smarter job of it, and yes, I'm not a brainiac, and yes, Crake must've thought I had the IQ of an aubergine because he played me like a kazoo. So it makes me puke to hear them grovelling about fucking Crake and singing his fucking praises every time his stupid name comes up."

"But that's the story we've got," says Toby. "So we have to work with it. Not that I've grasped all the finer points."

"Whatever," says Jimmy. "It's over to you. Just keep doing what you're doing. You can add stuff in, go to town, they'll eat it up. I hear they're fanboys for Zeb these days. Stick with that plotline, it's got legs. Just keep them from finding out what a bogus fraud everything is."

"That's very manipulative," says Toby. "Shoving it all onto me."

"Yeah, I'm not denying it," says Jimmy. "I apologize. Though you're good at it, according to them. Your choice; you can always tell them to piss off."

"You realize we're under attack, in a manner of speaking," says Toby.

"The Painballers. Yeah. Ren told me," he says more soberly.

"So we can't let these people go wandering off on their own too much. They'd most likely be killed."

Jimmy thinks about that. "So, then?"

"You need to help me," says Toby. "We should get our stories straight. I've been flying in the dark."

"Nowhere else to fly on the subject of Crake," says Jimmy gloomily. "Welcome to my whirlwind. He cut her throat, did you know that? Good, kind Crake. She was so pretty, she was ... Just thought I'd share that. But I shot the fucker."

"Whose throat?" Toby asks. "Who did you shoot?" But Jimmy's face is in his hands now, and his shoulders are shaking.

Piglet

Toby doesn't know what to do. Is a comforting maternal hug in order, supposing she's capable of giving one, or would Jimmy find that intrusive? How about a brisk, nurse-like Chin up or a feeble withdrawal, on tiptoe?

Before she can make up her mind, Blackbeard runs into the room. He's unusually excited. "They're coming! They're coming!" he says. It's almost a shout, which is rare for a Craker: even the kids aren't shouters.

"Who is?" she asks. "Is it the bad men?" Now where did she leave her rifle? That's the down side of Meditations: you forget how to be properly aggressive.

"They! Come! Come," he says, tugging at her hand, then at her bedsheet. "The Pig Ones. Very many!"

Jimmy lifts his head. "Pigoons. Oh fuck," he says.

Blackbeard is delighted. "Yes! Thank you for calling him, Snowman-the-Jimmy! We will need him, to help us," he says. "The Pig Ones have a dead."

"A dead what?" Toby asks him, but he's out the door.

The MaddAddamites have dropped their various tasks and are moving in behind the cobb-house fence. Some have armed themselves with axes, and rakes, and shovels.

Crozier, who must have set out to pasture with his flock of Mo'Hairs, is hurrying back along the pathway. Manatee's with him, carrying their spraygun.

"They're coming from the west," says Crozier. The Mo'Hairs surround him.

"They're ... It's weird. They're marching. It's like a pig parade."

The Crakers are gathering by the swing set. They don't seem in any way frightened. They talk together in low voices, then the men begin to move west, as if to meet whatever's coming down the path. Several women go with them: Marie Antoinette, Sojourner Truth, two others. The rest stay behind with the children, who clump together and stand silently, though no one has ordered them to do that.