Drawn Up From Deep Places

“Now, but where would they go to, exactly, with all the dead things out there sharpening their teeth for ‘em? Think, Meem. I have a responsibility to Missus Yee, just like t’everyone else.”

“But Papa . . . ”

“You don’t want me to lose my job, now, do you? Where would your mother and I live, then? Or you, either?”

I was only teasing her, gently, or at least I thought I’d been. But she looked down right then, and by God, I almost thought she was about to cry. I’d’ve done about anything in this world, at that same moment, to take my clumsy mockery back.

“Just don’t bring me back, please,” she told me, at last, soft enough I had to cock my head to catch it. “When it comes to me, at last, I mean. I know why you kept Mama, but I see how it is, for her . . . for all of them . . . and all things considered, I’d really rather not.”

“You have my word,” I swore, though I still didn’t really know—wouldn’t allow myself to see, more like—what it was, exactly, I was swearing to. And I’ve kept that promise, as it happens . . . thus far.

Can’t say what may happen in future, for loneliness is a curse. Yet so long’s I have Anthea, I believe my sweet Meem can continue to sleep easy, unlike the rest of this town’s citizenry. Her presence, though sorely missed, is no longer required.

I do owe her that much, given all she did for me.

***

Right about here, meanwhile, is where you came in, with your shiny Thiel Agency badge and your cunning arcanistric instrumentation: Agent Lucas K. Law, at my service, or so you claimed. I remember you standing in my office, sipping the whiskey I’d poured you, while down in the street below, I could see my people going to and fro, doing their jobs; by the saloon door sat Meem, as ever, playing with her doll in the dust, which set me to thinking about that first day, and all that’d followed after. Listening with only half an ear as you told me why you’d come—that Doc Asbury’s measurements reckoned Satan’s Jewel Crown as close as made no never-mind to “the very epicentre” of this latest outbreak of (possibly) hexation-created unnaturalness. How it was part of your rubric to investigate, and that you hoped I’d give you every sort of aid in your quest to discover exactly why the dead seemed to find this area—the place, even—so damnably attractive.

“People do say Satan’s Jewel Crown’s prospered under your rule, Mister Phillips.”

“I’m only a mayor, sir. We don’t elect any kings, ‘round here.”

“Of course not. Still, to brave such continual incursions from these, eh, graveyard emissaries and survive—no, more than just that, surely. To thrive . . . ”

“We’ve been fortunate, that’s true, though we’ve suffered our share of losses: corpse-fever, brawls, the regular range of insults, as well as gettin’ bit. But as to that, we do seem to have an amazing survival rate, even amongst those took down in battle.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, a good third of our folks’ve shook it off, thus far, even once the poison’s took hold. My own wife, for example—”

You blinked. “I’d . . . like to meet that good lady, if so.”

“Well, sure. She’s just over thataway, if you care to cross the street.”

As we walked out together, you casting your eyes ‘round in obvious curiosity, something began to mount in me that I barely recognized, so long had it been since I’d last felt it—anxiety, doubt. Fear, not only on my own behalf, but on behalf of all.

My town, my people, my family—I, me, mine. All I’d built up and kept safe even in the besieging face of death, and so much worse.

“Those fortifications look military-grade,” you said. “You have soldiering experience, I’d wager.”

“No, sir,” I replied, pulse starting to stutter. “Learned it all from books, or veterans’ tales. My brother—”

“No? But you must’ve fought the risen before, somewhere—back along the original line of infection, perhaps.”

I nodded. “In Georgia, when the Weed first came up, we got our share of infestation: live animals, dead bodies. We soon learned how to deal with ‘em.”

“But nothing like this new strain, exactly.”

“No, t’be sure. Wasn’t ‘til just before I crossed the border I first saw ones like these-all, and then only their tracks—before the bounty laws came down, and I started in to hunting.”

You paused in your step, a spark of sudden interest lighting your eyes. “Really. You know, Mister Phillips, our investigations while back-tracking the herd’s migration eventually uncovered tales of a certain long-burnt-out watering-hole—so close between states, apparently, it almost didn’t matter exactly which side it lay, while the place still existed—that might’ve witnessed this country’s very first mass conjunction of plague-bearing dead. We examined its ruins a month ago, and found evidence of great hexational discharge still resonating; its foundations gave off an Asbury Scale reading of 68.5 even after several months’ inactivity, seemingly collected ‘round a bloodstain on what was left of the bar-room’s floor . . . ”

“I did pass through that area,” I admitted, feeling my throat contract, “and it’s a hard road to travel, full to the brim with all manner of untrustworthies, or was. Don’t ever recall hearing much about any hexes, though.”

“Well, they do exist almost everywhere, inherently—everywhere I’ve been, anyhow, since joining up. By the by, if I may ask you about that wound you bear, under your neckerchief . . . is that from your recent toils, or did you sustain it earlier?”

My hand went to the offending bandage. “Some time ago, thank you kindly. I hardly notice it now, given all my other distractions.”