Damon Knight - Orbit 17

“What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s time. The end of the cycle. The birth.”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been waiting for?”

“I’m not strong enough. I haven’t collected enough life energy.”

“I’ll let you go. I’ll take you back to L.A.”

“It’s too late. Too late.”

He never said anything again. I watched him for three days. His fever got worse and the life went from his vibrant flesh. His skin flaked away in gray scales. He was struggling with all his might against something. I don’t know what. But in the end he failed. His moans were so piteous that I had to put my hands over my ears. But I couldn’t take my eyes off the disintegration of that magnificent creature.

And that’s all he was, wasn’t he? A creature. Something not human. It wasn’t my fault that, by some fluke, I could see them. I didn’t know this would happen. He never told me.

On the second day a hump began forming on his back. He was curling more and more into a fetal position as the hump forced him over. He began bleeding at the mouth. I put the shower curtain under him. When I rolled him over, my hands got covered with something like ashes.

On the third day he began to quieten and I knew it was almost over. He hadn’t moved in several hours except for ragged breathing. There was a sharp cracking sound, like Carnehan biting into a new apple, only louder. The now ugly body trembled violently for a few moments, and then nothing. He lay facing me, his eyes open, the color of clay.

The breathing stopped.

It was finished.

I got out of the chair and walked around to the other side of the bed. The hump on his back had split and something white was sticking out. I reached down and pulled on it. It was a wing, a large, white wing covered with feathers. No, not feathers. Soft, white, silky hair.

There was a second wing but it was twisted and not properly developed. I pulled away all of the body and exposed what was inside it.

I cleaned up the cabin so no one would know it had been occupied. I packed everything back in the Dart. I buried them both in the woods, the body of the dead winged thing, and the husk that had held it. I drove back to Hollywood. It seemed as if I passed a wreck every half mile. I went into my apartment without noticing the apple cores in the yard. I unlocked the door, went straight to the toilet, and vomited.

I was splashing cold water on my face when I heard her.

“Lou? Is that you?” She walked in wearing a slip, her eyes red from sleep, and her hair sticking out on one side where she’d been lying on it.

“Margaretl What the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh, Lou!” She pressed against me. “It’s been awful! Alfred found out about usl”

My head was spinning. “Who the shit is Alfred?”

She looked puzzled. “My husband!”

Jesus Christi I’d forgotten Carnehan’s first name. She was right. It was awful. “What’d he do? Do they know at the Department?”

“He hit me!” She began to blubber on my shoulder. “I was afraid. I’ve been hiding here for three days! He keeps pounding on the door but I stay quiet. He doesn’t know for sure I’m here.”

“How did he find out?”

“I don’t know! He came home from work three days ago, screaming at me and hitting me. Oh, Lou. I was so frightened.” She kissed me and her breath was bad. His breath had had no odor at all. “Come to bed with me, Lou. It’s been so long,” she whined.

I felt her doughy flesh through the thin slip. But it was woman flesh and I had to forget about him. I led her to the bed and began undressing. I was sticky. I hadn’t bathed or shaved since he started . . . Stop it!

She pulled the slip over her head, unhooked her bra, and peeled down her pantyhose. Her tits were beginning to sag, her thighs were puffy, and there was a small roll of fat around her waist. Her skin looked muddy, not clear like . . . Stop it!

She walked toward me, smiling coyly. I wish I had been able to see . . . Stop it!

I pushed her roughly onto the bed and she squealed. Margaret liked it rough. I was about to make her very happy. She gasped deep in her throat every time my pelvis slammed against her flabby flesh. It was good—but . . . Stop it!

I lay on my back, half asleep. Margaret lay on top of me, licking my nipples and trying to coax it back up again. It hadn’t lasted long enough for her, but she was wasting her time and she was heavy. I closed my eyes, trying to stay awake. I felt her hair on my face. There was a noise and her head hit mine. Her breath rushed out in one stale puff and I felt something dripping on my cheek.

I focused my eyes. Carnehan was standing over us, his nightstick raised. I couldn’t move Margaret’s dead weight. “Carnehan! Don’t!” I yelled. The stick came down. I remembered I hadn’t locked the door.

When I came out of it, it was dark. I was in a moving car. My head hurt and the car sounded as if it were driving in the bottom of a well. I could feel dried blood in my left eye; maybe mine or maybe Margaret’s. I tried to wipe it away but my hands wouldn’t move. I heard the clink of handcuffs and felt the door handle. My head was leaning against the glass. It felt cool. I opened my eyes and saw brush going past and a sea of lights spread out below. I could see a dozen fires burning. We must be somewhere in the Hollywood Hills.

I turned my head and looked at Camehan driving the car. He stared straight ahead. “Camehan, what do you think you’re doing?” The words didn’t come out as forcefully as I had intended. He ignored me. “Camehan, Margaret doesn’t mean anything to me.” That was the wrong thing to say. Think straight! “She’s not worth it, Camehan. I’m not worth it. Neither of us is worth destroying yourself!”

He wasn’t listening. “You can’t hope to get away with this.” Of course he didn’t. “Why don’t you just write it off as a mistake?”

The car had been bouncing around for a while. We must not have been on a main road. I couldn’t raise myself high enough to see ahead. After a bit Camehan stopped the car and got out. He opened the back door on my side and began dragging out Margaret’s naked body. She must have been already dead, the way she flopped around like a rubber dummy. He dragged her a few feet from the car and rolled her down a hill. I could hear her crackling the brush, then silence.

Camehan opened my door and the handcuffs pulled me out. I felt sharp rocks digging into my butt and realized I was naked too. He pulled out his revolver.

“Camehan! Don’t be a fool!”

He shot me in the stomach. Good old Camehan. He remembered what we’d been taught: always aim for the gut.

He unlocked the handcuffs and pulled me to the edge. All I had to do was overpower him and get away, but I decided to wait because I was very tired. I rolled down the hill like a sack of potatoes. I didn’t feel the prickly pears and sharp brush. The pain in my belly was too fierce. I hit something hard and I think my shoulder broke.

I was lying on my back, my head leaning against whatever I’d hit, looking back up the hill. The car drove away. Camehan, you bungler! I’m not dead! You wasted it all!

The sound of the car died away. It was very quiet, just crickets and the faroff rumble of traffic. You couldn’t get away from that sound anywhere in Los Angeles County. A slight wind was blowing, making some loose sheet metal creak and groan somewhere near by.

I couldn’t just lie here. I was bound to die if I didn’t get help. I tried to move and looked up. An immense “Y” loomed over me. I was under the Hollywood sign. I couldn’t see Margaret anywhere. Let me rest a moment more and get my breath back. Damn fuckin’ Camehan. Are you gonna be surprised when they haul you in and I’m there to point the finger. I looked down at my stomach. A mistake. But it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. I must be in shock. I’ve heard that happens.