Brian Evenson - Immobility

“On the count of three,” said one of them, the one nearest his head. “One,” he said. “Two. Three.” And simultaneously they lifted him off the ground.

Pain shot through his body. His chest felt like it was being torn apart, and then he could no longer breathe. His head filled with light and he was gone.

HE WAS LYING NAKED on a bare concrete floor in a dim light, staring at a pile of bloody clothes that it took him a moment to recognize as his own. He smelled something familiar. At first he couldn’t place it, then realized it was the smell of a cigarette. He flicked his eyes past them, saw the two hazard suits hanging from a hook on a bare concrete wall. He touched his chest where he had been shot, but felt no scar, only a smooth, slightly softer place where the bullet had gone in. He lifted his hand, stared at it, didn’t see any blood.

“You are healing still,” said a voice, “but you are alive.”

He turned his head, saw the two mules sitting at the base of the wall to the other side of him. It was strange to see them out of their suits. They sat there in the exact same way, knees up and hands resting on them, their heads leaning back against the wall. Between them fluttered the flame of a candle. One of them was smoking, a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth.

“Where did you find that?” asked Horkai.

“The rogue had some,” said the mule. “Don’t know where he got them. They’re old, but not too old. Someone’s growing stuff somewhere.” He took the cigarette out of the side of his mouth, stared at it. “Not bad,” he said. “We saw a video about them but have never tried them. A little harsh, but I can see how you would get used to it.”

“You learned about cigarettes, but they didn’t teach you what a farm was?”

The mule shrugged. “Apparently there are still cigarettes,” he said, holding his up. “There aren’t still farms.”

“I don’t like them,” claimed the other. “Filthy habit.”

“You’re just repeating what you heard in the video,” said the mule.

“Which one of you is which?” Horkai asked.

“You still can’t tell us apart?” asked the one not smoking.

“Please,” he said. “I’ve been shot.”

The mule who had spoken first sighed. “I’m Qatik,” he said. “I will let you sort out who that other one is.”

“Qanik,” said the other one, and waved his cigarette at him.

“You’re no fun,” said Qatik to him.

“What did you do with the body of the man who shot me?” asked Horkai.

“We left it as a warning,” Qatik said, and smirked.

Grunting, Horkai pulled himself up until he was sitting. He stared down at his chest. The hole that had been there was covered with a pliant layer of membrane, thick and semitransparent.

“What is this?” asked Horkai. “What’s on me?”

“Nothing is on you,” said Qanik. “That is you.”

“What do you mean it’s me?”

“Exactly what he says,” said Qatik. “You are different. It does not hurt you to be outside, and when you are injured, you heal very quickly.”

“It’s not natural,” said Horkai.

Qatik shrugged. “It is the way you are,” he said.

“Why?”

“Ah,” said Qanik. “The good old questions. Who am I? Where do I come from? Where am I going?”

“No,” said Horkai. “Just one question. Why am I the way I am? Why aren’t I dead?”

“This makes two questions,” said Qatik.

Horkai didn’t respond. He stared at the two mules, who simply stared back. Finally, Qatik shrugged again. “We do not know,” he said. He lifted his arm and rolled back his sleeve, then moved it so it was fully lit by the candle. The skin, Horkai saw, was mottled, covered with a sort of red rash, seeping slightly. There were bruises running underneath the skin as well, unless it was simply the way the shadows were cast.

“We, on the other hand,” Qatik said, “do not heal quickly.”

“WHERE ARE WE?” he asked once he had slipped back into his clothes, which were still stiff with dried blood.

“A shelter below the hospital,” said Qanik. “Nice solid concrete walls, very safe here. You can see why the rogue liked it.”

“Why do you call him a rogue?”

“Because it was just him,” said Qatik. “He is not in a hive.”

“If you are not in a hive, you are a rogue,” said Qanik. He stubbed out his cigarette on the concrete floor, reducing it to flinders that he then swept away. “If you are not part of a hive, you are nothing.”

“According to Rasmus, I imagine,” said Horkai.

Qanik nodded. “According to Rasmus,” he assented.

“It is safe here,” said Qatik again. “We were lucky. We found a nice place to stay and recover. If it had been another hive and they’d been hostile, we would be dead.”

“At least Qatik and I would,” said Qanik. “You might not be so lucky.”

“He did not shoot a hole in our suits,” said Qatik. “Instead he tried to shoot you. Our suits are still intact. We might still achieve our purpose.”

“But we have no food,” said Qanik.

“Yes,” admitted Qatik. “That is a problem. Though not as much of a problem as water. We have a little water still, but only because the rogue had some.”

“If it is all the same to you,” said Qanik, “we’d like to go now.”

“All right,” said Horkai. “We can go.”

HE BEGAN TO MOVE TOWARD THEM by sitting and dragging himself backwards. He was surprised when one of his legs seemed to twitch, though he didn’t feel anything. Maybe he was just imagining it, or his body had turned a bit.

He stopped and made a conscious effort to move the leg. It didn’t obey his command exactly, didn’t rise or change position, but did twitch again.

“Hey,” he said, “did you see that?”

“See what?” asked Qatik.

So he scooted around until they could see his legs better, then pointed to the one that had twitched, made it twitch again.

“It’s regaining movement,” said Horkai.

Qatik shook his head. “Start of a spasm,” he said.

“That is another thing,” said Qanik. “We were supposed to be gone only two days, three at most. It has been longer than that.”

“We weren’t told what to do,” said Qatik. “We have been sitting here talking about what steps to take to keep the disease from spreading up your spine until you have medication. And we came up with an idea.”

He held up a bone saw.

“We should have done this before you woke up,” said Qanik. “That was our plan. But it was hard to decide who would hold you and who would saw. And you woke up sooner than we thought.”

“Saw what?” said Horkai.

“Your spine,” said Qatik.

“You’re going to saw through my spine?” asked Horkai, his voice rising.

“This is for your own good,” Qanik explained patiently. “To stop the disease from spreading. The disease must not spread.”

“No, but—”

“All right, then,” interrupted Qanik. “We are in agreement.”

“If there was any other way,” said Qatik, “we would take it.”

“But how do you know that my body won’t fight off the disease?” asked Horkai.

“Same way as you,” said Qanik. “Rasmus told us.”

“But look at me,” said Horkai, speaking quickly. “I can be shot through the chest with a bullet, and after a few days I’m just fine. Why would a disease hurt me?”

Qanik shrugged. “Life is mysterious,” he said.

“Why don’t we just see?” asked Horkai. “Why don’t we wait and see if anything happens to me. Maybe I’ll be fine.”

“We can’t wait,” said Qanik. “We’re out of food. We have to go.”