Deadman

I stood there for a moment, and took the second bowl from him. “No.” I said as I closed the door and moved back to my table, taking a sip as I moved. The soup was warm, and good, but missing the radded out meat I preferred. My assumption was that the deadmen that lived in the human villages likely ate the same food as them, since the food in the outpost had had a more pleasant taste to it.

There was another knock on my door. I moved over to it, opening it to see Sampson still standing there, holding his own bowl. “I need to talk to you about the man you say was from our side of the Cut. May I come in.”

I nodded, taking another sip of my soup and opening the door further. I’d figured he had something he wanted from me other than my company, and I’d assumed this way I could wrestle it out of him without having to pretend at any social niceties. I particularly wanted to avoid any more physical contact with these Edenites if at all possible.

Sampson sat down at the table, appearing almost comically large in comparison to the chair he was sitting on, the table itself, and the bowl of soup he was holding. I sat across from him, my pistol aimed at his crotch under the table as I continued to drink my soup. The last deadman I’d seen mutated in this way was Pete, and he’d had a strong craving for the flesh of other deadmen. He’d also been able to shift between his larger and smaller stature at will which didn’t seem to be the case with Sampson, but I had no way of knowing for sure.

Sampson took a sip of his soup, clearing his throat with the broth. He moved with surprising grace for his size, and seemed to have more physical control than I’d seen from his counterpart at Pott’s.

“The man you met on the other side. What did he say to you?”

“Why do you want to know?” I asked, activating my lie detector ability.

He sighed. “I think he was a friend of mine. A dear one. I just want to know for sure if it was him.”

TRUTH, came the message in my vision.

I nodded slightly. “When he saw me he said something about being, ‘so close,’ to paradise. Then he spoke a poem, ‘Through the forest of teeth, across the metal wastes, walk without rhythm as you cross the abyss, they will notice you otherwise, the black sand whispers and seeks flame, do not give it what it wants. Follow this path and you will find paradise.’”

Sampson closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it out, when he opened his eyes again, they were wet with moisture, it was a strange sight on a face as fearsome as his. I ignored him, returning my attention to my food, and managing to finish it by the time he’d managed to collect himself.

“You really are from the other side of the Cut, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Is it true? Is paradise there?” He asked.

I paused, unsure of how to answer the question. “Who told you there was a paradise on the other side?” I asked.

“It is a legend, passed down, but forbidden to discuss. The First tells us that we fled the evils of the eastern side of the Cut to come here and build a true paradise, but there have always been stories…legends that we were actually exiled from our true paradise.”

“I don’t know that I would call it a paradise.”

Sampson's already sad expression drooped further as tears began to stream down his face. “I should not be surprised. I told Moze not to believe the old stories, and now it’s gotten him killed. I mean, domes of myriad colors, thousands of us living in harmony and safety with one another.”

I blinked. “I mean, those things do exist.”

Sampson wiped his face. “Truly? A city of our people?”

I nodded. “Yes, but I wouldn’t call it a paradise. Besides, you seem to have it pretty good right here.”

He nodded, still recovering, but confused. “Are you not safe from all harm there?”

“We’re safer than most, but people are still hurt or killed there,” memories of half eaten corpses flashed to the forefront of my mind, “sometimes even by one another.”

He shook his head and led out a bitter chuckle. “I suppose our ancestors may have remembered things a bit more fondly than they should’ve.”

I shrugged. “Humans do it all the time when they consider the old world, why would we be any different?”

“Be careful with notions like that one. It can be dangerous to consider the herd too similar to us…at least out loud. I’ve no issue with it, I’ve seen how capable they can be during my time at the gate, but others…our kind in villages like this in particular, will take great personal offense to it.” He paused for a moment, his expression becoming thoughtful. “I know not why you came here, and I feel it would be wise not to ask. Thank you for letting me know of Moze’s fate. He was a fool with a head full of stories, but I loved him nonetheless.” He stood, and walked out of the room without a word.

After the door was closed I slid my handgun back out from under the table and placed it on the top of it. That conversation had basically confirmed to me that Eden was started by the ones who’d been exiled from Pott’s near its founding. It seemed that they’d taken their differences and ran with them. The initial schism was based on whether to try and achieve a kind of symbiosis with humans or dominate them. Eden had clearly chosen the latter, and while there was a part of me that agreed with them, the methods they chose made my teeth itch. Our system was a difficult balancing act with us trying to maintain a mixture of respect and fear with the humans to keep our population growing, there’s seemed more like spinning a dozen plates, with active raids on humans, indoctrinating and controlling the ones on the inside, and even indoctrinating those deadmen raised within the society as well. They seemed to be managing without much trouble, but I had no way of knowing if what I was seeing was the whole truth, or simply what newcomers were meant to see. Even Pott’s hid elements of itself from the Deadmen that lived within it.

I finished my inventory, read a few chapters of my book by candlelight, and went to sleep. The bed was too soft for me, so I slept on the ground, though I did place the pillow under my head as a place to conceal my pistol while I slept. I slept lightly anticipating awaking at dawn,, but even with all the traveling I’d done recently, between my enhanced stamina and regenerative abilities, I still only needed about four hours before I was done, so was up before the sun. The short period of sleep was welcome. I’d been mercifully blessed with dreamless rest for most of my travels across the Cut, but that night I’d been besieged by images of canes wrapped in razor wire and pointed boots. When I woke the scars on my back ached and the are of the floor where one of my hands had rested now had a deep rend in it from me clawing at it in my sleep.

I sat up and drank some of the water that I’d been given the previous night, finding myself draining the entire pitcher in one sip. The heat I’d been experiencing still hadn’t faded, and I was starting to wonder if the discomfort it caused me would simply be my new normal. If so, I would adjust eventually. I always did.

A few hours later I heard footsteps outside my door. I smelled food and outside my door I found a simple breakfast of bread and cheese laid out along with a warm beverage that smelled similarly to the tea the deadmen in Pott’s brewed in their basements, but with a more woody flavor that reminded me of the smell of the trees that grew in the deadzone near Eden.

I ate, packed, drank, and waited. Eventually there was a knock on the door. I opened it to see Joseph and Sampson, themselves already dressed and ready for travel, though Joseph looked weary, as if the prospect of more walking was something he was dreading. In spite of that, once I opened the door all the way he shook off the expression and forced a smile, likely thinking I hadn’t noticed.

“Well Donovan, are you prepared for the rest of the journey? We should make it after a few short days of additional travel, although we will not have the comfort of a bed tonight.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, fairly certain he wouldn’t be.