MaddAddam

  "And the women who can't say no. That colour-coded hormonal thing, you have to admire it," says Zunzuncito.

  "As a meat-computer set of problems to be solved, it was an intriguing challenge," says Ivory Bill, turning his attention to Toby. "Let me elucidate." He's talking as if they're all at a graduate seminar, while cutting his greens into small, even squares. "For instance, the rabbit gizzard, and the baboon platform for certain chromatic features of the reproductive system --"

  "The part where they turn blue," says Zunzuncito helpfully to Toby.

  "I was doing the chemical composition of the urine," says Tamaraw. "The carnivore-deterrent element. Hard to test at the Paradice Project - we didn't have any carnivores."

  "I was working on the voice box: now that was complex," says Manatee.

  "Too bad you didn't code in a Cancel button for the singing," says Ivory Bill. "It gets on the nerves."

  "The singing was not my idea," says Manatee sulkily. "We couldn't erase it without turning them into zucchinis."

  "I have a question," says Toby. They turn and look at her, as if surprised that she's spoken.

  "Yes, dear lady?" says Ivory Bill.

  "They want me to tell them a story," says Toby. "About being made by Crake. But who do they think Crake was, and how do they think he made them? What were they told about that, back in the Paradice dome?"

  "They think Crake is some sort of a god," says Crozier. "But they don't know what he looks like."

  "How do you know that?" says Ivory Bill. "You weren't in Paradice with us."

  "Because they fucking told me," says Crozier. "I'm their pal now. I even get to piss with them. It's, like, an honour."

  "Good thing they can't ever meet Crake," says Tamaraw.

  "No shit," says Swift Fox, who has now joined them. "They'd take one look at their lunatic of a creator and jump off a skyscraper. If there were still any skyscrapers to jump off," she adds morosely. She makes a show of yawning, stretching her arms up and behind her head, thrusting her breasts up and out. Her straw-coloured hair is pulled into a high ponytail, held in place by a powder-blue crocheted scrunchie. Her bedsheet has a dainty border of daisies and butterflies, cinched at the waist with a wide red belt. It's a startling touch: angel cloud meets butcher's cleaver.

  "No point in repining, fair lady," says Ivory Bill, switching his gaze from Toby to Swift Fox. He'll be even more pompous, thinks Toby, once the beard he's working on grows in. "Carpe diem. Take every moment as it comes. Gather ye rosebuds." He smiles, a demi-leer; his eyes move down to the red belt. Swift Fox stares at him blankly.

  "Tell them a happy story," says Manatee. "Vague on the details. Crake's girlfriend, Oryx, used to do that sort of thing in Paradice, it kept them placid. I just hope that fucker Crake doesn't start performing miracles from beyond the grave."

  "Like turning everything to diarrhea," says Swift Fox. "Oh, excuse me, he's already done that. Is there any coffee?"

  "Alas," says Ivory Bill, "we are bereft of coffee, dear lady."

  "Rebecca says she has to roast some kind of root," says Manatee.

  "And there won't be any real cream for it when we do get it," says Swift Fox. "Only sheep goo. It's enough to make you ice-pick your own temples."

  The light is fading now, the moths are flying, dusky pink, dusky grey, dusky blue. The Crakers have gathered around Jimmy's hammock. This is where they want Toby to tell the story about Crake and how they came out of the Egg.

  Snowman-the-Jimmy wants to listen to the story too, they say. Never mind that he's unconscious: they're convinced he can hear it.

  They already know the story, but the important thing seems to be that Toby must tell it. She must make a show of eating the fish they've brought, charred on the outside and wrapped in leaves. She must put on Jimmy's ratty red baseball cap and his faceless watch and raise the watch to her ear. She must begin at the beginning, she must preside over the creation, she must make it rain. She must clear away the chaos, she must lead them out of the Egg and shepherd them down to the seashore.

  At the end, they want to hear about the two bad men, and the campfire in the forest, and the soup with a smelly bone in it: they're obsessed by that bone. Then she must tell about how they themselves untied the men, and how the two bad men ran away into the forest, and how they may come back at any time and do more bad things. That part makes them sad, but they insist on hearing it anyway.

  Once Toby has made her way through the story, they urge her to tell it again, then again. They prompt, they interrupt, they fill in the parts she's missed. What they want from her is a seamless performance, as well as more information than she either knows or can invent. She's a poor substitute for Snowman-the-Jimmy, but they're doing what they can to polish her up.

  She's just at the part where Crake is clearing away the chaos for the third time when their heads all turn at once. They sniff the air. "Men are coming, Oh Toby," they say.

  "Men?" she says. "The two men who ran away? Where?"

  "No, not the ones who smell of blood."

  "Other men. More than two. We must greet them." They all stand up.

  Toby looks where they're looking. There are four - four silhouettes, coming nearer along the cluttered street that borders the cobb-house parkette. Their headlamps are on. Four dark outlines, each bringing a shining light.

  Toby feels her body unclench, feels air flowing into her in a long, soundless breath. Can a heart leap? Can a person be dizzy with relief?

  "Oh Toby, are you crying?"

  Homecoming

  It's Zeb. Her wish come true. Larger and shaggier than she remembers, and - although it's only been days since Toby last saw him - older. More bowed down. What's happened?

  Black Rhino and Shackleton and Katuro are with him. Now that she's closer she can see how tired they are. They're setting down their packs, and the others are crowding around: Rebecca, Ivory Bill, Swift Fox, Beluga; Manatee, Tamaraw, Zunzuncito, White Sedge; Crozier and Ren and Lotis Blue; even Amanda, hanging back from the group.

  Everyone's talking; or all the human people are. The Crakers stay on the sidelines, clustered together, eyes big, watching. Ren is crying and hugging Zeb, which is in order: he is, after all, her stepfather. When they were at the Gardeners, Zeb had lived for a time with Ren's luscious mother, Lucerne, who hadn't appreciated him, thinks Toby.

  "It's okay," Zeb tells Ren. "Look! You got Amanda back!" He extends an arm; Amanda lets herself be touched.

  "It was Toby," says Ren. "She had her gun."

  Toby waits, then moves forward. "Good work, sharpshooter," Zeb says to her, even though she didn't shoot anyone.

  "You didn't find them?" Toby asks. "Adam One and ..."

  Zeb gives her a sombre look. "Not Adam One," he says. "But we found Philo."

  The others lean in to listen. "Philo?" says Swift Fox.

  "Old Gardener," says Rebecca. "He smoked a lot of ... he liked the Vision Quests. He stayed with Adam One, back when the Gardeners split up. Where was he?" They all understand from Zeb's face that Philo was not alive.

  "There were a bunch of vultures on top of a parking garage, so we went up to take a look," says Shackleton. "Near the old Wellness Clinic."

  "Where we used to go to school?" says Ren.

  "Quite fresh," says Black Rhino. Which means, thinks Toby, that at least some of the missing Gardeners survived the first wave of the plague.

  "None of the others?" she says. "Nobody else? Was it the ... was he sick?"

  "No sign of them," says Zeb. "But I'm guessing they're still out there. Adam could be. Food handy? I could eat a bear." Which means he doesn't want to answer Toby right now.

  "He eats a bear!" the Crakers say to one another. "Yes! It is as Crozier told us!" "Zeb eats a bear!"

  Zeb nods towards the Crakers, who are gazing at him uncertainly. "I see we've got company."

  "This is Zeb," Toby tells the Crakers. "He is our friend."

  "We are pleased, Oh Zeb. Greetings."

  "He is t
he one, he is the one! Crozier told us." "He eats a bear!" "Yes. We are pleased." Tentative smiles. "What is a bear, Oh Zeb - this bear you eat?" "Is it a fish?" "Does it have a smelly bone?"

  "They came with us," says Toby. "From the shore. We couldn't stop them, they wanted to be with Jimmy. With Snowman. That's what they call Jimmy."

  "Crake's buddy?" says Zeb. "From the Paradice Project?"

  "Long story," says Toby. "You should eat."

  There's some leftover stew; Manatee goes to get it. The Crakers withdraw to a safe distance; they don't like to be too close to the odours of carnivore cookery. Shackleton wolfs down his stew and moves off to sit with Ren and Amanda and Crozier and Lotis Blue. Black Rhino has two helpings, then goes to take a shower. Katuro says he'll help Rebecca sort out the contents of the packs: they've gleaned more soydines and some duct tape, and a few packs of freeze-dried ChickieNobs, and some Joltbars, and another package of Oreo cookies. A miracle, says Rebecca. It's hard to find any packaged cookies unchewed by rodents.

  "Let's check out the garden," Zeb says to Toby. Toby's heart sinks: there must be bad news he wants to break privately.

  The fireflies are coming out. The lavender and thyme are in bloom, releasing their airborne flavours. A few self-seeded lumiroses glimmer along the edges of the fence; several of the shimmering green rabbits are nibbling at their bottom leaves. Giant grey moths drift like blown ash.

  "It wasn't the plague that killed Philo," says Zeb. "Someone cut his throat."

  "Oh," says Toby. "I see."

  "Then we saw the Painballers," says Zeb. "The same ones that grabbed Amanda. They were gutting one of those giant pigs. We took a few shots, but they ran off. So we stopped looking for Adam and got back here as fast as we could, because they might be anywhere around here."

  "I'm sorry," says Toby.

  "About what?" says Zeb.

  "We caught them, night before last," she says. "We tied them to a tree. But I didn't kill them. It was Saint Julian's, I just couldn't. They got away, they took their spraygun."

  She's crying now. This is pathetic, like baby mice, blind and pink and whimpering. It's not what she does. But she's doing it.

  "Hey," says Zeb. "It'll be fine."

  "No," says Toby. "It won't be fine." She turns away to leave: if she's going to snivel, she should do it alone. Alone is how she feels, alone is how she'll always be. You're used to solitude, she tells herself. Be a stoic.

  Then she's enfolded.

  She'd waited so long, she'd given up waiting. She'd longed for this, and denied it was possible. But now how easy it is, like coming home must have been once, for those who'd had homes. Walking through the doorway into the familiar, the place that knows you, opens to you, allows you in. Tells you the stories you've needed to hear. Stories of the hands as well, and of the mouth.

  I've missed you. Who said that?

  A shape against the night window, glint of an eye. Dark heartbeat.

  Yes. At last. It's you.

  Bearlift

  The Story of when Zeb was lost in the Mountains, and ate the Bear

  And so Crake poured away the chaos, to make a safe place where you could live. And then ...

  We know the story of Crake. We know it many times. Now tell us the story of Zeb, Oh Toby.

  The story of how Zeb ate a bear!

  Yes! Ate a bear! A bear! What is a bear?

  We want to hear the story of Zeb. And the bear. The bear he ate.

  Crake wants us to hear it. If Snowman-the-Jimmy was awake, he would tell us that story.

  Well then. Let me listen to the shiny thing of Snowman-the-Jimmy. Then I can hear the words.

  I am listening very hard. It doesn't help me to listen when you are singing.

  So. This is the story of Zeb and the bear. Only Zeb is in the story at first. He is all alone. The bear comes later. Maybe tomorrow the bear will come. For bears to come, you must be patient.

  Zeb was lost. He sat down under a tree. The tree was in a big open space, wide and flat, like the beach except there was no sand and no sea, only some chilly pools and a lot of moss. All around but quite far away, there were mountains.

  How did he get there? He flew there, in a ... never mind. That part is in a different story. No, he cannot fly like a bird. Not any more.

  Mountains? Mountains are very large and high rocks. No, those are not mountains, those are buildings. Buildings fall down, and then they make a crash. Mountains fall down too, but they do it very slowly. No, the mountains did not fall down on Zeb.

  So Zeb looked at the mountains that were all around him but quite far away, and he thought, How will I get through these mountains? They are so large and high.

  He needed to get through the mountains because the people were on the other side. He wanted to be with the people. He didn't want to be all alone. Nobody wants to be all alone, do they?

  No, they were not people like you. They had clothes on. A lot of clothes, because it was cold there. Yes, it was in the time of the chaos, before Crake poured it all away.

  So Zeb looked at the mountains and the pools and the moss, and he thought, What will I eat? And then he thought, Those mountains have a lot of bears living in them.

  A bear is a very big, fur-covered animal with big claws and many sharp teeth. Bigger than a bobkitten. Bigger than a wolvog. Bigger than a pigoon. This big.

  It speaks with a growl. It gets very hungry. It tears things apart.

  Yes, bears are the Children of Oryx. I don't know why she made them so big, with very sharp teeth.

  Yes, we must be kind to them. The best way of being kind to bears is not to be very close to them.

  I don't think there are any bears very close to us right now.

  And Zeb thought, Maybe a bear has smelled me, and maybe it is coming right now, because it is hungry, it is starving, and it wants to eat me. And I will have to fight the bear, and all I have is this quite small knife, and this stick that can make holes in things. And I will have to win the fight, and kill the bear, and then I will have to eat it.

  The bear will come into the story quite soon.

  Yes, Zeb will win the fight. Zeb always wins the fight. Because that's what happens.

  Yes, he knew Oryx would be sad. Zeb felt sorry for the bear. He didn't want to hurt it. But he didn't want to be eaten by it. You don't want to be eaten by a bear, do you? Neither do I.

  Because bears can't eat only leaves. Because it would make them sick.

  Anyway, if Zeb didn't eat the bear he would have died, and then he wouldn't be here with us right now. And that would be a sad thing too, wouldn't it?

  If you don't stop crying I can't go on with the story.

  The Fur Trade

  There's the story, then there's the real story, then there's the story of how the story came to be told. Then there's what you leave out of the story. Which is part of the story too.

  In the story of Zeb and the bear, Toby has left out the dead man, whose name was Chuck. He, too, was lost among the pools and moss and mountains and bears. He, too, did not know the way out. It's unfair to deny him a mention, erase him from time, but putting him into the story would cause more knots and tangles than Toby is prepared to deal with. For instance, she doesn't yet know how this dead man wormed his way into the story in the first place.

  "Too bad the fucker died," says Zeb. "I'd have twisted it out of him."

  "It?"

  "Who hired him. What they wanted. Where he would have taken me."

  "Died is a euphemism, I take it. He didn't have a heart attack," says Toby.

  "Don't be harsh. You know what I mean."

  Zeb was lost. He sat down under a tree.

  Or not lost completely. He did have a rough idea of where he was: he was somewhere on the Mackenzie Mountain Barrens, hundreds of miles from anywhere with fast food. And not under a tree, more like beside, and not a tree exactly, more like a shrub; though not bushy, more like spindly. A spindly kind of spruce. He noticed the details of the trunk, the small
dead underbranches, the grey lichen on it, frilly and intricate and see-through, like whores' underpants.

  "What do you know about whore's underpants?" says Toby.

  "More than you want me to," says Zeb. "So. When you focus on details like that - close up, really clear, totally useless - you know you're in shock."

  The AOH 'thopter was still smouldering. Lucky he got clear before it burst, or before the blimp component did, and thank shit the digital release on the seatbelts had still been working: otherwise he'd have been dead.

  Chuck was lying belly down on the tundra, his head at a sick angle, peering over his own shoulder one-eighty degrees, like an owl. Not looking at Zeb, though. Looking up at the sky. No angels there, or none had showed up yet.

  Blood was coming from somewhere on the top of Zeb's head, he could feel the warmth trickling down. Scalp wound. Not dangerous, but they bleed a lot. Your head's the most shallow part of you, his sociopath of a father had been in the habit of saying. Except for your brain. And your soul, supposing you've been blessed with one, which I doubt. The Rev had been a big cheerleader for souls, in addition to which he thought he was the boss of them.

  Now Zeb found himself wondering if Chuck had a soul, and if it was still hovering over his body like a feeble smell. "Chuck, you stupid fuck," Zeb said out loud. If he'd been given a brief to kidnap himself on behalf of the brainscrapers, he'd have done a way better job of it than Chuck had, the fuckwit.

  Too bad Chuck was dead, in a way - he must've had some good sides to him, maybe he liked puppies - but now there was one less asshole in the world, and wasn't that a plus? A checkmark in the column of the forces of light. Or darkness, depending on who was doing the double-entry moral accounting.

  Though Chuck hadn't been an ordinary asshole; not grouchy, not aggressive, not like Zeb himself on his asshole setting. Too much the other way. Too friendly, too eager to be on message, man is obsolete, dooming ourselves to extinction, restore the balance of nature and babble babble, he overdid it so much that he sounded preposterous, and in an outfit like Bearlift, with its full quota of preposterous green-hued furfuckers, that took some effort.

  They weren't all furfuckers, however: some claimed to be along for the challenge. Adventurous, devil-may-care, no strings on me, tattoo-upholstered, with greasy ponytails like bikers in old movies - boundary-pushing muscle-flexers, boot soles a little too hot for ordinary strolling. That was how Zeb had positioned himself: bulked up on natural steroids, do what had to be done, could take the pace, wings on the ankles, needed the money, liked the shadowy rimlands where nobody official could stick their tentacles into your back pocket, within which the contents of other people's hacked bank accounts might be bashfully lurking.