“You must be exhausted,” Tamaraw said to Toby.
“I don’t know why you brought them with you,” said Swift Fox. “There’s too many of them. We can’t feed them.”
“We won’t have to,” said Manatee. “They eat leaves, remember? That’s how Crake designed them. So they’d never need agriculture.”
“Right,” said Swift Fox. “You worked on that module. Me, I did the brains. The frontal lobes, the sensory-input modifications. I tried to make them less boring, but Crake wanted no aggression, no jokes even. They’re walking potatoes.”
“They’re really nice,” said Ren. “Anyway, the women are.”
“I suppose the males wanted to mate with you; they’ll do that. Just don’t make me talk to them,” said Swift Fox. “I’m going back to bed. Night all, have fun with the vegetables.” She yawned and stretched, then sauntered slowly away.
“Why’s she so crabby?” said Manatee. “She’s been like that all day.”
“Hormones is my guess,” said Crozier. “Check out the nightie, though.”
“Too small on her,” said Manatee.
“You noticed,” said Crozier.
“Maybe she has other reasons for being crabby,” said Ren. “Women sometimes do, you know.”
“Sorry,” said Crozier, putting his arm around her.
Four of the Craker men detached themselves from the group and began to follow Swift Fox, blue penises waving back and forth. Somewhere they’d picked more flowers; they were starting to sing.
“No!” said Toby sharply, as if to dogs. “Stay here! With Snowman-the-Jimmy!” How to make it clear to them that, even with the aid of floral display and serenading and penis-wagging, they couldn’t just pile on to any young non-Craker woman who smelled available to them? But they’d already disappeared around the corner of the main house.
The two Craker carriers lowered Jimmy down. He slumped limply against their knees. “Where will Snowman-the-Jimmy be?” they asked. “Where can we purr for him?”
“He’ll need to be in a room by himself,” said Toby. “We’ll find a bed for him, and then I’ll get the medicine.”
“We will come with you,” they said. “We will purr.” They picked Jimmy up again, making a chair for him with their arms. The others crowded around.
“Not all of you,” said Toby. “He needs to be quiet.”
“He can have Croze’s room,” said Ren. “Can’t he, Croze?”
“Who’s that?” said Crozier, peering at Jimmy, whose head was lolling to one side, who was drooling into his beard, who was scratching fitfully at himself with one filthy hand through the pink fabric of the top-to-toe, and who noticeably stank. “Where’d you drag him in from? Why’s he wearing pink? He looks like a fucking ballerina!”
“It’s Jimmy,” said Ren. “Remember, I told you? My old boyfriend?”
“The one who messed you over? From high school? That child molester?”
“Don’t be like that,” said Ren. “I wasn’t really a child. He’s got a fever.”
“Don’t go, don’t go,” said Jimmy. “Come back to the tree!”
“You’re sticking up for him? After how he dumped you?”
“Yeah, right, but he’s kind of a hero now,” said Ren. “He helped save Amanda. He almost, you know, died.”
“Amanda,” said Croze. “I don’t see her. Where is she?”
“She’s over here,” said Ren, pointing to the group of Craker women surrounding Amanda, stroking her and purring gently. They moved aside to let Ren into their circle.
“That’s Amanda?” said Crozier. “No shit! She looks like …”
“Don’t say it,” said Ren, putting her arms around Amanda. “She’ll look a lot better tomorrow. Or next week, anyway.” Amanda started to cry.
“She’s gone,” said Jimmy. “She flew away. Pigoons.”
“Cripes,” said Crozier. “This is fucking weird.”
“Croze, everything is fucking weird,” said Ren.
“Okay, right, I’m sorry. I’m almost off sentry. Let’s …”
“I think I should help Toby,” said Ren. “At this moment.”
“Looks like I sleep on the ground, since that fuckwit’s tagged my bed,” Croze said to Manatee.
“Please grow up,” said Ren.
That’s all we need, thought Toby. Love’s young squabbles.
They carried Jimmy into Croze’s cubicle and laid him down on the bed. Toby asked two Craker women and Ren to aim the flashlights she’d got from the kitchen. Then she found her medical materials, on the shelf where she’d left them before setting off to find Amanda.
She did all she could for Jimmy: a sponge bath to get off the worst of the dirt; honey applied to the superficial cuts; mushroom elixir for the infection. Then Poppy and Willow, for the pain and for a restful sleep. And the small grey maggots, applied to the foot wound to nibble off the infected flesh. Judging from the smell, the maggots were just in time.
“What are those?” said one of the two Craker women, the tall one. “Why do you put those little animals on Snowman-the-Jimmy? Are they eating him?”
“It tickles,” said Jimmy. His eyes were half open; the Poppy was taking effect.
“Oryx sent them,” said Toby. That seemed to be a good answer, because they smiled. “They are called maggots,” she continued. “They are eating the pain.”
“What does the pain taste like, Oh Toby?”
“Should we eat the pain too?”
“If we ate the pain, that would help Snowman-the-Jimmy.”
“The pain smells very bad. Does it taste good?”
She should avoid metaphors. “The pain tastes good only to the maggots,” she said. “No. You should not eat the pain.”
“Will he be okay?” Ren said. “Has he got gangrene?”
“I hope not,” said Toby. The two Craker women placed their hands on him and began to purr.
“Falling,” said Jimmy. “Butterfly. She’s gone.”
Ren bent over him, brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Go to sleep, Jimmy,” she said. “We love you.”
Cobb House
Morning
Toby dreams that she’s in her little single bed, at home. Her stuffed lion is on the pillow beside her, and her big shaggy bear that plays a tune. Her antique piggy bank is on her desk, and the tablet she uses for her homework, and her felt-tip crayons, and her daisy-skinned cellphone. From the kitchen comes the sound of her mother’s voice, calling; her father, answering; the smell of eggs frying.
Inside this dream, she’s dreaming of animals. One is a pig, though six-legged; another is cat-like, with compound eyes like a fly. There’s a bear as well, but it has hooves. These animals are neither hostile nor friendly. Now the city outside is on fire, she can smell it; fear fills the air. Gone, gone, says a voice, like a bell tolling. One by one the animals come towards her and begin to lick her with their warm, raspy tongues.
At the edge of sleep, she gropes towards the retreating dream: the burning city, the messengers sent to warn her. That the world has been changed utterly; that the familiar is long dead; that everything she used to love has been swept away.
As Adam One used to say, The fate of Sodom is fast approaching. Suppress regret. Avoid the pillar of salt. Don’t look back.
She wakes to find a Mo’Hair licking her leg: a red-head, its long human hair braided into pigtails, each with a string bow: some sentimentalist among the MaddAddamites has been at work. It must have got out of the pen where they’re keeping them.