Descending Road - THE FOOTSTEPS RECEDED by Dana W. Paxson

THE FOOTSTEPS RECEDED

1563 4D

Rattling and scuffling ahead brought his sidearm up before he thought of it. He had moved out of range of the wall-stuck chemtorch. Finding one of his own, he snapped it and tossed it forward, stepping aside and crouching as it left his hand. As its light blazed, a volley of metal flashed through the space he had just vacated, clanking and tinkling to the stone behind him. Orbs and sparkles of ornament flashed ahead; he raised his sidearm and fired twice, low, and then moved again, hearing a gasp and many running feet. A few flicks of light, and silence returned, punctuated now only by the far-off thuds and booms.

He waited many excited breaths, listening and watching, then moved forward to where the light showed a large heap tumbled on the understreet. Angie‘s farewell to his bloodstream had raised his awareness to hypervigilance. The green illumination showed a large female figure flat on its back, its clothing torn. The thin body of a child lay belly down across it, a huge bullet exit wound cratering its back. A little girl, a long knife still in her hand, her hair tied in knots at the top of her head.

Was it Janny? In horror, Andrew flipped the child’s body over. Dropping his gun, he clutched the face in both hands and raised it to better light, holding it close to his own as he shook. Its closed eyes trickled wetness; blood leaked from its slack mouth; grime and paint marked its face. He couldn’t tell. Frantically he ripped away the child’s clothing to see its belly, blood soaking his hands. He rubbed and smeared at the blood, looking for Janny‘s skin markings, and found nothing.

Could it have been one of her friends, VeeVee or Billy T? He looked around wildly, groping in his memory for what the other two had looked like. His breath came in sobs.

A residence, its doorway a dark space, its streetwindow black and covered from inside, stared at him across the deserted street. It was familiar. He got up, held up his chemtorch and went into a large front room, then a hallway to three rear sleeping-chambers of equal size, and four smaller cubbies behind them, for bathing, washing, cooking and storage. The place had recently had tenants. Blankets and pads littered the floors, food and drink packages sat in neat stacks in the first rear chamber, a few images of wilderness forests decorated the main room’s walls, and databooks and datasheets lay in small heaps everywhere. An eerie feeling came over Andrew; he backed out into the street, remembering Engel, and studied the facade.

His mouth opened. He had found his long-ago first home with Leil, where Engel had been born, before he and Leil had had to move the family out and down to a larger place on 641. Who lived here now? Going back in, he picked up a databook and thumbed it in the dim light, seeing it start to glow with words and images. Only a foodplant catalog.

Home after home, storefront after storefront, deserted. Where was everybody? This level did not let out into adjacent zones; maybe they had all gone up or down a few levels, trying to get out and get to supplies and breathable air.

Here, just as he had noted near the Complex, the overheated air hung still, and stank with sewage and burning rot. The lifts in this sector might be gone, since their power came from the same sources as the now-isolated zone itself.

Or maybe they had just been relocated out.

His torch flew from his hand into a stairwell. The blow against his back threw him on his face on the stone street. A young man’s voice said, “Guns. Great. That’ll help. This guy’s got a load.”

“Uh-huh.” As hands quickly emptied his coverall pockets, Andrew, still partly stunned, tried to raise his head.

“Down, old man,” the first voice said. A burning pain assailed Andrew‘s ribs on his left side. He lowered his head again. “That’s a reminder. Don’t get up until you can’t hear us.” He lay still, feeling a growing warm moist spot under his waist.

The second voice said, “That’s enough.” The footsteps receded. A laugh. Andrew, exhausted and bleeding, closed his eyes. Engel.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	THE FOOTSTEPS RECEDED 1563 4D Rattling and scuffling ahead brought his sidearm up before he thought of it. He had moved out of range of the wall-stuck chemtorch. Finding one of his own, he snapped it and tossed it forward, stepping aside and crouching as it left his hand. As its light blazed, a volley of metal flashed through the space he had just vacated, clanking and tinkling to the stone behind him. Orbs and sparkles of ornament flashed ahead; he raised his sidearm and fired twice, low, and then moved again, hearing a gasp and many running feet. A few flicks of light, and silence returned, punctuated now only by the far-off thuds and booms. He waited many excited breaths, listening and watching, then moved forward to where the light showed a large heap tumbled on the understreet. Angie‘s farewell to his bloodstream had raised his awareness to hypervigilance. The green illumination showed a large female figure flat on its back, its clothing torn. The thin body of a child lay belly down across it, a huge bullet exit wound cratering its back. A little girl, a long knife still in her hand, her hair tied in knots at the top of her head. Was it Janny? In horror, Andrew flipped the child’s body over. Dropping his gun, he clutched the face in both hands and raised it to better light, holding it close to his own as he shook. Its closed eyes trickled wetness; blood leaked from its slack mouth; grime and paint marked its face. He couldn’t tell. Frantically he ripped away the child’s clothing to see its belly, blood soaking his hands. He rubbed and smeared at the blood, looking for Janny‘s skin markings, and found nothing. Could it have been one of her friends, VeeVee or Billy T? He looked around wildly, groping in his memory for what the other two had looked like. His breath came in sobs. A residence, its doorway a dark space, its streetwindow black and covered from inside, stared at him across the deserted street. It was familiar. He got up, held up his chemtorch and went into a large front room, then a hallway to three rear sleeping-chambers of equal size, and four smaller cubbies behind them, for bathing, washing, cooking and storage. The place had recently had tenants. Blankets and pads littered the floors, food and drink packages sat in neat stacks in the first rear chamber, a few images of wilderness forests decorated the main room’s walls, and databooks and datasheets lay in small heaps everywhere. An eerie feeling came over Andrew; he backed out into the street, remembering Engel, and studied the facade. His mouth opened. He had found his long-ago first home with Leil, where Engel had been born, before he and Leil had had to move the family out and down to a larger place on 641. Who lived here now? Going back in, he picked up a databook and thumbed it in the dim light, seeing it start to glow with words and images. Only a foodplant catalog. Home after home, storefront after storefront, deserted. Where was everybody? This level did not let out into adjacent zones; maybe they had all gone up or down a few levels, trying to get out and get to supplies and breathable air. Here, just as he had noted near the Complex, the overheated air hung still, and stank with sewage and burning rot. The lifts in this sector might be gone, since their power came from the same sources as the now-isolated zone itself. Or maybe they had just been relocated out. His torch flew from his hand into a stairwell. The blow against his back threw him on his face on the stone street. A young man’s voice said, “Guns. Great. That’ll help. This guy’s got a load.” “Uh-huh.” As hands quickly emptied his coverall pockets, Andrew, still partly stunned, tried to raise his head. “Down, old man,” the first voice said. A burning pain assailed Andrew‘s ribs on his left side. He lowered his head again. “That’s a reminder. Don’t get up until you can’t hear us.” He lay still, feeling a growing warm moist spot under his waist. The second voice said, “That’s enough.” The footsteps receded. A laugh. Andrew, exhausted and bleeding, closed his eyes. Engel.