Exurbia: A Novel About Caterpillars (An Infinite Triptych Book 1) Read Free Page A

towering stone fortification set centrally between a ring of pines. I will have myself cremated , thought the Zdrastian. To think that Governance buried their dead there, all laid out in lines probably, like sleeping soldiers in a barracks tent. To think they relegated the bodies to such a place. Yes, cremated. That way I need never end up in such a quiet stone box. Fortmann took a lever bar from his pack and broke the bolt on the main door. It yawned open, more dark inside.
    ‘Though I know the world may be set in its way, ’  the Zdrastian mumbled.
    ‘No,’ said Fortmann. ‘There’s no call for prayers.’
    He threw a caprigobe out into the black. It sparked a few times and ignited, suspended a few feet from the ground and dusting the inner walls of the tomb with a gentle cerulean blue. Mr. Covert Woof marvelled at the light for a moment then nibbled at a paw.
    ‘Dr. Kliment now, yes?’ said the Zdrastian.
    ‘Quite right,’ said Fortmann. ‘The map said the non-militaries are kept in a side chamber.’
    Kept, thought the Zdrastian. You keep the peace. Or kestrels, or jam, or quiet. You don’t keep the dead. They serve no purpose.
    The capriglobe illuminated the crevices now as it moved with them, niches cut into the walls where nondescript caskets lay. Fortmann took a right at an intersection and the Zdrastian followed with the dog. The hall gave way to an opening, the back wall way beyond the light of the capriglobe.
    ‘Dr. Kliment,’ said the Zdrastian again. A few of the caskets bore labels now, the names preceded with official titles, Deputy Supervisor, Quarter Tersh, Agglutinator.
    ‘Dr. Kliment,’ said Fortmann then, pointing to a casket isolated from the others. ‘Would you care to?’ He proffered the lever bar. ‘For training purposes?’
    ‘You said you would! We agreed!’
    Fortmann nodded stoically and grabbed at one end of the casket, dragging it out onto the ledge towards them. The lid came off with minimal pressure. The Zdrastian swallowed and took a step forward. Alter this day in the most peaceful direction . Fortmann reached in without ceremony, lines in his brow now, illuminated baby blue by the capriglobe.
    ‘The raviner,’ he said. The Zdrastian took the tool from the apparat pack and handed it across. He saw them both from the outside, he could not help it; watching as a child might from behind a sofa. Two adjacent figures garbed in military black, working in the dark and a dog watching impartially from a laying position. Ideology puts humans in rather queer situations. The Zdrastian took another step towards the casket. The corpse's nose was visible now, protruding from the box like a pink shark fin. Dr. Kliment. Dead and kept here.
    Fortmann plunged the raviner into Kliment's forehead and began to drag the levers apart. The skull gave way reluctantly, opening with a muffle that reverberated all about the chamber. The Zdrastian thought of a cat he had owned once in his adolescence, the cat that had brought in mice every day and insisted on eating them by the fire. Muted crunches from the animal's mouth as it chewed the bones, not unlike the noises the raviner made now. Fortmann reached an ungloved hand into the orifice. The dog was interested. Perhaps , thought the Zdrastian, it is the smell.
    ‘Behind the medulla oblongata,’ said the Zdrastian.
    ‘Quite right.’
    Fortmann’s elbows disappeared into the casket along with his arms, alternating up and down as though kneading dough. He paused, squinted in the capriglobe light, and pulled with a sudden explosive motion.
    ‘You have it, yes?’ said the Zdrastian. ‘Yes?’
    Fortmann nodded. He raised a hand triumphantly, the fingertips glazed in red and solid patches of something not unlike gelatine. Set between the thumb and index finger was a grey mass the size of a sugar cube, electrode wires dangling like inert shrimp whiskers. He patted the Zdrastian’s shoulder with the unbloodied hand and smirked. Then he raised the