Wastelands: Stories of the Apocalipse

"What highway? There’s no highway out there anywhere. At least none that I’ve seen."

The cigar tip brightened and dimmed. "Oh, my. It must be a long time." She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. "Winston, I really don’t understand much of this conversation."

"Nor do I." His eyes looked deep into hers. "What is this Haven?" She was shocked at his ignorance. "You are not serious."

"I am quite serious. Please enlighten me."

Well, after all he was living out here in the wilderness. How could she expect him to know such things? "Haven was the home of Abraham Polk," she said hopefully.

Winston shook his head sheepishly. "Try again," he said.

"Polk lived at the end of the age of the Road makers. He knew the world was collapsing, that the cities were dying. He saved what he could. The treasures. The knowledge. The history. Everything. And he stored it in a fortress with an undersea entrance."

"An undersea entrance," said Winston. "How do you propose to get in?"

"I don’t think we shall," said Chaka. "I believe we will give it up at this point and go home."

Winston nodded. "The fire’s getting low," he said.

She poked at it, and added a log. "No one even knows whether Polk really lived. He may only be a legend."

Light filled the grotto entrance. Seconds later, thunder rumbled. "Haven sounds quite a lot like Camelot," he said.

What the devil was Camelot?

"You’ve implied," he continued after taking a moment to enjoy his weed, "that the world outside is in ruins."

"Oh, no. The world outside is lovely."

"But there are ruins?"

"Yes."

"Extensive?"

"They fill the forests, clog the rivers, lie in the shallow waters of the harbours. They are everywhere. Some are even active, in strange ways. There is, for example, a train that still runs, on which no one rides."

"And what do you know of their builders?"

She shrugged. "Very little. Almost nothing."

"Their secrets are locked in this Haven?"

"Yes."

"Which you are about to turn your back on."

"We’re exhausted, Winston."

"Your driving curiosity, Chaka, leaves me breathless."

Damn. "Look, its easy enough for you to point a finger. You have no idea what we’ve been through. None."

Winston stared steadily at her. "I’m sure I don’t. But the prize is very great. And the sea is close."

"There are only two of us left," she said.

"The turnings of history are never directed by crowds," he said. "Nor by the cautious. Always, it is the lone captain who sets the course."

"It’s over. We’ll be lucky to get home alive."

"That may also be true. And certainly going on to your goal entails a great risk. But you must decide whether the prize is not worth the risk."

"We will decide. I have a partner in the enterprise."

"He will abide by your decision. It is up to you."

She tried to hold angry tears back. "We’ve done enough. It would be unreasonable to go on."

"The value of reason is often exaggerated, Chaka. It would have been reasonable to accept Hitler’s offer of terms in 1940."

"What?"

He waved the question away. "It’s of no consequence. But reason, under pressure, usually produces prudence when boldness is called for."

"I am not a coward, Winston."

"I did not imply you are." He bit down hard on his weed. A blue cloud drifted toward her. It hurt her eyes and she backed away.

"Are you a ghost?" she asked. The question did not seem at all foolish.

"I suspect I am. I’m something left behind by the retreating tide." The fire glowed in his eyes. "I wonder whether, when an event is no longer remembered by any living person, it loses all significance. Whether it is as if it never happened?"

Quait stirred in his sleep, but did not wake.

"I’m sure I don’t know," said Chaka.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Winston got to his feet. "I’m not comfortable here," he said. She thought he was expressing displeasure with her.

"The floor is hard on an old man. And of course you are right: you must decide whether you will go on. Camelot was a never-never land. Its chief value lay in the fact that it existed only as an idea. Perhaps the same thing is true of Haven."

"No," she said. "It exists."

"And is anyone else looking for this place?"

"No one. We will be the second mission to fail. I think there will be no more."

"Then for God’s sake, Chaka of Illyria, you must ask yourself why you came all this way. Why your companions died. What you seek."

"Money. Pure and simple. Ancient manuscripts are priceless. We’d have been famous throughout the League. That’s why we came."

His eyes grew thoughtful. "Then go back," he said. "If this is a purely commercial venture, write it off and put your money in real estate."

"Beg pardon?"

"But I would put it to you that those are not the reasons you dared so much. And that you wish to turn back because you have forgot, why you came."

"That’s not so," she said.