slot. It reminded him of the tomb in Jerusalem.
“What’s in there?” he asked. But Lia had already disappeared into the opening. Tucker took a deep breath and, with some difficulty, squeezed through into a tunnel only a few inches wider than the opening. It was pitch-black.
“Lia?”
“Right here.”
He felt her hand brush his arm and grab hold.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said. “What about that jaguar?”
“If there were beasts in here, we would smell them.”
In the dark, they descended a stairway, felt their way along a damp passageway, then climbed a shallow ramp. After a few dozen paces, a faint light appeared ahead. They emerged into a large room with most of its roof collapsed onto the floor. Between the chunks of roof tile and rotted wooden beams lay mounds of spongy, gray, flaking matter that looked like moldy papier-mâché. Several small dark rodents scurried into holes in the waste. Lia dropped Tucker’s hand; her shoulders fell.
“What is this?” Tucker asked.
“It was a library.”
They made their way through the forested streets slowly, every darkened doorway threatening to conceal jaguars or other dangerous creatures. Tucker had left behind his iron bar. He now carried a small rusted knife he had found, and a wooden pole with two sharpened ends. They had also found a wooden bow and some arrows in the convent. When Tucker flexed the bow, the brittle wood had splintered.
Lia was carrying an old rucksack she had found in a cabinet that had somehow resisted centuries of weather, insects, and rodents. She had loaded the bag with six green oranges and a stoppered clay bottle full of water. She stopped and pointed. A few yards in front of them was a tree growing up through the crumbled pavers. Several oblong fruits lay on the stones beneath it. “Mangoes,” she said.
A number of green and yellow fruits were still hanging from the branches. They each picked one. Tucker cut away the rind with his knife, and they gnawed the sweet orange flesh.
“This is good,” Tucker said as Lia added several mangoes to her bag, “but I don’t know how long we can live on fruit.”
They came across a large, low concrete building partially covered with vines. The building had a metal roof, which was rusted through, and several wide, vine-swagged doorways along its side. Lia regarded the structure with a furrowed brow.
“This is not a Lah Sept building,” she said.
Tucker used his pole to sweep aside some of the hanging vines and peered into the building’s interior. A pair of swallows swooped out low over his head, startling him. He jumped back, then approached the opening cautiously.
Lia joined him in the doorway. Inside was a large open space littered with plant matter and unidentifiable junk. A few of the objects were recognizable as broken chairs and tables. As their eyes adjusted to the half light, they saw a row of boxy alcoves set into the far wall. Lia picked her way across the trash-strewn floor for a closer look. Each alcove was about the size of a shower stall. Most of them had glass doors, now streaked with white bird-droppings. Inside the alcoves were wires and other electrical apparatus.
“What was this place?” Tucker asked.
“I think,” said Lia, “it was a place for making Klaatu.”
T HE URBAN FOREST GAVE WAY TO ROLLING LAND COVERED
with knee-high grasses and dotted with clumps of trees. They climbed a low rise to the top of a hill and looked back. Other than the stepped pyramid jutting up from the horizon, the city was invisible.
“I never want to go back there,” Lia said. She swung her bag from one shoulder to the other.
Tucker shaded his eyes and looked to the east. At the base of the hill they were standing on, the land leveled out and met a dark line of tall trees.
“That’s a creek down there,” he said. “In the future, where we’re standing now will be a hill covered with pine trees. The lower areas will be tamarack bogs. The climate is
“What’s in there?” he asked. But Lia had already disappeared into the opening. Tucker took a deep breath and, with some difficulty, squeezed through into a tunnel only a few inches wider than the opening. It was pitch-black.
“Lia?”
“Right here.”
He felt her hand brush his arm and grab hold.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said. “What about that jaguar?”
“If there were beasts in here, we would smell them.”
In the dark, they descended a stairway, felt their way along a damp passageway, then climbed a shallow ramp. After a few dozen paces, a faint light appeared ahead. They emerged into a large room with most of its roof collapsed onto the floor. Between the chunks of roof tile and rotted wooden beams lay mounds of spongy, gray, flaking matter that looked like moldy papier-mâché. Several small dark rodents scurried into holes in the waste. Lia dropped Tucker’s hand; her shoulders fell.
“What is this?” Tucker asked.
“It was a library.”
They made their way through the forested streets slowly, every darkened doorway threatening to conceal jaguars or other dangerous creatures. Tucker had left behind his iron bar. He now carried a small rusted knife he had found, and a wooden pole with two sharpened ends. They had also found a wooden bow and some arrows in the convent. When Tucker flexed the bow, the brittle wood had splintered.
Lia was carrying an old rucksack she had found in a cabinet that had somehow resisted centuries of weather, insects, and rodents. She had loaded the bag with six green oranges and a stoppered clay bottle full of water. She stopped and pointed. A few yards in front of them was a tree growing up through the crumbled pavers. Several oblong fruits lay on the stones beneath it. “Mangoes,” she said.
A number of green and yellow fruits were still hanging from the branches. They each picked one. Tucker cut away the rind with his knife, and they gnawed the sweet orange flesh.
“This is good,” Tucker said as Lia added several mangoes to her bag, “but I don’t know how long we can live on fruit.”
They came across a large, low concrete building partially covered with vines. The building had a metal roof, which was rusted through, and several wide, vine-swagged doorways along its side. Lia regarded the structure with a furrowed brow.
“This is not a Lah Sept building,” she said.
Tucker used his pole to sweep aside some of the hanging vines and peered into the building’s interior. A pair of swallows swooped out low over his head, startling him. He jumped back, then approached the opening cautiously.
Lia joined him in the doorway. Inside was a large open space littered with plant matter and unidentifiable junk. A few of the objects were recognizable as broken chairs and tables. As their eyes adjusted to the half light, they saw a row of boxy alcoves set into the far wall. Lia picked her way across the trash-strewn floor for a closer look. Each alcove was about the size of a shower stall. Most of them had glass doors, now streaked with white bird-droppings. Inside the alcoves were wires and other electrical apparatus.
“What was this place?” Tucker asked.
“I think,” said Lia, “it was a place for making Klaatu.”
T HE URBAN FOREST GAVE WAY TO ROLLING LAND COVERED
with knee-high grasses and dotted with clumps of trees. They climbed a low rise to the top of a hill and looked back. Other than the stepped pyramid jutting up from the horizon, the city was invisible.
“I never want to go back there,” Lia said. She swung her bag from one shoulder to the other.
Tucker shaded his eyes and looked to the east. At the base of the hill they were standing on, the land leveled out and met a dark line of tall trees.
“That’s a creek down there,” he said. “In the future, where we’re standing now will be a hill covered with pine trees. The lower areas will be tamarack bogs. The climate is
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