Read Online The New Weird by Jeff VanderMeer, Ann VanderMeer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jeff VanderMeer, Ann VanderMeer
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Short Stories, Fantasy Fiction; American, American, Horror Tales, Horror Tales; American, Anthologies
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across the room. A dull morning light whimpered through the thin curtains, not encouraging an early departure. After a few minutes' staring at the cracked paintwork on the ceiling, and a while longer at the crudely carved crucifix on the opposite wall, Mick got up and went to the window. It was a dull day, as he had guessed. The sky was overcast, and the roofs of Novi
Pazar were grey and featureless in the flat morning light. But beyond the roofs, to the east, he could see the hills. There was sun there. He could see shafts of light catching the blue-green of the forest, inviting a visit to their slopes.
Today maybe they would go south to Kosovska Mitrovica. There was a market there, wasn't there, and a museum? And they could drive down the valley of the Ibar, following the road beside the river, where the hills rose wild and shining on either side. The hills, yes; today he decided they would see the hills.
It was eight-fifteen.
By nine the main bodies of Popolac and Podujevo were substantially assembled. In their allotted districts the limbs of both cities were ready and waiting to join their expectant torsos.
Vaslav Jelovsek capped his gloved hands over his eyes and surveyed the sky. The cloud-base had risen in the last hour, no doubt of it, and there were breaks in the clouds to the west; even, on occasion, a few glimpses of the sun. It wouldn't be a perfect day for the contest perhaps, but certainly adequate.
Mick and Judd breakfasted late on hemendeks ― roughly translated as ham and eggs ― and several cups of good black coffee. It was brightening up, even in Novi Pazar, and their ambitions were set high. Kosovska Mitrovica by lunchtime, and maybe a visit to the hill-castle of Zvecan in the afternoon.
About nine-thirty they motored out of Novi Pazar and took the Srbovac road south to the Ibar valley. Not a good road, but the bumps and potholes couldn't spoil the new day.
The road was empty, except for the occasional pedestrian; and in place of the maize and corn fields they'd passed on the previous day the road was flanked by undulating hills, whose sides were thickly and darkly forested. Apart from a few birds, they saw no wildlife. Even their infrequent travelling companions petered out altogether after a few miles, and the occasional farmhouse they drove by appeared locked and shuttered up. Black pigs ran unattended in the yard, with no child to feed them. Washing snapped and billowed on a sagging line, with no washer-woman in sight.
At first this solitary journey through the hills was refreshing in its lack of human contact, but as the morning drew on, an uneasiness grew on them.
"Shouldn't we have seen a signpost to Mitrovica, Mick?"
He peered at the map.
"Maybe."
" ― we've taken the wrong road."
"If there'd been a sign, I'd have seen it. I think we should try and get off this road, bear south a bit more ― meet the valley closer to Mitrovica than we'd planned."
"How do we get off this bloody road?"
"There've been a couple of turnings."
"Dirt-tracks."
"Well it's either that or going on the way we are." Judd pursed his lips.
"Cigarette?" he asked.
"Finished them miles back."
In front of them, the hills formed an impenetrable line. There was no sign of life ahead; no frail wisp of chimney smoke, no sound of voice or vehicle.
"All right," said Judd, "we take the next turning. Anything's better than this."
They drove on. The road was deteriorating rapidly, the potholes becoming craters, the hummocks feeling like bodies beneath the wheels.
Then:
"There!"
A turning: a palpable turning. Not a major road, certainly. In fact barely the dirt-track Judd had described the other roads as being, but it was an escape from the endless perspective of the road they were trapped on.
"This is becoming a bloody safari," said Judd as the VW began to bump and grind its way along the doleful little track.
"Where's your sense of adventure?"
"I forgot to pack it."
They were beginning to climb now, as the
Pazar were grey and featureless in the flat morning light. But beyond the roofs, to the east, he could see the hills. There was sun there. He could see shafts of light catching the blue-green of the forest, inviting a visit to their slopes.
Today maybe they would go south to Kosovska Mitrovica. There was a market there, wasn't there, and a museum? And they could drive down the valley of the Ibar, following the road beside the river, where the hills rose wild and shining on either side. The hills, yes; today he decided they would see the hills.
It was eight-fifteen.
By nine the main bodies of Popolac and Podujevo were substantially assembled. In their allotted districts the limbs of both cities were ready and waiting to join their expectant torsos.
Vaslav Jelovsek capped his gloved hands over his eyes and surveyed the sky. The cloud-base had risen in the last hour, no doubt of it, and there were breaks in the clouds to the west; even, on occasion, a few glimpses of the sun. It wouldn't be a perfect day for the contest perhaps, but certainly adequate.
Mick and Judd breakfasted late on hemendeks ― roughly translated as ham and eggs ― and several cups of good black coffee. It was brightening up, even in Novi Pazar, and their ambitions were set high. Kosovska Mitrovica by lunchtime, and maybe a visit to the hill-castle of Zvecan in the afternoon.
About nine-thirty they motored out of Novi Pazar and took the Srbovac road south to the Ibar valley. Not a good road, but the bumps and potholes couldn't spoil the new day.
The road was empty, except for the occasional pedestrian; and in place of the maize and corn fields they'd passed on the previous day the road was flanked by undulating hills, whose sides were thickly and darkly forested. Apart from a few birds, they saw no wildlife. Even their infrequent travelling companions petered out altogether after a few miles, and the occasional farmhouse they drove by appeared locked and shuttered up. Black pigs ran unattended in the yard, with no child to feed them. Washing snapped and billowed on a sagging line, with no washer-woman in sight.
At first this solitary journey through the hills was refreshing in its lack of human contact, but as the morning drew on, an uneasiness grew on them.
"Shouldn't we have seen a signpost to Mitrovica, Mick?"
He peered at the map.
"Maybe."
" ― we've taken the wrong road."
"If there'd been a sign, I'd have seen it. I think we should try and get off this road, bear south a bit more ― meet the valley closer to Mitrovica than we'd planned."
"How do we get off this bloody road?"
"There've been a couple of turnings."
"Dirt-tracks."
"Well it's either that or going on the way we are." Judd pursed his lips.
"Cigarette?" he asked.
"Finished them miles back."
In front of them, the hills formed an impenetrable line. There was no sign of life ahead; no frail wisp of chimney smoke, no sound of voice or vehicle.
"All right," said Judd, "we take the next turning. Anything's better than this."
They drove on. The road was deteriorating rapidly, the potholes becoming craters, the hummocks feeling like bodies beneath the wheels.
Then:
"There!"
A turning: a palpable turning. Not a major road, certainly. In fact barely the dirt-track Judd had described the other roads as being, but it was an escape from the endless perspective of the road they were trapped on.
"This is becoming a bloody safari," said Judd as the VW began to bump and grind its way along the doleful little track.
"Where's your sense of adventure?"
"I forgot to pack it."
They were beginning to climb now, as the
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