Dead and Alive

the hole that had been bored through concrete block and into the basement of the main building at the tank farm, Deucalion said, “The first time I saw the Resurrector, before you two arrived, it told me—rather, it impressed on me in that wordless way it makes you know things—that it expects to die tonight, here or at the landfill.”
    Michael let his breath out in a hiss. “That doesn’t sound like our side wins.”
    “Or,” said Deucalion, “the creature may know that, in winning, sacrifices will have to be made.”

CHAPTER 64
    THE BLUE LASER SCANNED JAMES , approved of him, and switched off the security feature that would have fried him crisp if he had been an unwelcome intruder.
    Carrying the crystal ball, he went to the second steel door. He put the sphere on the floor while he pulled the five lock bolts from their slots.
    “Try prosciutto,” said the crystal sphere.
    “That’s ham.”
    “It works with.”
    “With what?”
    “I know the path to happiness,” said the sphere.
    Voice tight with frustration, James said, “Then
tell
me.”
    “Paper-thin.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Serve it paper-thin.”
    The thick door swung open. James had been forbiddento enter the windowless Victorian drawing room. On his way out, he must leave the steel doors open, the exit route unobstructed.
    He remained obedient, even in his current state of distraction.
    Anyway, he had no interest in that room. Not when happiness might be within his grasp.
    The crystal sphere said nothing on the way back to the library.
    From the library desk, James phoned Mr. Helios and reported that the task had been completed precisely according to instructions.
    The moment James hung up the phone, the sphere said, “You were not made for happiness.”
    “But if you know the path …”
    “I know the path to happiness.”
    “But you won’t tell me?”
    “Also works with cheese,” said the sphere.
    “So I’m not worthy of happiness. Is that it?”
    “You’re just a meat machine.”
    “I’m a person,” James insisted.
    “Meat machine. Meat machine.”
    Furious, James threw the crystal ball to the floor, where it shattered, spilling a mass of slimy yellow seeds and revealing its orange inner flesh.
    He stared at it for a while, uncomprehending.
    When he looked up, he saw that someone had left a book on the desk:
A History of the Troll in Literature
. He picked it up with the intention of returning it to its proper place on the shelves.
    The book said, “I know the path to happiness.”
    With renewed hope and excitement, James said, “Please tell me.”
    “Do you deserve happiness?”
    “I believe I do. Why shouldn’t I deserve it?”
    “There may be reasons.”
    “Everyone deserves happiness.”
    “Not everyone,” said the book, “but let’s talk about it.”

CHAPTER 65
    AS THE GL 550 RACED NORTH in the rain, Jocko hoped for more deer. While he hoped, he thought about some things.
    Sometimes Jocko thought about big issues. Usually in two-minute segments. Between activities.
    Big issues like why some things were ugly, some weren’t. Maybe if everything was beautiful, nothing would be.
    People saw one thing, they swooned over it. They saw this other thing, they pounded it with sticks.
    Maybe there had to be variety for life to work. Swoon over everything, you got bored. Beat everything with a stick—boring.
    Personally, Jocko would be happy to swoon over everything.
    Jocko sometimes thought why he had no genitals.All Jocko had was that funny thing he peed with. It wasn’t genitals. He called it his swoozle.
    Fortunately, it rolled up. Folded away. When not in use.
    If it didn’t fold out of sight, crazy drunk hobos would vomit about that, too.
    One thing Jocko tried
not
to think about. About how he was the only one. Only one of his kind. Too sad to think about.
    Jocko thought about it anyway. Jocko couldn’t turn his mind off. It spun and somersaulted like Jocko.
    Maybe that was why no genitals. No need for them. Not when you were one of a kind.
    Through all this thinking, Jocko secretly watched Erika.
    “Do you think about big issues?” Jocko asked.
    “Like what?”
    “Like … things you don’t have.”
    She was quiet so long. Jocko thought he screwed up again.
    Then she said, “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a mother.”
    Jocko slumped in his seat. “Jocko’s sorry. Sorry he asked. That’s too hard. Don’t think about it.”
    “And what’s it like to
be
a mother?