Bodies. Thousands of them, tens of thousands; skeletons and rotting corpses, some piled so deep that hundreds had sloughed off in drooping, skinlike jowls. They decorated the thing's hide like the pustules on his own, and Nophel put one hand to his face.
He could feel the Baker seeing through him, and her shock echoed back at him, a guilt that was not his own.
He coughed and blood flowed from his mouth, thick and dark. He guided the Scope to pan along the thing, moving inward all the time, sweeping its huge eye toward what he thought of as the Vex's head. He could sense that the Scope wanted to turn away, and he was sure that soon it would, denying his commands for the first time. And he would never blame it. But for now he had to see, because everything he saw, the Baker saw.
There were larger bodies pierced on huge spines lining the thing's hide. These were black and silver, and many-bladed, and looked fresh. Around them were dark, steaming scars on the leviathan's skin. And as Nophel moved on…
His breath stalled. He snapped a lever to freeze the image and saw a body that caught his attention. Surrounded by rot and bone, this body was new, pale and red in equal measure. He tried to push the Scope closer, unconcerned now at the discomfort he must be causing the wretched creature, ignoring the insistent prodding in his mind from the Baker to look away, look away… and then he saw the face, whose familial features he recognized. Its mouth was open wide in an endless scream. One arm was pinned high, as if waving.
The Scope died, Nophel's vision faded, and his body was lit by the mass of pain in his chest. He sat back in his chair, eyes closed. He welcomed the calming touch on his mind that did its best to see away the pain, though it was now beyond calming.
"Mother," he said.
And then he drove out that influence with a force of will, because he had no wish for her to feel his death.
Penler was standing on top of the ruined home next to his own. He was staring north while everyone else fled south, and for a moment Peer simply watched him. It felt as if she had been away from Skulk for years, not just days, and Penler's appearance lived up to that idea.
He stood like an old man. His thinning hair waved behind his head in the warm breeze washing down from the north, and she could see that he was squinting. He can't quite see, she thought, and she knew there was much to tell him.
Gorham stood close to her, one hand pressed against the small of her back. If she'd felt a shred of possessiveness there, she would have shrugged him away, but he was as scared as she was. Contact was something they both needed. That, and friendship.
Penler froze, then slowly turned. "Peer," he said, and grinned as if the world was no longer ending.
"Penler," she said. "I hoped I'd find you still here."
He took a final, long look north, then worked his way down the slope of rubble. Old he might be, but he was still sure-footed from half a lifetime of living among the ruins.
"Nowhere else to go, it seems," he said.
"This is Gorham," she said, and perhaps Penler heard a whole history in her voice, because his smile was uncertain.
"I've heard so much about you," Gorham said. "I think you saved Peer's life."
"She's a strong woman," Penler said.
"Here." Peer ripped her fly bag open and a handful of flies escaped, circling up into the air, darting left and right. Several landed on Penler, and one bit. He did not wince or make a noise. When the fly lifted away, he looked closely at the small speck of blood, touching it gently with one finger.
"What have you just done to me?" he asked, though with curiosity rather than suspicion.
"Hopefully saved your life," Peer said. "We have to go out into the desert, and-"
"And then we'll die."
"No," Gorham said, but he did not sound convinced.
"We think not," Peer said. "The Baker-"
"I thought the Baker was dead!"
"Oh, Penler," Peer said, and there was so much to tell. She closed her eyes, and fatigue hit her then, the darkness behind her eyelids luring her down to sleep. "I have some stories for you, my friend. So many. And there's plenty I think you'll be able to help us explain. But first…" She opened her eyes again, and Penler was staring at her in a way he never had before. I really broke his heart, she thought. I shouldn't have brought Gorham with me.
"First?" Penler asked.
"You've seen what's happening," Gorham said.
"I've seen something."
"The doom of Echo City," Gorham continued. "Rising from the Chasm below the Falls." He shook his head, and Peer knew that none of them could adequately express what they had witnessed and experienced.
"Where's the visitor?" Penler asked.
"With the Dragarians," she said, and Penler's eyes opened wider.
"He came from the Bonelands," he said softly.
"There's going to be plenty of time to explain." A rush of enthusiasm almost overwhelmed Peer. "But right now we have to leave and take as many people with us as we can." She grabbed his hands and pulled him closer, then wrapped her own hands around his and put them to her chest. He felt her heartbeat, and she saw that familiar twinkle of humor and intelligence. She was glad it was still there. She'd feared her leaving might have extinguished it forever.
"And you think they'll follow me into the desert," he said.
"I know they will."
"You think they'd follow me?" Gorham asked, eyebrows raised.
"No," Penler said, and his smile seemed genuine. "Though they might line the walls to watch you die."
"Nice," Gorham muttered.
"Don't mind him," Peer laughed, "the old bastard has a way with words."
"Words are all we have," Penler said, and his smile turned sad as they all recognized the truth in that. "Is it really the end?"
"You saw what came up," Peer said.
"I saw something. I don't know what."
"The Bakers are to blame. But the latest is also to thank." She touched the swollen fly bite on his hand. "For this."
"Where is she?" he asked.
"Out there somewhere," Peer said, nodding into an uncertain distance.
"With an invisible person," Gorham said. Penler glanced at him, smile unsure, and then turned back to Peer.
"And this all began because of Rufus?"
"In truth, it began generations ago. I'll tell you everything."
"When we're away," he said, and Peer nodded.
"We'll need food and water," she said.
Penler stared at his house, unmoving.
"I'll go," Gorham said, and he dashed inside. They waited in companionable silence, staying close as they watched people rushing southward. Gorham emerged moments later with a water sack and a bulging backpack.
"Ah, stoneshrooms," Peer said.
Penler grinned and took Peer's hand. They turned south and headed for the city wall a mile distant, and Peer felt tears threatening. Penler had turned his back on his home, his maps, his studies, his books and projects and writings, and all because of what she had told him. All because of her. She felt a warm, rich love emanating from him that she had never felt from Gorham, and she realized he was the father she had never known, holding her hand and leading her away from danger.
"I've been waiting for you to come back," he said.
"Liar."
"No, really." He raised an eyebrow, maintaining his seriousness. "I always knew you found me irresistible."
Peer laughed out loud, and people around them stared at this madwoman amused by the end-times.
Sheltering along the base of the city's southern wall were several hundred Garthans. They shook in the heat of the summer day, shielding their eyes against the unbearable light, and people kept a good distance from them. They scratched at vivid red bites across their naked bodies. Peer hoped they would follow everyone else out into the desert but hated to think what effect the unrelenting sun would have on skin so used to darkness.
Gorham stared at them strangely, and Peer knew he would have a story to tell her later.
Penler led them to an open stone staircase, and they climbed to the top of the wall. It was wide here, arranged with seating that looked mostly inward, and she remembered sitting here many times with Penler, discussing, debating, and arguing. She felt an odd nostalgia for such good times.