DISAPPOINTING MARTYRS

by Jillian W

STORY 2: Knives is alone on Gunsmoke with the liberated plants; the humans, Vash, and Vash's budding family are headed for Earth...So, shouldn't things be wonderful?

15. CHAPTER SIX: Lord, Have Mercy

	CHAPTER SIX:  LORD, HAVE MERCY PART ONE…Bigger Than You… In a city as big as Inepril, one would expect to find a wealth of useful items in the various abandoned shops.  However, considering the plants' production standstill, sands and the winds that carried them were claiming the ruins and devouring all that the humans had left behind.  Whatever buildings not coated in fresh sand dunes were the best bet for scavenging.  In these, under a thick layer of dust and grit, remnants of past lives and a few products remained.  Most food products and perishables had long since fallen into rot.   Canned foodstuffs were safe. Knives thought it hypocritical to use that which the humans had produced using plants, but some practical actions eased his conviction.  For instance, if one day the geoplants failed him, he may need a store of food to live on until they could be brought back online.  Therefore, he collected canned vegetable and fruit products, as well as dried rice and jam preserves, which he stored in his shelter.  This he accomplished before the sands claimed the old marketplaces and grocery stores. Plenty of canned meats awaited use, and luckily so. Doing so placed a major dent in his planned plant visits, but still Knives foraged for the canned meats all day.  In buildings so damaged and smothered by the planet's forces, it was all too difficult to find them, and so he chose to remove all such goods.  The stacks and piles filled his toma-drawn cart completely, until the beasts could hardly pull the load.  By then, Knives was coated in grime and sweat. Not a moment could be wasted.  It was already dusk, and the chill began. He immediately went to them, leading the tomas on foot.  Moving closer into the city, nearer to the plants, the desolation lessened.  Around the bulbs in a 500-meter radius, the winds weren't so harsh, proof that the plants were still active.  Here, survival was still possible.  And, strangely enough, they had survived here all these months without his help. Knives wiped his brow, a strong sense of purpose in his heart.  They needed his help desperately. Soft mewing grew in his ears until a scraggly body appeared.  This was the friendliest one, the only one which allowed Knives to come so near.  It seemed a male, large yet painfully thin, with dirty white fur spotted in orange.  His whiskers were tattered, eyes full of mucous from the harsh air.  If it weren't for this cat, Knives would never have found the lot of them, nor felt that twang of pity that led him to bring these meats for them all. The cat couldn't come far to greet him, being malnourished and sickly as the others.  He simply sat, blinking, hoping. In reply, Knives stopped the cart and pulled a few cans from the piles.  He carved them open, pouring the contents onto a scrap bit of metal nearby.  Tucking his pocketknife back into his jeans, he stepped back and waited. That male cat stepped closer and ate frantically.  The others stared on from the distance, too frightened of the man to step forward. Knives sighed and rolled his eyes at their ignorant distrust.  He tied up the tomas at the plant hitching post a few meters away and returned to watching the cat eat.  Sitting in the dust, he unslung his canteen and sipped quietly. After a few more minutes, the other feral cats slowly stepped out, hunger overtaking fear.  Partaking in the meal that saved their lives, they feasted.  Every morsel disappeared, and they slunk away with bellies full. Smiling, Knives rose and entered the plant complex, to make his adjustments and ultimately to fall asleep in the plants' soft glow. Long fingers of sunlight streamed through the high windows of the plant complex, wrenching Knives from his pleasant dreams.  He yearned to slumber longer, but the day beckoned and the extensive chores he needed to catch up on awaited him.  After munching on the lasts bits of fresh produce from his garden, he rose to walk the long iles home. His footsteps thudded in the vast, open space, towards the door.  But he didn't remember leaving it ajar. Instinctively, he looked about, as though people may actually be hiding there.  Dropping his bag at the doorway, he turned and searched the building, owing it to his brethren to keep all vermin away. At a point, he stopped and became silent, leaning miserably against the cold steel wall.  He frowned, reflecting on the solitude.  Here he was, abandoned by his only sentient family, left alone to care for the hidden remainder.  And to what end?  To receive no sign of a plant angel's pregnancy (as promised, he reminded himself), and to be reduced to the humble task of chasing down stray creatures in the plant buildings.  It was necessary, yet somehow beneath him.  After all, this intruder was most likely just one of the cockroaches or lizards or rats that managed to survive the recent planetary hardships. Taking a deep breath and holding it fast, he closed his eyes and listened.  Small squeaks led him to a far corner.  Here, one of those feral cats was in labor.  The cat was clearly in great pain and exhaustion, such that it didn't resist when Knives seated himself nearby and began to stroke its back. Two tiny rat-like bodies lay beside the mother cat, squeaking softly and moving barely.  And from the looks of the mother, there were more on the way, but seemed obstructed. Knives felt the cat's stomach and carefully searched for the cause of her suffering.  It seemed one kitten was caught in the birth canal. Pausing, he wondered why he should care.  What did it matter, if these creatures died.  What had they ever done for him? But pity took over, and he found himself massaging the mother, easing the trapped inner bulge towards her tail.  After twenty silent minutes, the slimy thing dropped out. It wasn't moving. Knives took it from the mother, who had begun to lick at the offspring, and rubbed the tiny body.  In his palms, he rubbed it into movement, vigorously and stubbornly until the thing finally cried out. Sighing relief, he watched the births of the next and final three. He took off his shirt and wrapped the little things in it for warmth.  Their health and that of the mother was poor, and it was too cold here.  He found an old box and lid, poked breathing holes in the sides, and loaded the new family inside.  They would fare best in his home. And besides, he needed someone to talk to.

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