Poe's children: the new horror : an anthology - By Peter Straub Page 0,113

they have to declare us a cull, flush the first experiment, and start over. But they take a look at us and decide, hey, maybe there’s something here worth saving. Something they can use to, you know, rescue their asses from flunking. So they take this teeny sample, like one cell, and decide to test it to see if it does anything interesting. And that’s why we’re here.”

Vira said, “That’s above and beyond your previous bullshit, and I think I’ve hit my patience ceiling.”

Zach didn’t say anything because he was staring forlornly at their remaining food supply—one energy bar, destined for a three-way split, one tin of Vienna sausage (eight count), and a pint of bottled water that had already been hit hard.

“I’m waiting for your brilliant explanation,” Donny said sourly. His real name was Demetrius, but he hated it. Vira’s real name was Ellen, but she’d legally changed it. Zach was born “Kevyn” same general deal.

“I’m out,” said Vira, tired of the game. “Tapped. Done. I give up.” She looked up at the reddening sunrise sky and shouted. “Hey! Hear me? I quit. Fuck you. If there’s aliens up there toying with us, then they can kiss my anal squint!”

Donny startled, as though he actually thought outer space men might materialize to punish them. At least that would have brought some sort of closure.

“Don’t yell,” said Zach, nailing her, still playing leader. “That’ll dry you up. Who got to the water while I was sleeping?”

Donny and Vira both denied it; the usual stalemate. Zach expected this, and let it slide because he already knew he’d stolen that bonus sip himself.

“Sun’s coming up,” said Donny unnecessarily. “The only constant seems to be this man-against-nature thing.”

“You said that yesterday, too, sexist asshole,” said Vira.

“Look around you,” said Zach, pointing to each extreme of the compass. “Desert. Road. Desert. More road. More desert. And so on. Do you see, for example, a crashed plane that we could rebuild into a cleverly composited escape vehicle? No. A glint on the horizon that would indicate a breath of civilization? No way. A social dynamic among us, two men and one woman, that will lead to some sort of revelation that can save us? Uhuh, negative.” He pointed again. “Road. Desert. Let’s get moving.”

“Why?” said Vira, watching her little patch of shade dwindle.

“Because when we moved the first time, and didn’t stay put, we found the food, didn’t we?”

“That’s the only reason?”

“We might find something else.”

She colored with anger, or perhaps it was just the odd, vividly tilted light of dawn. “So we can just keep going, keep doing this?”

“We last another day, we might figure something out.”

“Like the ‘why’?” Donny said. “As in ‘why us’?”

“No, all I meant was we might get back to normal, and we certainly won’t do that sitting on our butts and staying in one place waiting for the supplies to run out.”

Vira snorted at the all-encompassing grandeur of the word “supplies” pertaining to their edibles, which did not even total to a snack.

“I want an answer,” said Donny. “I want to know why.”

“That’s your biggest problem, Don-O.” Zach extended his open hand to Vira, who rose tropistically, like a plant turning automatically to meet the light. “Come on, sweetie, let’s go.”

They turned their backs on the sun and began their march, in the same direction they’d been tracking since, well, forever.

Most of the fourth day had been wasted on equally stupid theories.

“I’ve got it,” Donny said, which caused Vira to roll her eyes. It was becoming her comedic double-take reaction to anything Donny proposed. Donny was an endlessly hopeful idiot.

“Okay, like, we’re characters in this movie, or a novel or something. And we can’t figure out where we are or how we got here, and shit keeps happening, and we keep on keeping on, but our memories and characters keep altering when we’re not looking. It’s because we’re fictional characters, right, except we don’t know we are. And the movie studio guys keep asking for changes, or the editors at the publishing house keep saying, ‘what’s their arc?’ or ‘how do they grow from their experience?’ And we don’t know because we were just made up by some writer, who has no idea we’re cognizant and suffering.”

“I wish there was a big, shiny-new toilet, right here in the middle of the scrub,” said Vira.

“Why?” said Donny, tired of performing his body functions in the wild.

“Because I don’t know what I’d do first,” said Vira. “Drink some water from the