The Island of Dr. Death and Other Stories and Other Stories by Gene Wolfe

Author:Gene Wolfe
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2011-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

The tenth day. With three of the machines, we made our way out; now I have asked them to halt for the night where they will give us shelter from the wind. We have set up our camp about three kilometers from the mouth of the cave. Tomorrow we will go south looking for the track.

The wound in my side is better, I think, though it still bothers me more or less constantly and sometimes is excruciatingly painful.

This morning when I awoke, I climbed down the cave wall and went into the city, determined to find Cim Glowing. I was two streets past the building in which yesterday I discovered the first machine—which I have named “Roller,” from its wheels—when I almost collided with a creature of the kind that took Cim. In retrospect, the incident is more than a little ridiculous, since I was trying to be exceedingly cautious; I cannot, however, say I thought it amusing at the time.

I was about to turn a corner when he stepped around it. Recalling the weapon that wounded me three days ago, I did not run from him—I do not know what he would have done if I had—only back-pedaled and threw the endieva wand up at him. It struck his left shoulder, where he seemed to be wholly machine, and dropped to the ground. He rushed for me then, but I was able to duck under one outstretched arm and reel in the wand on its cord—enough to get it whirling—and cast it at him as he turned. I aimed at his face and hit the wrong side; but I had the wand under control now and was able to pull it back immediately and cast again. It grazed his left cheek. That was all that was necessary; I saw a thin line of blood form there, and his left eye lost its focus. He fell to his knees—in that position he was not much taller than I—and I watched the human part of him die.

I think that half or more of his brain was mechanical, because it was a long time before he stopped moving. For several minutes after the flesh was dead his arms still reached for me, and he tried to crawl after me. He could not walk—that saved me. I suppose that was because his organs of balance were still pieces of what had once been his living body, and when they died as the poison spread, he could not stand.

For a time I waited for the machinery to die as well, but it was very tenacious of life—or whatever it was that it could be said to have. I dodged his hands and kicked at his head several times, but the sound, like the ringing of a dull gong, was too loud in the empty streets, and I stopped. After a time I left him, still twitching and trying to drag himself along. I was very warm in these coveralls after the activity. I thought

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