“Right. And Blackbeard comes with us. We’ll need him: he seems to have a fix on whatever it is the Pigoons want to convey.”
“No,” says Toby. “He should stay here. He’s only a child.” She doesn’t think she could live with herself if little Blackbeard got killed, especially in the ways the Painballers would kill him if they got hold of him. “And he has no fear – or none that’s realistic – when it comes to people. He might go running right out into the open, into crossfire. Or get snatched as a hostage. What would happen then?”
“Yeah, but I don’t see how we can manage without him,” says Zeb. “He’s our only liaison with the pigs, and they’re essential. We’ll have to take the risk.”
Blackbeard himself has been following this exchange. “Do not worry, Oh Toby,” he says. “I need to come, the Pig Ones have said so. Oryx will be helping me, and Fuck. I have already called Fuck, he is flying to here, right now. You will see.” There’s no way Toby can contradict any of this: she herself can’t see Oryx or the helpful Fuck, nor can she understand the Pigoons. In the world of Blackbeard she’s deaf and blind.
“If they point a stick at you,” she says to him, “those men, you must fall flat on the ground. Or get behind a tree. If there is a tree. Or else a wall.”
“Yes, thank you, Oh Toby,” he says politely. This is evidently old news to him.
“Right then,” says Zeb. “Are we clear?”
“I’m coming too,” says Jimmy. Everyone looks at him: they’ve assumed he’d stay behind. He’s still skinny as a twig and pale as a puffball.
“Are you sure?” says Toby. “What about your foot?”
“It’s fine. I can walk. I have to come.”
“Not sure that’s wise,” says Zeb.
“Wise,” says Jimmy. He grins a little. “Never been accused of that. But if we’re heading to the Paradice dome, I really have to go.”
“Because?” says Zeb.
“Because Oryx is there.” An embarrassed silence: this is demented. Jimmy looks around the circle, grinning nervously. “Okay, I’m not crazy, I know she’s dead. But you need me,” he says.
“Why?” says Katuro. “Not meaning to be rude, but …”
“Because I’ve been back there already. Since the Flood,” says Jimmy.
“So?” says Zeb, voice level. “Nostalgia?” Toby guesses the meaning of that levelness: rid me of this brain-damaged dweeb.
Jimmy stands his ground. “So, I know where everything is. Such as the cellpacks. And the sprayguns: there’s a stash of them too.”
Zeb sighs. “Okay,” he says. “But if you lag behind, we’ll have to send you back. Under non-hominid escort.”
“You mean those werewolf pigs,” says Jimmy. “Been there, done that: they think I’m tripe. Forget the escort. I can keep up.”
Sortie
Toby changes into a Spa track suit, with a pillowcase torn open for a sun cover on her head. Too bad about the kissy lips and winky eye on the sweatshirt – not very military – and too bad also about the colour pink, which could make her a target. But there are no khaki textiles at AnooYoo.
She checks her rifle, tucks some of her extra bullets into a pink Spa carrybag. There’s some Spa cotton half-socks with fluffy pom-poms at the backs: she puts on a pair of those, takes an extra pair. If Zeb says anything about her getup she’ll be tempted to smack him.
In the main foyer she distributes the water bottles, filled with water that’s been properly boiled by Rebecca earlier with the aid of Ren and Amanda. The AnooYoo Spa emphasized the need for proper hydration during gym workouts, so there are enough plastic bottles. The MaddAddamites have brought some Joltbars with them from the cobb house, and some cold kudzu fritters. “Enough energy to run on, not too much or it weighs you down,” says Zeb. “Keep some for later.” He looks at Toby, her kissy-lipped pink outfit.
“You auditioning for something?” he says.
“It’s vivid,” says Jimmy.
“Like a rock star,” says Rhino. “Kinda.”
“Good camouflage,” says Shackleton.
“They’ll think you’re a hibiscus,” says Crozier.
“This is a rifle,” says Toby. “I’m the only one here who knows how to use it. So button up.” They all grin.
Then they set forth.