Chapter 48

Witticker spent the remaining hours of daylight creeping after Edward through the ruins of the Queens borough towards an undisclosed location. As the very last moments of sunlight lingered on the horizon the two men arrived at the edge of a large river, flanked on both sides by crumbling stone walls. Across the water stood the remains of a grand and ancient city, towering in antiquity. Out of a nest of trees skyscrapers, remaining as monuments to the past achievements of man, cast massive shadows over the land.
As the two explorers walked the length of the river several small fires began to crop up on each side of the river. The flames were accompanied by small groups of native people, huddling close together. When the last glint of light had fallen from the sky’s edge Edward stopped and stopped to his knees. He waved his hand to the ground, motioning for Witticker to join him in the position.
“We need to be very careful until we see the sun again,” whispered Edward. “The natives of this area are mostly peaceful, but some can be very dangerous. They’re called city people. They are very territorial and are likely to overreact if they feel threatened.”
Edward pointed to a large bridge downriver in the direction that they had been walking.
“We’ll stay there tonight,” mumbled Edward quietly, “should be safe.”
Witticker nodded and followed him in silence.

*~~*

When they finally came upon the bridge they found a set of wooden platforms that had been systematically layered to replace the decaying set of stairs leading up to the bridge. Both men climbed up the wooden shelves and walked across the bridge until they were above the mid-section of the river.
“Alright,” said Edward, his voice returning to a normal speaking volume. “This should be good tonight. The tribes on either side of the river have never been able to successfully claim this bridge or the river as their own, so we should be on relatively neutral ground. We’ll stay here ‘til morning.”
Edward sat down on the metal frame of the bridge and leaned back on the small satchel hidden so deftly under his robe. He reached into his pockets and pulled out several rolls he had confiscated so long ago from the morning in Henry Dodgson’s dining room. He threw one to Witticker and tucked another in his mouth. Witticker laughed as he looked at the stale roll.
“I thought you were crazy when you took these from that old man.”
Edward laughed and shook his head.
“Crazy is a matter of perspective. You might want to keep that in mind in the next few days. You’re going to hear and see some pretty bizarre things.”
“I don’t doubt it” said Witticker, his voice completely devoid of sarcasm. He bit into his roll and, with much effort, gnawed off a small piece to work in his mouth. He looked down the river at the fires twinkling on both sides, as if lighting the way for the water to follow.
“Where did these people come from?” asked Witticker quietly.
“What do you mean, ‘where did they come from’?” responded Edward as if he had been slapped across the face. “They aren’t migrants. They’ve been here for centuries!”
“No,” said Witticker, realizing his verbal misstep, “I guess I meant, how did they become like this? So primal.”
“Ah,” answered Edward in a more thoughtful tone, “that’s a different story.”
He stopped for a moment and took another bite from his roll.
“It’s hard to know where to begin, but let’s see. I suppose it’s important to know that this area was subject to some of the worst fallout of the Great Decline. The city was highly populated in the years prior to the Decline and, when the economy sank, this region was host to more than its fair share of violent incidents. These people,” said Edward gesturing across the landscape in front of and behind them, “are the products of those times. They are the ancestors, like you and I, of the pre-Decline citizens, but they are not as accurate a reflection of their predecessors as you and I are. The city-dwellers of the past were as civilized as what you would expect from most other people. These people have, in most cases, been subject to the great horrors of this world and have simply adapted to survive.”
Both men sat in contemplative silence, staring down the length of the river. Witticker’s mind swam in the sea of information, not only from the most recent conversation, but from every conversation he had ever had with Edward.
“How is it you know so much about all this?” posed Witticker, “Not that I mind, of course, but you seem to have a pretty intimate knowledge of, well, everything.”
“Bit of an overstatement, don’t you think?” parried Edward who had finished his roll and was reclining against a thick steel girder.
“Not really,” snapped back Witticker, his discontent with the response well-voiced.
“Well, I was, at one point, taken to task on learning a bit of history. I’m just trying to put that time spent studying to good use.”

*~~*

The lights along the river slowly dimmed until they had all but gone out. The moon shone over the river banks, lighting an ancient scene of tribes returning to the city forest.
“So,” said Witticker after some time had passed, “where is it that we’re heading to over there? There doesn’t seem to be much in this city but leftovers.”
Edward shook his head and laughed as he turned to look across the island they were bound for.
“There’s a lot more going on in there than you’d imagine. Believe me.”
He looked back toward Witticker and yawned.
“And as for where we’re going,” he said with a knowing smile, “that’ll be a surprise for the morning.”

*~~*

Witticker sat awake on the bridge several hours after Edward had fallen asleep. He found himself surprisingly restless and had turned to sifting through the contents of his white box to pass the moments before sleep would take him. Over the course of their journey Edward had taught him how to properly access it and he had since become rather adept at poking through the white device when there was a spare moment.
At first the interface of the white box seemed rather simple, only offering the options of ‘visual’ or ‘aural’, but each spilled out into subsequent options and each of those doing the same implying an endless amount of functions. The general layout of the machine inferred that it was a memory recording device, but the submission policy was not prohibited to the user. It appeared to be possible for several people to add to the contents of the white box with only the owner having access to every item in the device.
Under ‘aural’ Witticker had found vast catalogues of music, hours of recorded speeches, and several miscellaneous sounds from nature. After listening to a random sampling of the music he returned to the beginning screen and selected the ‘visual’ option. There was a wealth of information including what appeared to be a small library, alphabetized by classification. Each label provided the title of the written work, the name of the author, and the date of submission into the white box. He sifted through the titles, unconsciously filtering, until one entry caught his eye, causing his heart to skip a beat faster.

“A Dream within a Dream”
Brisby Jacobs
March 25th, 2188

The light from the white box glowed around Witticker as he peered at the information on the screen, surprised by the significance he felt from the less-than-remarkable combination of words.