Meg Elison - The Book of Etta

ALSO BY MEG ELISON

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE SERIES

The Book of the Unnamed Midwife

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.

Text copyright 2017 by Meg Elison

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by 47North, Seattle

www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

ISBN-13: 9781503941823

ISBN-10: 1503941825

Cover design by Christian Fuenfhausen

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

On the map, all the roads led to Estiel.

Eddy didnt like that. He hated how inevitable it felt. Touching the star on the faded map, he had asked his mother why Estiel was the bigger city, with the giant arch and the huge tall buildings, when it hadnt been the state capital in the old world.

Thats just not how it worked, Mother Ina would say tiredly. I dont know why, my living child. That was before my time.

He thought of the skeletal silver arch against the black sky, the smell of smoke in the back of his throat.

How does a memory make me sick? How does it make me feel like running from somewhere I am not?

He was a few days away from the city on foot. He knew the southern routes better, knew where to find water and the safest places to rest. On the map, old names were scratched out and new names were written in. A faded red star at the crux of all roads read S-T-L . Eddy traced the roads with his finger, but he never went over that spot. He sought out the little signs his fellow raiders had supplied. Here, youll cross the herds moving in season: a set of wide horns. There, a big building in the process of falling down: a number 7 lying on its side. Here, a town that did not admit black people: a smudged, filled-in circle inside an X. There, a town that trades in slaves: three links of chain.

As a child in his small town called Nowhere, Eddy found the maps foreign and exciting. They confirmed something he had always believed: that the world outside was different and there were all different people in it. He couldnt wait to become a raider, mark up his own maps, go everywhere. Not just Estiel. Even then, the way the lines on the map puckered toward it made it seem like a mean old mouth.

He was forty miles south of the city when he found Chloe. This spot had been his camp many times, often for moons on end. The round gray birds, partridge and grouse, were thick here. In some seasons, wild chickens and pheasants in brown and red and checks mixed among them. The partridges were slow and showed little sign of contact with people. Eddy would pick off one or two, snapping their necks and plucking them at his leisure.

The old woman who held Chloes tiny hand was gray-haired and short, her spine bent like a question mark. Her belt was circled around with blades. Rusty razors alternated with broken knives, their tangs showing empty screw holes. Sharpened hunks of tin glittered in the sunlight. Her mouth had the sunken look of a recently filled grave; Eddy knew she would be toothless, but he didnt expect the black stumps that showed when the hag smiled. Her eyes were covered by black plastic glasses that wrapped around her head, chipped and fogged but still transparent enough to see through.

The hair on Eddys arms stood up suddenly, in hard little bumps identical to those on the half-plucked bird he was working on. He got to his feet slowly, feeling the presence of the gun at his back suddenly take on weight.

Black teeth and split lips opened, but what came forth didnt sound like words at all. Eddy stared in amazement, trying to puzzle it out. Her accent was deep bayou south, traveling through the marshland of her mouth and landing in the Midwestern air sounding like no human language. He cocked his head to the side, affecting mild confusion to mask bolting horror.

Her man walked up slowly, carefully. This time Eddy put his hand on his gun and left it there.

The man was tall and thin with long, slender arms. He wore a cap made of an inexpertly skinned animal, and bad tattoos marched up his arms. Ho, there. Ho, there, son. No trouble, now. No trouble at all. We thought we might bring you something nice.

Wee that wee mat brang you sumpn nahs. Eddy turned it over and over in his head, trying to make it into words.

This here is the last girl in the world.

It came together all at once, the way a heavy summer rainstorm breaks in an instant and soaks the ground. He understood. They were selling the girl. Their talk was sloppy, slow, like something clotted pouring through a ragged hole. But once he got the feel of it, he could understand them.

He shifted his stance. Is that right? The last girl in the world?

The old womans head rocked in a wild nod on her tortured spine. Thats right. The very last one. Of course, I dont count anymore. I cant tell you how many old women there might be. But girls... now thats different. This here is the last one.

Eddy tried to remember the last time he had seen a girl this small on the road. He tried to remember how many girl children had died being born back home, how many women had died trying to have them. It didnt make the girl any more or less precious. He didnt feel like doing the math.

The old woman touched the girls blonde hair as though it were the finest merchandise before yanking the child forward, leading her roughly by one hand.

Eddy let his eyes rake over the child. Thin enough to make him wince. Dirty and scabbed and dull in the eyes past all recognition.

If this is the last girl child on earth, he thought, surely she deserves better than this.

He kept his hand on his gun.

The man spoke up again. He wore a long cloak that had been patched and mended with some care. The main body of it had once been made of velvet. He had stubble but had shaved fairly recently. His eyes were clear, and Eddy could see the ropes of his muscles when he moved his long arms.

Will you just look at that? Pretty as a pitcher and no trouble at all. Just does exactly what shes told. Watch this.

He gave a short whistle and the girl turned toward him mechanically, following as devoid of will as when a flower turns to the sun. As the man lowered his pants she shoved one small, filthy hand in to root for her salvation, her face turned away.

Eddy saw her seize upon the mans member and resignedly tuck herself toward him, saw the habit and economy in her gestures. He knew the girl had been born in captivity, never known a free day in her short life. He saw the way the man sagged, hips forward, whole body relaxing as the child moved to service him. The old woman did not trouble herself to look away.

I dont want to watch that, Eddy said, struggling to keep his voice unconcerned. Lets hear the price.

The man shrugged and pulled the childs hand out of his pants, hitching and tying them back into place. Man doesnt need to be shown, I reckon. You know what youre getting. We want a gun.

I dont have one. He said it too quickly. There were only a few guns in Nowhere, and only a few girls this young. If he was careful, he could change one of those numbers today. He let a beat pass, took a breath and let it out slowly. I have throwing knives, and Im pretty good with those. I could show you.