Deadman - Book 2 Chapter 31: The Cut

Book 2 Chapter 31: The Cut

I was contemplative while I walked. I didn’t have much to think about aside from David, and his note, and I found it turning my thoughts melancholy. The silence and endless black sand didn’t help. I checked my notifications, looking for some respite from myself.

Congratulations Citizen! You have earned a rank in Investigation! Here in the US we have the right to question everything, except freedom!

Congratulations Citizen! You have earned a rank in walking! A great way to see the beautiful vistas of this great nation

The walking increase didn’t surprise me, that had been a significant chunk of what I’d been doing for the last several days, and the investigation must’ve come from my search of the bunker, though how the system recognized that was beyond me. I had a lot of questions about how the system actually worked. How it recognized actions, how it supposedly increased intangibles like intelligence, or whether the skills increasing was actually granting something to me, or was instead just measuring what it recognized as what I already had. When I was at earlier ranks I could almost swear I could actually feel a steadier hand with my pistol, or a slight increase in my walking efficiency, but as time had gone on it had begun to feel more ephemeral, harder to really notice. As always, I had the question of why, in my case, the virus was recognized by the system. I’d actually been able to read about the virus and its development, how it had led to the deadmen, but there’d been no notes of anything related to the system interacting with it. The creator had, in fact, seemed openly hostile to the Rebuild America System and its creator.

I thought about that as I walked. After a few miles, the black sand started to give way, and I was back on firmer, easier to traverse ground. The change in sights was a relief, though that relief faded quickly as I eventually grew bored of the dusty and miserable landscape ahead of me, just as I had with the black sand. I fiddled with my radio, hoping to catch a signal from Deux’s station, or even a speech from Adams if only to have something to internally complain about, but there was nothing.

I took a deep breath and focused on just putting one foot in front of the other, breathing in and out in timing with my movement until everything else faded away. I was still aware of my surroundings of course, but I entered a kind of fugue in which everything came automatically, and my mind went blank. I could still feel a kind of heat rising inside me, the same heat I’d felt since I entered the high rads of the massive Cut deadzone. The external heat almost felt like it was finding a kind of equilibrium with the heat inside of me, and for a few moments as I walked it almost seemed as if there was no difference between the wastes and myself. I traveled like that for several days, breaking only to eat and sleep, and the only times my focus returned was when I chose to read.

Several hours into the morning, I felt something. A tremor or vibration in the ground that broke me from my contemplation and snapped me to attention. I stopped walking, but the vibration didn’t. I thought back to what the Pilgrim had said to me. I’d just made it past the black sand, which meant that next I’d need to walk without rhythm while crossing the abyss, or ‘they’ would notice me. I wasn’t certain of who, ‘they’ were, but I was sure I didn’t want to find out. I didn’t see anything that I would consider an abyss either, though I’d originally assumed that he’d meant the Cut itself.

I changed my walking pattern. Adjusting it to a kind of rolling gait, occasionally dragging one foot, or sliding them together. I was certain Nico or Deux would’ve gotten a kick out of it, but as I was alone I had only my self-judgment to deal with. As I moved in this odd pattern, the vibrations I’d been feeling grew fainter, until I could no longer feel them. It was hard though. I kept finding myself walking at my usual quick pace the moment I wasn’t actively focusing on it. My high walking skill, it seemed, had found the one way in which it was a liability.

After an excruciating amount of high focus, rhythmless walking, I saw something strange in the distance. A line of discoloration ahead of me that seemed to stretch across the distance. The closer I got, the stranger it became, and the higher I felt the Rads climbing. Eventually, I realized what I was seeing. It was the Cut itself. The massive gash that was torn diagonally across the entire United States. I kept walking until I reached the edge. The Cut itself was mostly smooth, like glass, and it appeared to be a perfectly straight line as far as I could see. It was easily a mile deep, and I guessed maybe only a little less than a mile wide. My plan to simply use the Jump Pack to get across was looking much less feasible. It may be able to allow me to safely glide to the bottom, but I doubted that it would have enough juice for me to get back up, or to fly across in a single jump. I’d need to figure out how the Pilgrim had managed to get over.

I was fairly certain that I had to be in a decent vicinity of where the Pilgrim himself had been walking. I’d started from the point he’d been found and traveled almost directly West from there. I’d encountered the black sand, which represented the first of the landmarks I’d expected. It was possible I’d deviated a bit since then, or that the Pilgrim had taken an odd route, but I’d bet that I was within a reasonable approximation of his path. I’d have to be, I didn’t relish the idea of jumping for it. I turned Northeast and started walking. Reasoning that since the ground was sloped upward a bit, the Pilgrim may have naturally walked a bit south easterly to move with the slope.

I eventually saw what I was looking for. At a perfectly flat patch of wall, were several hooks driven into the wall. They appeared to be handholds going all the way down to the bottom of the Cut. Near them was a small bag. I opened it to find more of the hooks, and two well worn hammers. There were no ropes. The average deadman was about two times as strong as a human, give or take a child or two. To climb up a sheer surface for a mile, driving in hand holds as you went, with no rope.. Even for a deadman, that was suicide. There was something driving the Pilgrim, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the exertion he’d been through had been part of what killed him.

I took a breath, and exhaled slowly. I was stronger than most deadmen, and had a number of abilities that made me even stronger, but looking straight down, I didn’t relish what I was going to have to do. I grabbed the bag of hooks and hammers, thinking it better to have them and not need them, then the alternative, had a quick meal of meat and a long draught of water, then started my climb.

It was easy at first. I’d lower myself down, testing the hook with my feet, put my weight on it, then repeat. As I moved downward, I started to tire though. The Pilgrim had been shorter than I was, and so the hooks were awkwardly spaced for my own climb downward, forcing me to exert far more effort than I would’ve needed to otherwise. When I was halfway I put my foot down with a bit too much force and briefly lost my footing. I gasped, clinging to the hooks that held my hands. I calmed down, and awkwardly made my way down to the next one. From there on it was easy, if tedious and tiring, to make it the rest of the way down.

The rads continued to increase to a level higher than anything I’d experienced before, and I once again felt the heat building inside me grow into an odd state of equilibrium with it. I jumped down the last ten feet, eager to put my feet solidly back on terra firma. I let out a breath, then pulled out my canteen and had another long sip of water as I leaned against the wall. It was dark, and I could see the moon and stars hanging above me seemingly cut off where the edges of the cliff’s above obscured my vision. I was tired, but I wanted to try to make it to the other side before I made camp. I walked in a straight line to the other side of the cliff, thinking that was the most logical point in which to place more climbing hooks. When I reached it though, I found none. I was stuck at the bottom of the cliff.