"People were waiting in line at the ticket counters with their luggage and strollers. You know how the ropes make you snake back and forth? Every inch of it was full. Makes you think it was Thanksgiving, that crowd."
Bobby laughed and asked if the airline attendants were taking tickets and tagging luggage. Uncle Walter said sharply that yes, they were. "It's a kind thing, Bobby, and don't you forget it. They were swiping credit cards and everything. The only thing different is that there were seats on every flight and flights to everywhere."
So that shut Bobby up. I asked Uncle Walter which gate he dropped Susan at, and he said twenty-seven, and then he kind of got sad again and I let him be. I was a little surprised that Susan wanted to be at the airport because even though it sounded like the airlines were doing everything they could to make it seem normal, it couldn't be normal, ever. The whole thing about the seats on every flight for instance - they weren't fooling anybody like that.
Uncle Walter flipped through the paper from the fifteenth, even though it had been read to tatters. Susan had done the crossword in pen, and if we had known then, we would have stopped her. At least we could have erased the answers and played it a few times before it got easy. I tried to make one but gave up - they are harder than they look. Bobby sat in the La-Z-Boy by the window, hands over his face. He might have been crying, but he didn't make a sound.
I decided to go for a run. That hadn't changed. I went upstairs and changed into my running tights and sweatshirt and laced up my sneakers. I put on a hat and gloves while I trotted down the stairs. Bobby never moved but Uncle Walter looked up and watched me go. I thought he would say something but he didn't, and I let myself out.
The cold January air hit me hard, and I jogged down the front stairs, careful of the ice on the stoop. I took a hard left and headed toward the park, my eyes tearing from the cold wind. Frozen bits of icy snow piled up in the corners of the dirty street. No one was out - okay, it was freezing, so that made sense, but really, it was because either everyone else had converted or was indoors waiting for the next wave.
My heart thudded in my chest and my lungs rasped in and out. I hadn't yet warmed up so every step hit the ground hard, thudding up my spine. I concentrated grimly on the discomfort, because I didn't want to think of anything else, but it was no use. The idea of Susan at the airport, waiting there instead of at the house, made me - I don't know. Disappointed.
I had the empty street to myself, the buildings looming on either side of me, the staircased towers of the city center rising in the distance. Most of the stores had been looted, their windows jagged starbursts of broken glass. Graffiti everywhere. Someone's idea of fun, destruction for its own sake.
I thought about that, doing all the things I never had the guts to do when it was against the rules, but it seemed like most people were either just having lots of sex or stealing stuff. And since people did that anyway, it didn't seem special to do it now. So I just ran, although now I ran down the middle of the street. That was different at least.
It was funny though. If someone told you this was your last night to be human, what would you do? And it turned out that all I wanted was the same old. Those people at the airport, that's all they wanted too. I heard there were lines at the bank, and people getting their dry cleaning done and grocery shopping.
Then it happened. My muscles warmed up, my lungs adapted, my pulse smoothed out, and endorphins flooded my bloodstream. Just like that, I had become an effortless running machine. My breathing was steady, barely puffing out through my lips. I was euphoric. I thought: I could convert this way. I didn't know what that would make me, but running converted me anyway, or so I thought of it.
The street settled into a long uphill grade, but I was ready for it and I lengthened my stride, my heart and lungs adjusting to the demand. The sky was gray but there was a pale-ish aura behind the clouds to the west where the sun tried to shine through. It would set before the clouds cleared, and that would be that. Tomorrow if the sun shone, I wouldn't see it.
Well, I would see it, but I wouldn't know it. Or something like that. Uncle Walter tried to explain what happened when we convert, but I didn't understand. I mean I got the part how we weren't human anymore, but I didn't know what that meant. I figured I wouldn't until I converted, and then it wouldn't matter anymore.
The hill flattened out, and I could see the city spread out before me. The wind was fierce here, blasting me from the side, but that wasn't why I almost stopped. I had jogged right into a network.
After my first surprise, I kept going, threading my way through them as they walked along on their own mission. I could see at once they had converted - they had that look. It was like they were thinking faster or living faster. Their faces were alive, the emotions flickering faster than I could keep up. I could hear my own breathing, my own footsteps, but I think I was the ghost.
Even though I was careful, I bumped shoulders or jostled one, but aside from a vague gesture, as if to brush me away, nobody looked at me or acknowledged me. I guess it was like Uncle Walter had said, they didn't see the connection between us anymore. They were more in focus to me, but I was a blur to them.
It didn't seem to bother them at all that they had converted. Every time I ran into a network, I checked to see if they looked sad or in pain, but it wasn't like that. They were just more there.
I kept jogging, keeping an eye on them all the while, until I left them behind. Without knowing it I had turned down a familiar street, my feet taking the usual route. I had begun to breathe hard, but I still ran steady, all systems go. I had a choice - I could either run a longer distance, which is what I usually did when I reached this point and I still felt this good. Or I could let myself loose, and run my heart out, sprinting the last mile toward home.
You'd think it would be an easy choice. The long run of course. I didn't want to leave my city's empty streets too soon on what was my last run. But even while I thought that, my body decided for me. I began to sprint, pushing myself with every stride. Just like before, heart, lungs, muscles answered the call and I began to play myself. A little faster? Why not? How about faster? Every time I asked it I ran harder, and it was all effortless.
Was this conversion?
I skidded to a halt, gasping for air, my heart beating so hard that I blacked out for a moment, bright dots in front of my eyes. I groped the air as my knees buckled, finally clutching the cold points of a wrought-iron fence. Finally my heart slowed, my breathing slowed, and the dots faded and I could see. I let go shakily and looked around.
It was almost twilight. The sun was a line of gold on the horizon, or the bits I could see on the skyline. My legs aching, I stumbled back to the house. It was dark when I got there, and I let myself in. A small candle glowed in the kitchen, and Uncle Walter sat at the table in the darkness.
"Where's Bobby?" I asked.
"Bobby went on ahead. What happened to you?"
"I ran longer than I thought. I didn't mean to keep you waiting."
"You didn't. It wasn't time yet. Bobby just couldn't stand to wait around."
I nodded though I doubted he saw me. I wished I had some water but there wasn't anything from the faucets. I would have to break off some crusty snow from the windowsill or something. Then Uncle Walter surprised me and pulled out a bottle of water. I took it and broke the seal and drank. It tasted plasticky. It was wonderful. I drank half and handed him the rest but he waved it away, so I finished the bottle.
"Thanks," I said. "Where did you get it?" I wondered if he had saved it for a special occasion. Like tonight.
"I liberated it from the corner store. I thought there might be some water left and sure enough."
He couldn't see my face but he had to know I was surprised. Uncle Walter took an almost perverse pride in keeping the customs of civilization now that it had broken all around us. I set the empty bottle down on the table, the little drops of water inside reflecting in the candlelight.
"Well," Uncle Walter said. He got up, bulky in his big overcoat. "Are you ready?"
What could I say? Of course I wasn't. I followed him out of the house and he locked the door behind him. Night had fallen and the temperature dropped, and my running clothes did little to keep me warm. I crammed my hat back on my head and shivered after him.
We went down to the little gazebo in the park. A crowd had gathered there, some people carrying candles, and a bonfire burned off to one side. I made for the fire. I was freezing.
A woman in a heavy coat and scarf came up to me, holding out a sheaf of papers and a pencil in her gloved hands. She asked me if I could write, and I said yes, though I was shivering so hard that I wasn't sure how legible it would be.
"It's for the archives," she said. "We don't know how much time we have so everyone is going to write something, some bit of knowledge, to keep for later. You know, just in case," she faltered. "They're still us," she said finally and her voice was pleading. "They should know what we know. They should know who we are."
I just nodded, and she went on to someone else, leaving me with a couple of pieces of paper and a pencil. I had to warm up my hands in front of the bonfire before I could get started, and then it was hard to think of something to write. So I began to write everything I knew about running. Stretching, breathing, interval training, improving distance, all of it. I wrote and wrote and didn't notice that the crowd had thinned and the bonfire burned low. Then the woman came back.
"Stuff it in the cracks in the rock," she said. I had no idea what she was talking about. I looked around and by the bonfire light I could see little bits of shadowy paper stuck in the rock wall. I put my notes in there, feeling a little stupid. I didn't know how this was going to help. And anyway, no one was going to need to know about running.
Some people started singing hymns, and I felt all sick to my stomach and burning hot, like I was coming down with something. I saw Bobby and Uncle Walter talking to someone and a jolt of recognition made my heart jump. It was Susan. I knew she wouldn't leave us.
She pulled four envelopes out of her pocket, boarding passes poking out of the top, and handed them out. "I booked us on a late flight," she said. "I hope everyone is packed, because we have to hurry. There's not a lot of time left." I just took one numbly, because I thought she was in denial and it was Susan, who always faced everything head on. She must have caught something in my attitude because she gave a little shake of her head. "It's not for leaving. It's for coming back. I have to believe we're coming back."
We held hands and I thought about my notes. My heart sank - I forgot the most important thing. When the time is right, when your muscles are warm and your brain begins the flood of chemicals into your bloodstream, let it go. Don't struggle. Don't think.
Convert.
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