Turn 205 of 226

Stay here and let the wish keep building. We love the freedom and growth and savagery it produces in us. We also love our fat, hairy, bloody, disgusting, muscular bodies

The treeline holds them. The 383-foot frames lie in the wreckage of second-growth spruce and shattered granite and the wreckage is the thing the 150,000 pounds do not feel because the 960-times density does not register wreckage as different from ground. The ground is the thing the body rests on. The resting is the thing the wish says is right. The right is the thing the warmth gives. The warmth is in her stomach and in her chest and in the fat layer over the muscle and in the muscle under the fat and in the bone under the muscle and the bone is 960-times density and the density is the thing that does not stop building.

The building is slow now. Not the violent acceleration of the last three days — not the multiplying, not the tenfold leap that took her from 38 feet to 383. The building is the thing the wish does when there is nothing left to fight. The warmth spreads through the 150,000 pounds the way sunlight spreads through water — not fast, not urgent, just the steady accumulation of heat in a body that has nowhere to be and nothing to resist. Lena can feel it in her fingertips. She can feel it in the 960-times density of her femurs, the mineral layers still compounding, still thickening, the bone becoming something denser than bone has ever been. She can feel it in the fat. The fat layer over the muscle is the softness she chose to keep and the wish is feeding it, the 150,000 pounds adding weight the way a river adds water — not in floods but in the constant slow accumulation that changes the shape of the banks.

Diane's body is against hers and the against is the thing the animal does not need words for. The 150,000 pounds of Diane press against the 150,000 pounds of Lena and the pressing is warm and the warm is the thing the contact gives. The fat layers meet — Lena's belly against Diane's belly, the soft surfaces pressing together, the 960-times density muscle beneath flexing and relaxing in slow rhythms that match the breathing. The body hair is matted with dried blood and soil and sweat and the matting is the thing the animal does not clean because the cleaning is the thing the old world wanted and the old world is dust. The blood on their mouths is from the staging areas and the staging areas are three days gone and the blood is the thing the animal wears. The wearing is the thing that does not wash off. The not washing is the thing the 383-foot frame does not apologize for. The not apologizing is the thing the wish gives.

Lena lifts her arm and the 960-times density bicep is the size of a sedan and the fat over it is the thing the hand traces. The hand is her own hand. The tracing is the thing the animal does when the body is the only thing that matters. The fat is soft over the muscle and the muscle is hard under the fat and the combination is the thing Lena wanted — not lean, not cut, but dense. The dense is the thing the 150,000 pounds are. The body hair is dark and thick from her wrist to her shoulder and the thickness is the thing the wish did not remove because the wish is not about removing. The wish is about adding. The adding is the thing that does not stop. The teeth are yellow and the yellow is the thing the mouth shows when the mouth opens to breathe and the breathing is the thing the 150,000 pounds do slowly. The slowness is the thing the rest gives. The rest is the thing the treeline gives. The treeline is the thing the state gives. The state is the thing the military gave because the military had no choice. The no choice is the thing the 960-times density provides.

The sky is grey and the grey is the thing the 383-foot frame does not need a roof for. The clouds move over them and the moving is the thing the weather does and the weather is the thing the animal does not hide from. The rain starts at midday — a light rain, cold, the drops falling on the 150,000 pounds of brown and hairy and bloody and fat and muscular body and the falling is the thing the skin does not flinch from. The rain pools in the creases of the fat layer. The rain runs through the body hair. The rain mixes with the dried blood and the soil and the sweat and the mixing is the thing the animal does not wash because the animal does not wash. The animal is the thing that is disgusting by every standard the old world held and the old world's standards are dust and the dust is what the rain falls on and the rain does not change anything. The not changing is the thing the animal is. The animal is the thing the wish built. The built is the thing that is still going. The going is the thing that does not stop. The not stopping is the thing the warmth is. The warmth is the thing the wish is. The wish is the thing that Lena is. The Lena is the thing that is. The is. The is. The is.

In Sacramento, the laptop screen goes dark one final time. The credentials are revoked. The channels are closed. The thermal feed is gone. Cal Medina sits in the room above the auto repair shop and the room is the thing that has no windows and the no windows is the thing that matches the no information. He does not know if they are alive. He does not know if the state is intact. He does not know anything. The not knowing is the thing Cal carries out of the room and down the stairs and into the Sacramento afternoon where the air smells of motor oil and the motor oil is the thing the old world smells like and the old world is the thing Cal still lives in. The living is the thing that does not know about the 383-foot frames in the treeline. The not knowing is the thing that keeps Cal safe. The safe is the thing that does not last. The not lasting is the thing Cal does not think about. The not thinking is the thing that is. The is. The is. The is.