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Dave Eggers' The Wild Things is available for preorder, in regular hardcover and
limited-edition fur-covered.
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- - - - [The following excerpt comes from Issue No. 10: McSweeney's Mammoth Treasury of Thrilling Tales.] - - - - T H E Y H A D C O N Q U E R E D One of the enemy has escaped into the mountains. An important general. He knows our language, he knows our ways, but we don't know his nor where his men are, nor even if there are any of his men left at all. We were holding him in our maximum security facilities and we had thought to torture him until he told us what he knew of his own army. We had called in others to torture him because we don't believe in torture, but he escaped before they arrived. There's a large reward for his capture. For a sum like this, even his own men would turn him in. He can't count on anybody. There's no way that he can survive very long anyway. It's too cold and everybody is on our side around here. Most likely they'll fight among themselves over the reward. There'll be a few more of us dead. We had dressed him in orange. He'll have to steal some clothes. We hope he won't kill any of us to get them. He must be very stupid to try to escape in a place like this and at this season. The weather can only get worse. But perhaps death is better than our (deliberately) rat infested, latrineless cells. He has been trained by us in our own schools to laugh at death. Most likely his body is already out there somewhere. We've sent local children to search the rocks and bushes. They know the area better even than our experts. We'll give them pennies and salt for any clues they pick up. We warned them if they find him and he's not dead, they should run, as he is extremely dangerous and has probably obtained or made a weapon. I'm on a trail now. At first I just headed out, not following any road or path, but there's no way to cross these mountain passes and not be on one. Every now and then there's a hut. This time of year they're all empty. I don't dare spend the night in any. I stole clothes from one, long underwear, and a worn out sheepskin jacket. I found a knit cap. They shaved my head so I needed a good hat. Everything I took was worn out and smelled bad, but I wear them anyway. I stole food and a blanket. I was wearing leg irons. At the hut I found tools to break them off. I'll be able to go a little faster now. I stole a sickle but dropped it later. I don't want to be tempted to lash out at anyone, especially not with a sickle. I sleep several yards from the trail in any handy sheltered spot. Or if there are scattered boulders I cover myself with the blanket and lie along them as if I were just another stone. I haven't met a single person up here, but I don't dare relax. I sleep the sleep of exhaustion. I'll think to myself: This is a good spot, and that's all I know until I wake up. I'm aware that I'm walking through great beauty but if I sit down to appreciate it for a minute I fall asleep. Sometimes the moon has risen and I lie back and think to look at the sky and take some time to realize I'm in a wondrous place and this is a luminous moment, but no sooner do I have that thought than I'm asleep. Notices have been put up on every corner: WANTED REWARD. Wild and dangerous man. Medium height, shaved head, dark eyes. He'd as soon kill you as look at you. By now he may have weapons. If you harbor him or give him food, you'll be considered as guilty as he is. There's a micro chip imbedded in his shoulder where he can neither see it or reach it. Anyone who has removed it will be considered as traitorous as he is. The sentence for helping him is death.
A HEART-POUNDING CONCLUSION AWAITS, AVAILABLE ONLY IN McSWEENEY'S MAMMOTH TREASURY OF THRILLING TALES. - - - - Carol Emshwiller has two books just out from Small Bear Press: The Mount and Report to the Men's Club and other stories. She lives in New York and California, and teaches an adult education fiction class at NYU.
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