The Boy at the End of the World Read Online Free PDF Page B

It ate pretty much anything it could find a way to shovel into its endlessly chewing mouth. It wasn’t hard to figure out why it ate so much: it eliminated almost as much as it ate. Its steaming dung stank and attracted flies.
    â€œLet’s go,” Fisher said to Click, hoisting his spear over his shoulder. Down the valley floor, the ruins loomed, silent spires in the morning mist.
    â€œI had assumed you were going to kill the mammoth.”
    â€œYou think I should?”
    â€œI think it would crush you if you tried.”
    The mammoth’s tail lazily batted away flies.
    Fisher had made his decision. He set off downstream, into the tall reeds. Click fell into step beside him.
    The sound of munching grass followed them. The stink of mammoth dung wafted on the breeze.
    â€œIt’s following us,” Fisher said.
    â€œYes. You are not pleased?”
    â€œI don’t want to be followed.”
    â€œAh. Why not?”
    Fisher didn’t have a ready answer. It simply made sense that his chances of survival wouldn’t be improved by the company of a creature that ate everything in plain sight and left entire mountains of dung behind it.
    â€œI just don’t want anything following me,” Fisher said.
    â€œI advise you to reconsider,” said Click.
    Since when did the robot get a say in Fisher’s plans?
    But Click continued to talk. “Elephants possessed a detailed knowledge of their environment. They knew where to find food. They knew where to find water. They knew where dangers lay. They passed this knowledge from elder herd members to their young. All you know, Fisher, are the skills I downloaded into you. They may not be enough. The mammoth could offer you a better chance of survival.”
    The mammoth emerged from the grass. It gazed at Fisher with eyes of cool fire.
    â€œFine,” Fisher said. “Come on, Protein. Let’s go.”
    The mammoth loosed an avalanche of dung and followed.
    Late afternoon sunlight filtered down through pine boughs and maple leaves, and Fisher walked. His feet hurt. Though his clothing fit well, his big toes rubbed against the side of his foot coverings, giving rise to blisters.
    The mammoth suffered no such problems. Its feet had leathery pads that absorbed its own weight and dealt well with the terrain. Maybe if Fisher killed it and ate it, he could make better shoes from the mammoth’s feet.
    He tried to imagine how he’d go about making shoes. There’d be cutting and folding involved, as well as joining things together somehow, and probably doing something to the mammoth’s skin so it stayed supple.
    â€œI actually have no idea how to make shoes,” Fisher admitted.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with the shoes you’re wearing?” Click asked.
    â€œNothing. They’re just not as good as the mammoth’s feet.”
    â€œAh. Your feet will improve over time. They will harden with calluses. They will get used to walking.”
    Fisher muttered profanity as his toes rubbed their way along the trail.
    He wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe after stopping for a sip of muddy water—but it occurred to him that the mammoth was no longer following him. He was following the mammoth, and the mammoth was good at picking out a path. It avoided dips in the ground concealed by fallen leaves and pine needles. It stepped around places where sharp rocks poked from the earth. Fisher soon learned that by following its lead, his feet took much less abuse.
    Maybe the mammoth was good for more than meat and shoes. But as hunger left a bloated bubble feeling in Fisher’s belly, he still couldn’t ignore the fact that there was a lot of meat on the mammoth.
    The brush grew thick and tall, and from all around came rustling and chittering and the snapping of stalks and twigs by unseen creatures. Fisher kept his spear ready.
    The mammoth continued moving with surprisingly little noise on its superior feet,