Feb 3 - When a single machine is the cause of so much heartbreak and so much risk to human lives, what's the logical next step? Order more machines, of course. I'm aghast. Apparently, I am no longer the sole operator of the Posthumous Predictor in Cleveland. Now, I'm just the senior operator. Meaning I've been taking calls from the Cuyahoga County hospital about installation all day, in addition to handing out SUICIDE and DROWN cards to my morose clients. Someone at Cuyahoga County wanted to know if people traded their actual deaths if they traded their cards. I rolled my eyes and was about to tell her that was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard, but you know, I have no idea. I gave her Neil's number. Let him roll his eyes awhile. The tension here has eased quite a bit. I think the politicians are still talking about the machine, some even talking about making testing mandatory, but the news media have lost interest. Some people apparently saw a nipple on TV over the weekend, so all of their attention has gone elsewhere.

Feb 4 - They were clearing out the debris from the building next door today. It's just a blank lot now, and yes, I can see the next brick building down, but I can also see the sky and the street below. All it took for this window to serve its function was the deaths of a bunch of kids. Over lunch, I grabbed one of the bricks before they cleared them all away, and now it's here on my windowsill. I really don't know why I kept it.

Feb 10 - Guess what I found out today? Paul and Beth are dating. How did that happen? I saw her come in yesterday, thinking she wanted another go-through with the machine. But then she and Paul left holding hands. I've got to admit, I feel weird about that. She didn't even stop in and say h.e.l.lo to me. They looked kind of sweet together, I guess, but I have to admit, when I saw them walking out to her car, I couldn't help but think of two doomed prisoners on their way to the gallows. Or something. She with her cancer, he with his falling, it's like they're on borrowed time. Is Paul more willing to deal with suffering than I am? Or is he just more desperate for s.e.x? Or does he not understand that one day, the cancer will overwhelm her, and he'll be left to face his fall all alone?

Feb 17 - I've seen a couple of those custom shirts in the last couple of weeks. One said EXPLOSION. One said OLD AGE. The public has embraced wearing their death on their sleeve. What's more disturbing, is there's some role-playing game based on the death cards. Apparently a starter pack comes with 60 fake death cards, and you're encouraged to shuffle your own into the deck. Then the characters in the game start dying left and right and the winner is the last person standing. Also, on my way to work, I always pa.s.s this building that says "Palm Readings" in the window. Well, they took down the sign a few weeks ago, and now they just put up a new sign that says "Death Cards Explained." At least three private businesses in town have gotten their hands on their own machines. Apparently they're a lot cheaper than they were last year. Now, with the added compet.i.tion, demand at the lab has dropped considerably. I find that more often than staring out the window, I'm staring at the brick, waiting for someone else to come in. Everyone's getting rich off of death but me.

Feb 24 - Happy first birthday, you freaky pile of circuits and premonitions. I sincerely regret that you're still around.

Mar 3 - I'm in trouble. All of a sudden, Tammy has questions about the card I submitted for myself. Was she talking to Neil? What's so implausible about ALMOND? I finally came to accept it. She wants to bring in the examiner from the hospital to administer the test on me "again." Now what? Plus, Paul's mad at me because I confided in him that I lied about my card. I think I could get into serious trouble here. I could lose my job for this.

Mar 4 - I got no sleep last night worrying. Dr. Henry from Cuyahoga County is coming in this afternoon. I've been worked up about it all day. I think I'm just going to have to go through with it. I'll tell Tammy I sent her the test card by mistake. Paul probably won't tell her anything. I won't lose my job. But I'm still stressed out because I don't want to know. Let it be a mystery! No one needs to know! I don't need to know. Whatever that card says will just consume me, and those feelings of doom I get when I see Paul or Beth will paralyze me every time I look in a mirror. I wish there was some way to avoid this. I shouldn't have to know if I don't want to!

Mar 4 - Dr. Henry finally left. I took the test six times. I feel like a pincushion. I don't know if there's something wrong with the machine or what. I tried calling Neil, but he's doing installations all over Ohio now. But clearly something is wrong, because every time I took the test, I got the same result: a blank card.

Mar 5 - Didn't sleep well last night either. Big surprise there. So did the machine read my mind? Did it know that I didn't want to see the answer? It knows how people die, maybe it can read my mind. I think I read a study once where a polygraph machine reacted to a tree when someone talked about cutting it down. Maybe this machine knew I was panicked about reading the results and spared me. Or maybe it's s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with me.

Mar 5 - If I don't get a reading, does that mean I won't die? How is that possible? I've sat next to this machine for a year, and watched it dispense little cards that made people depressed, or angry, or terrified. I've counseled people who didn't like their cards, I humored people who wanted to be retested. I've been the machine's caretaker, and little else. Is there something special about me? Why is it doing this to me?

Mar 5 - No one has come in to use the machine today, so I've used it on myself. Over and over again. I'm covered in dried blood. The cards are all blank.

Mar 6 - I am so tired. Can people die from lack of sleep? Can I die from lack of sleep? Can I die? Can the machine? Can the machine?

Mar 6 - MAR 10 - ENDVISIONS' NOTE: found found maintenance maintenance log, log, missing missing maintenance entries after april 29 of last year. previous user had been using log as a journal, with the last entry dated march 6. he was found march 7, apparently electrocuted while trying to damage machine with a heavy object, most likely a brick. machine no longer operational. i will be returning it to endvisions to try to salvage. journal entries indicate that user became enraged, possibly delusional when the machine stopped working. apparently, he was unfamiliar with the process of changing the ink cartridge. maintenance entries after april 29 of last year. previous user had been using log as a journal, with the last entry dated march 6. he was found march 7, apparently electrocuted while trying to damage machine with a heavy object, most likely a brick. machine no longer operational. i will be returning it to endvisions to try to salvage. journal entries indicate that user became enraged, possibly delusional when the machine stopped working. apparently, he was unfamiliar with the process of changing the ink cartridge.

a square of paper was removed from this log and placed on top of the remains of the machine. Written in handwriting that matches this journal was the single word, "me."

Story by John Chernega Ill.u.s.tration by Paul Horn

STARVATION.

DALTON WAS LOOKING DOWN AT HIS HANDS. They were dirty, and maybe a little b.l.o.o.d.y, too. One of his thumbnails was split wide open. "I guess I always just figured what the h.e.l.l, you know?" They were in the jungle now and things were quiet, relatively speaking. They were just sitting there, like nothing happened. Just two guys sitting in the jungle, waiting for the shock to wear off. "I mean, it was gonna happen either way, right?"

Johnny sat still, hugging his legs in his arms. He was younger and smaller than Dalton, just out of basic. The sunburnt skin was still peeling off his bare shoulders. In a few more weeks, he'd be tanned just as deep as everybody else. "Still, man," he said. "The Army?"

Dalton laughed, his lips curling up around his big teeth. "Yeah, I know," he said. "G.o.dd.a.m.ned stupid kid, huh? Signed up the day after I found out. It's like that where I come from, though. I figured it was there on the streets or here in the jungle. And I sure as h.e.l.l didn't want to catch it back there. Not without seeing something first, not without doing something." His lips stopped smiling now. The smile had never reached his eyes anyway. "Never seemed fair."

Johnny rubbed his arms with his hands. There was no reason why he should have been cold, but suddenly he wanted his jacket. But it was back there, back with the others in the clearing. Johnny just hugged himself tighter and shook his head to clear some gnats out of his face. "You ever think anytime that-"

"Only every day, kid." Dalton stood up, stretching his arms over the a.s.sault rifle slung across his back. He'd held on to his jacket, his gun, his pack, his helmet. Johnny hadn't thought to take anything with him. He'd just run. But Dalton had somehow managed to keep all his kit. "Every stinking day. Every time those guns started going off, I thought I was done for. But I never knew which way it would come from, so I just kept running. Just kept going the way they told me to."

Johnny watched Dalton pace under the trees. He was a big man, well muscled. Johnny felt like a little kid next to him. Even in fighting form, Johnny still looked scrawny. He had tried everything to bulk up, but he never could.

"Even back there on the chopper," said Dalton. "I thought that was it for sure." He turned suddenly, looming over Johnny like a scarecrow. "Homicide don't mean anything except you get killed by somebody else. It don't have to be on purpose. It can be like that crash back there just as long as it's the pilot's fault."

"You didn't die," said Johnny.

Dalton grinned. "I know it," he said. He squinted down at Johnny a minute. "You ready now?"

Johnny straggled behind Dalton as they came out of the jungle into the clearing. Streaks of fuel burned in the gra.s.s, the flames pale and languid in the bright midday sun. But they were still hot and smoky as h.e.l.l. The smashed chopper was only about twenty yards away, a crumpled aluminum can surrounded by four smoldering lumps of black. The rest of the men.

Dalton brought the nose of his rifle up and put his finger on the trigger. They hadn't seen any enemy fire when they had gone down, but it was hard to be sure. And even if the bad guys hadn't been around before, there was nothing like a crippled chopper to bring them out of cover. "Keep your eyes open," said Dalton. Johnny just grunted, and drew his knife. It was the only weapon he had anymore.

The two men picked their way carefully through the tall gra.s.s. A few yards away from the helicopter, an injured snake lay writhing in the gra.s.s. Dalton kicked it out of the way with his boot. Then he motioned up to the chopper. "Check if the radio's still working," he said. "I can cover you."

Johnny moved past Dalton, and pushed a clump of reeds out of the way. Suddenly, he drew back, his mouth working involuntarily open and shut. There, on the gra.s.s in front of him, lay a severed head still encased in its dented helmet. The eyes and mouth were open. It was Sanchez, or maybe Dallas. Johnny couldn't tell for sure. He couldn't look away either. He just felt terror welling up inside him, his lungs tight and his stomach balled up like somebody had sucker-punched him. He thought he heard somebody screaming and he didn't know if it was coming out of his mouth or if it was just in his brain.

Suddenly a strong hand gripped Johnny's shoulder. He could hear Dalton's voice in his ear. "Don't look at it, kid," said the voice. "Don't look at it, don't think about it. Just keep going. Just keep doing what you gotta do." Somehow, Johnny felt his feet moving. He inched his way closer to the c.o.c.kpit, but it was still on fire. It was too hot, he couldn't get any closer. The radio was toast for sure. Dalton, standing a couple yards behind him, could see it too. "Forget it, kid," he called. "Come on back. There's nothing left here. It's all gone."

That night, Dalton went back to the clearing to get some embers to build a fire. They only had reeds and rotting wood to burn, but they had plenty of time to try to get them burning. There wasn't anything else to do anyway. Johnny watched Dalton blowing gently on the thin licks of flame. He tossed a handful of gra.s.s into it and the fire flared up, scattering ashy sparks into the air. Otherwise it wouldn't do better than sputter.

"That'll have to do for now," said Dalton. He leaned back on a big fallen log next to Johnny and clapped his knee with his big hand. "You're one h.e.l.l of a hiker for such a scrawny guy."

Johnny just nodded, staring at the fire. One of the logs was starting to smolder a little, the bark curling up as it glowed red. Dalton had forced a march after they'd discovered the radio and the rest of the supplies were gone. That's how they found out that they'd crashed on an island. It had a little bit of jungle and the clearing where the helicopter had crashed, and a few miles of beach. On three sides they could see land close by, but as far as they knew they were just more islands. Even if one of those blue outlines were the mainland, they wouldn't have known which one or where they were liable to come ash.o.r.e. It could be right in the middle of an enemy camp.

"Well," said Dalton. "Here's what we got." He had emptied out his pack. There were rations enough to feed one of them six days, or both of them three days. It didn't take a genius to do that math. Either way, it wasn't long.

"I ain't hungry," said Johnny.

"Don't matter," said Dalton, pushing one of the MREs at Johnny. "You gotta eat something. I'm not gonna carry you around tomorrow if you're too weak."

Johnny laughed. "Yeah, and where are we supposed to go?"

"Gotta find water," said Dalton. "Unless you saw a spring somewhere today."

Johnny leaned back on the log and shook his head. "No," he said. "I didn't." Dalton held out the MRE again and Johnny took it this time. He opened it, looking for stars through the canopy the whole time.

"What are you doing out here anyway?" asked Dalton. He took a swig from his canteen and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "You don't seem the type. You seem like a smarter guy than this."

"Yeah," said Johnny, "well, I'm not." He picked at his food for a minute in silence. "I couldn't get into school."

"What? High school?"

Johnny looked over at Dalton for the first time. He thought he was maybe making fun of him, bullying him, but it didn't look like it. "College," he said.

"Oh," said Dalton.

"Yeah, well," said Johnny. "I didn't want to flip burgers, so I thought I'd join up and maybe get into school that way. Or at least learn how to do something." He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and rubbed his wrist into his eye socket. The mosquitos were biting now. Or whatever they were. "I didn't think I'd actually end up here."

"n.o.body does," said Dalton. They were quiet for a few minutes. Johnny nibbled a little on the food, and Dalton rearranged the fire as best he could. "I can't get Sanchez out of my head back there," he finally said. "Still in his helmet like that. I mean, how the h.e.l.l does that even happen?" He lifted one of the logs and tried to get a bit of bark burning. A puff of smoke hit him in the eyes and he sat back, blinking. "That's not even the worst part," he said. "Imagine going through your whole life with that that on your ticket. I mean, G.o.dd.a.m.n." Dalton rubbed the last of the smoke out of his eyes, smearing a line of ash down his cheek in the process. He was still looking at the fire. "I've been meaning to ask you," he said slowly, "what's on your ticket, kid?" on your ticket. I mean, G.o.dd.a.m.n." Dalton rubbed the last of the smoke out of his eyes, smearing a line of ash down his cheek in the process. He was still looking at the fire. "I've been meaning to ask you," he said slowly, "what's on your ticket, kid?"

Johnny didn't answer right away. He couldn't answer. As soon as Dalton had mentioned Sanchez, his bowels had all gone weak and his stomach had flopped and risen, forcing all the air out of his lungs. By the time Dalton turned around again, Johnny was already vomiting his dinner back out into his hand. Dalton jumped up to his side and Johnny felt his big hands pressing against his head.

"Oh hey, kid," said Dalton. "I'm sorry about that. I should have never said that stuff about Sanchez. I keep forgetting this is your first time out here."

Johnny didn't feel any better in the morning light. Heavy beads of sweat clung to his forehead, and his skin felt like it was stretched tight across the bones of his face. Dalton had given him the canteen in the night, but he had drunk it dry. He still hadn't eaten anything.

"You okay, kid?" asked Dalton, feeling Johnny's arms and legs for fractures. "You sure you didn't get hurt in the crash? Does anything hurt? You could have been in shock most of yesterday and never even known it."

Johnny shook his head. "No," he croaked. "Just shook up, that's all. I'll be fine in the afternoon." Even as he spoke, he knew it wasn't true. He felt terrible, like he was floating on the surface of a fast-moving stream. He was only wearing his undershirt and his pants, but even so he felt like he was being slowly smothered to death. Like snakes were coiling themselves around his body and biting his bowels. "I think I drank all the water," he said. "Sorry."

Dalton shook his head and picked up the empty canteen. "Don't worry about it, kid. I'll find some more." Dalton stood over Johnny a second longer. He seemed to be thinking hard about something. Then he put the rifle on the ground next to Johnny. "Here, be careful with this," he said. "But I'll probably be gone all morning. If something happens and you need me, let off a round." He stood up again. "And for G.o.d's sake, kid, don't shoot me when I come back."

By afternoon, Johnny was a little better. He heard Dalton crunching through the undergrowth and he reached out to push the rifle away. He hadn't even been touching it before, but it was better to be safe than sorry. A minute later, Dalton knelt down next to him, holding the canteen to his lips. The water tasted gritty, but it was cool and wet enough.

"Did you find a spring?" asked Johnny.

Dalton shook his head, squatting on his heels nearby. He picked up his rifle and slung it over his shoulder again. "I ended up collecting the water from leaves." He motioned to the canopy as he took a drink himself. "Dew and stuff, I guess."

"Sounds like that would take a while."

Dalton laughed. "It does." He wiped his forehead. "I just hope I didn't sweat away more than I got." He flashed his big toothed smile again. He had a rough face, swarthy and twisted, but he looked boyish and almost handsome when he grinned that way. "You eat anything?"

"Still not hungry."

Dalton nodded, rocking back on his heels. "Look, Johnny," he said. "We have to have a serious talk." Johnny looked over at him, waiting. "How do you die?"

Johnny shook his head. "What does it matter to you?"

"You know mine," said Dalton. "Homicide, murder, whatever you want to call it. I got a gun, and we each got a knife. I just want to know how this ends, you and me alone here. What chance do we got?"

Johnny's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

"Look, kid, we don't know where we are. Maybe we're close by home, and maybe they're looking for us right now, and maybe a chopper'll fly overhead in the next five minutes. Maybe." Dalton scratched the side of his face, stretching his mouth. "But maybe n.o.body else knows what happened to us. Maybe we're stuck somewhere they can't get to us. Maybe they got other problems."

Johnny just looked at Dalton. He still felt a little feverish. He understood everything Dalton was saying, but it sounded like it was coming from far away.

"We might be here a while," said Dalton. "That's all I'm saying. We got to prepare for that. And if we're going to prepare, then we have to know what we're up against. What do we have to watch out for, you know?" Dalton tapped himself on the chest. "Me, that's murder. Other people. That's what I got to watch out for."

Johnny shook his head and made like he was going to get up. Dalton stopped him.

"I'm not talking about you, kid. You're sick, and I can take you in a fair fight anyway." He patted the stock of the rifle. "And I got the gun right now, so I'm not scared of you. We got no reason to kill each other. But if you're gonna go down homicide too, then maybe we'll get rid of the knives and the gun. Throw them in the ocean or something." Dalton raised his eyebrows and looked down at Johnny. "It's just the two of us here, and if we can keep from killing each other then we'll be okay. As long as we're alone and as long as we both stick together, nothing can happen to us." Suddenly his voice softened and dropped. "We got water and food now, but that's not gonna last. Not the food anyway. If n.o.body comes for us, we're gonna start getting desperate and I'd just as soon not have any weapons around when it happens." Dalton looked down at his hands. "You see what I'm getting at here? We got to know these things so we can do what we have to do before we get to the point when we start thinking crazy things about each other." Dalton paused for a minute. "So, how do you die?"

Johnny breathed in deep. "You didn't find any food?" Dalton shook his head. "What about those snakes? Or birds?"

"Gotta catch them," said Dalton. "And even then..." He shrugged. "Not much meat on a snake. I didn't even see any fish out there. Maybe there'll be some that come by later, but who knows."

"And you don't think they're coming for us?"

Dalton pressed his lips together. "I hope they are," he said. "But there're a lot of islands out here, and we're not exactly in friendly territory." His voice trailed off.

Johnny just nodded and sighed. "All right then." He raised his eyes to Dalton's. He could feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead and his upper lip. "I'm supposed to starve to death."

Dalton didn't look surprised. He just looked angry. "G.o.dd.a.m.n it!" he shouted. He stood up and walked a few paces around the camp, and then he seemed to calm down a little. He went over to the pack and tossed Johnny an MRE. "Eat something anyway."

Johnny shook his head. "What's the point? Can't you see what's happening? We're done for, here. They're not gonna come and we're not gonna find any food. I don't know. Maybe you make it out okay, but I'm gonna die here for sure."

Dalton sat down, tipping his head back. He looked at Johnny through his knees, his hands dangling clasped above his feet. "Eat it," he said. "If you're right, at least you'll live another day. But you might be wrong. Either way, you might as well eat while you can."

Johnny opened the MRE and took a bite. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. Now that he had food in his hands, it was hard to convince himself to eat slowly. In between bites, he glanced at Dalton.

"You're not having one?"

Dalton shook his head. "I ate earlier."

On the morning of the third day, Johnny felt almost better. When he awoke, he was still sore and hungry, but the fever was gone. The back of his neck was cold and slick. His arms and legs ached with tension. The muddy places where his b.u.t.tocks rested against the earth were wet. Looking down at his body, he saw a spider with long spindly legs climbing up his trousers. Johnny brushed it away and sat up.

"Thirsty?" asked a voice. Johnny jumped. Dalton, of course. He was holding out the canteen. Johnny took it.

"You back already?"

"It's almost noon," said Dalton. He was sitting on his haunches again, watching Johnny like a mother hawk over her chicks. He must have been waiting there awhile. "You want anything to eat?"

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut and stretched his arms and legs. "Better not," he said. "There's only two left, right?"

"Three."

Johnny did the math in his head again. They'd both eaten two so far, so there should be only two left. "You didn't eat yesterday?" asked Johnny. Dalton smiled and shook his head. "You have one then," said Johnny. "I can have one tomorrow."

"What's the point of that?" asked Dalton. "I'm not planning on starving to death, no matter how little I eat. But you need some food if you're gonna get better."

"We'll split one."

In a few minutes, they were eating. After a while, Johnny sat up higher and looked around the little camp that Dalton had built over the past two days. There was a place cleared for the fire with a bit of wood drying nearby. Dalton's blanket was hung across a couple of wires stretched between the trees-a tent or a water collector, maybe. And that was it. That was the whole camp.

"Where's the rifle?" asked Johnny.

Dalton licked his fingers, trying to suck the last bit of grease off them. "Ditched it," he said. "Threw it into the ocean like I said." He leveled a finger at Johnny. "I want to ditch the knives too, both of ours."

Johnny shook his head. "We're gonna need them. You should have kept the gun too. What if there's an animal we could have shot? Or what if somebody shows up?"

"We're running out of food already," said Dalton. "It's like I told you before, things are going to get desperate and who knows what we'll do then. We just gotta keep from killing each other and maybe we'll be okay. Just get rid of the weapons, and we'll be fine."

"You'll be fine," said Johnny darkly. "I'm still gonna starve to death."

"We don't know that. We don't know what's gonna happen."

"Forget it," said Johnny. "I'm keeping my knife. You said yourself that you could take me in a fair fight. I'm sick and I'm not as strong as you. If we get rid of the knives, then I got nothing. This is all I got."

Dalton suddenly stood up, gripping his scalp in his hands. "Don't you get it?" he said. He was kicking the dirt like a mad bull. "I can't kill you! I can't do anything to you at all! I'm bigger and I'm stronger and I'm healthier, but none of that means anything. Even if I still had the gun, it wouldn't make a difference! If I come at you, I'm the only one who's got a chance of getting killed. I'd have to be an idiot to risk it!"

"You thought about it?"

"What?"