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e delighting manner on the smooth breasts and flanks of flesh。 These too had begun skinning the meat。
〃You will bring us more；〃 the father said。 〃More meat for us。 The other one was weak。〃 Kaufman stared in disbelief。
〃Me？〃 he said。 〃Feed you？ What do you think I am？〃
〃You must do it for us； and for those older than us。 For those born before the city was thought of； when America was a timberland and desert。〃 The fragile hand gestured out of the train。
Kaufman's gaze followed the pointing finger into the gloom。 There was something else outside the train which he'd failed to see before； much bigger than anything human。
The pack of creatures parted to let Kaufman through so that he could inspect more closely whatever it was that stood outside； but his feet would not move。
〃Go on；〃 said the father。
Kaufman thought of the city he'd loved。 Were these really its ancients； its philosophers； its creators？ He had to believe it。 Perhaps there were people on the surface…bureaucrats； politicians； authorities of every kind…who knew this horrible secret and whose lives were dedicated to preserving these abominations； feeding them； as savages feed lambs to their gods。 There was a horrible familiarity about this ritual。 It rang a bell…not in Kaufman's conscious mind； but in his deeper； older self。
His feet； no longer obeying his mind； but his instinct to worship； moved。 He walked through the corridor of bodies and stepped out of the train。
The light of the torches scarcely began to illuminate the limitless darkness outside。 The air seemed solid； it was so thick with the smell of ancient earth。 But Kaufman smelt nothing。 His head bowed； it was all he could do to prevent himself from fainting again。
It was there； the precursor of man。 The original American； whose homeland this was before Passamaquoddy or Cheyenne。 Its eyes； if it had eyes； were on him。
His body shook。 His teeth chattered。
He could hear the noise of its anatomy： ticking； crackling； sobbing。
It shifted a little in the dark。
The sound of its movement was awesome。 Like a mountain sitting up。
Kaufman's face was raised to it； and without thinking about what he was doing or why； he fell to his knees in the shit in front of the Father of Fathers。
Every day of his life had been leading to this day； every moment quickening to this incalculable moment of holy terror。
Had there been sufficient light in that pit to see the whole； perhaps his tepid heart would have burst。 As it was he felt it flutter in his chest as he saw what he saw。
It was a giant。 Without head or limb。 Without a feature that was analogous to human； without an organ that made sense； or senses。 If it was like anything； it was like a shoal of fish。 A thousand snouts all moving in unison； budding； blossoming and withering rhythmically。 It was iridescent； like mother of pearl； but it was sometimes deeper than any colour Kaufman knew； or could put a name to。
That was all Kaufman could see； and it was more than he wanted to see。 There was much more in the darkness； flickering and flapping。
But he could look no longer。 He turned away； and as he did so a football was pitched out of the train and rolled to a halt in front of the Father。
At least he thought it was a football； until he peered more attentively at it； and recognized it as a human head； the head of the Butcher。 The skin of the face had been peeled off in strips。 It glistened with blood as it lay in front of its Lord。
Kaufman looked away； and walked back to the train。 Every part of his body seemed to be weeping but his eyes。 They were too hot with the sight behind him； they boiled his tears away。
Inside； the creatures had already set about their supper。 One； he saw； was plucking the blue sweet morsel of a woman's eye out of the socket。 Another had a hand in its mouth。 At Kaufman's feet lay the Butcher's headless corpse； still bleeding profusely from where its neck had been bitten through。
The little father who had spoken earlier stood in front of Kaufman。
〃Serve us？〃 it asked； gently； as you might ask a cow to follow you。
Kaufman was staring at the cleaver； the Butcher's symbol of office。 The creatures were leaving the car now； dragging the half…eaten bodies after them。 As the torches were taken out of the car； darkness was returning。
But before the lights had pletely disappeared the father reached out and took hold of Kaufman's face； thrusting him round to look at himself in the filthy glass of the car window。
It was a thin reflection； but Kaufman could see quite well enough how changed he was。 Whiter than any living man should be； covered in grime and blood。
The father's hand still gripped Kaufman's face； and its forefinger hooked into his mouth and down his gullet； the nail scoring the back of his throat。 Kaufman gagged on the intruder； but had no will left to repel the attack。
〃Serve；〃 said the creature。 〃In silence。〃 Too late； Kaufman realized the intention of the fingers… Suddenly his tongue was seized tight and twisted on the root。 Kaufman； in shock； dropped the cleaver。 He tried to scream； but no sound came。 Blood was in his throat； he heard his flesh tearing； and agonies convulsed him。
Then the hand was out of his mouth and the scarlet； spittle…covered fingers were in front of his face； with his tongue； held between thumb and forefinger。
Kaufman was speechless。
〃Serve；〃 said the father； and stuffed the tongue into his own mouth； chewing on it with evident satisfaction。 Kaufman fell to his knees； spewing up his sandwich。
The father was already shuffling away into the dark； the rest of the ancients had disappeared into their warren for another night。
The tannoy crackled。
〃Home；〃 said the driver。
The doors hissed closed and the sound of power surged through the train。 The lights flickered on； then off again； then on。
The train began to move。
Kaufman lay on the floor； tears pouring down his face； tears of disfiture and of resignation。 He would bleed to death； he decided； where he lay。 It wouldn't matter if he died。 It was a foul world anyway。
The driver woke him。 He opened his eyes。 The face that was looking down at him was black； and not unfriendly。 It grinned。 Kaufman tried to say something； but his mouth was sealed up with dried blood。 He jerked his head around like a driveller trying to spit out a word。 Nothing came but grunts。
He wasn't dead。 He hadn't bled to death。
The driver pulled him to his knees； talking to him as though he were a three…year…old。
〃You got a job to do； my man： they're very pleased with you。〃 The driver had licked his fingers； and was rubbing Kaufman's swollen lips； trying to part them。
〃Lots to learn before tomorrow night。 。 。〃 Lots to learn。 Lots to learn。
He led Kaufman out of the train。 They were in no station he had ever seen before。 It was white…tiled and absolutely pristine； a station…keeper's Nirvana。 No graffiti disfigured the walls。 There were no token…booths； but then there were no gates and no passengers either。 This was a line that provided only one service： The Meat Train。
A morning shift of c