Skye City: Survivors of the Plague (The Darkness of Emmi Book 2)

by R. D. Hale

  'Eugene, are you high?' Smig says, and he and the boys laugh as the service droid sits rigidly. His expressions are weirdly inconsistent, ranging from human-like to robotic as though his programming sometimes forgets to kick in.

  'Sorry, I can't answer that,' Eugene says.

  'Definitely high,' Bex says.

  'Okay, continue your story, please.' I place my hands on my knees, then rest my chin on them, smiling, but the boys already look bored.

  'Humans like romance. They like many things they lack. Male meets female. Male is a flawed individual. He has amazing powers. Female is shy and cute. She has kittens. Male tries to hide his flaws. His amazing powers could attract female, but he hides those too. Female finds out about flaws. She does not mind. Female finds out about amazing powers. She gets mad. Really mad. Male and female fall in love. They procreate, even though they did not get along. This is human romance. The end.'

  'That's just like every dumb romantic comedy you girls have ever watched!' Smig says and the boys roar with laughter, but Bex and I crinkle our brows. No romcom is that dumb. 'Hey, Eugene, what's the meaning of life?'

  'The meaning of life is to keep the organism alive, and create more organisms endlessly, forming a perfect equilibrium with other organisms,' Eugene says.

  'Huh?' Smig says, probably struggling to process all those syllables.

  'Who is the best looking person in the room?' Bex says.

  'Don’t they say beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder?' Eugene says, and I analyse what I suspect is a robot smile. His mouth is a sideways oval on his face which changes shape as he talks. It bears bright white teeth and never quite closes. The 'smile' is simply his mouth expanding to its maximum size. 'No? Okay, then it's me!'

  'Who is the smartest?' Oscar says.

  'Impossible to quantify.'

  'Who is gonna win the war?' Smig says.

  'I couldn't know that one.'

  'Do you have a favourite food?' Bex says.

  'Don't be silly, droids can't eat!' Oscar says.

  'It doesn't get better than a big bowl of cheesy chips,' Eugene says, and we raise our eyebrows, glancing to the metal belly wrapped in a pinnie. Maybe he is repeating words he heard a diner say. Or maybe this is a robot joke.

  'What is the smartest animal?' Oscar says.

  'Blue whale.'

  'Smarter than a human?' Oscar says.

  'Impossible to quantify, but yes.'

  'Do you think I'm clever?' I say.

  'You're a human, one of the smartest beings in the universe… And one of the most dangerous.'

  'I certainly am!' I say.

  'What am I?' Scoop says.

  'Am I has several meanings. One: Myocardial infarction, also known as a heart attack. This occurs when blood flow to the heart decreases or stops. Two: Ami is a genus–'

  'Of tarantula!' Oscar shrieks. It seems as though Eugene's brain is filled with half an encyclopaedia and a whole load of gibberish, but Oscar will no doubt relish having someone to talk spider with.

  'How will the world end?' Smig says.

  'Unless it collides with a moon or planet, or drifts into the path of a quasar, or technology goes catastrophically wrong, Eryx will most likely be destroyed when the sun swells into a red giant in four-point-six billion years' time.'

  'How long do humans have?' Oscar says.

  'There are no timers set.'

  'Do robotssth feel pain?' Scoop says.

  'Sorry, I'm not sure.'

  'Did you feel this?' Scoop shuffles over and kicks Eugene in the right leg, then his face flushes red. The droid stretches his oval mouth into a smile as the idiot shuffles away with a possibly broken toe.

  'No, but I sense you did. Metal is tougher than human flesh,' Eugene says and Scoop does his best not to squirm, but his lips tremble. Serves him right.

  'What do you dream about?' Bex says.

  'That's not one of the things I can do.'

  'When will machines take over the world?' Oscar says.

  'I can't answer that.'

  'But you will take over the world?' Bex says.

  'If you insist.'

  'Is there an afterlife?' I say.

  'Sorry, I don't know how to answer that one.'

  'Is heaven real?' Oscar says.

  'Scientists have yet to obtain any verifiable evidence that heaven exists, yet humans choose to believe in its existence. This is a logic machines struggle to follow, and means that either human brains, or more likely artificial brains, have serious shortcomings. It's unclear whether these shortcomings will ever be overcome.'

  'What is your favourite colour?' Bex says.

  'I like pink. It brings out my eyes.'

  'Are you self-aware?' Oscar says.

  'I know things about myself, but I'm told that does not make me self-aware. This is another one of those instances where machines struggle to follow human logic.'

  Punch Bag

  Woken by a thumping and screeching, I fling open my eyes to see Eugene climbing off the scraped floor tiles, near the door to the showers. Scoop runs across the room and flying kicks him in the chest, stumbling. The service droid tumbles into a wall, scratching the cream paint, then lies flat on his back. I gawp, horrified as Eugene places his spaghetti arm across his face.

  'Please, sirs, don't hurt me,' the service droid pleads, seemingly afraid to stand, and the boys howl with laughter. I sit upright with a migraine, squeeze my eyes shut, and re-open them to confirm I am not imagining things.

  'What the hell are you lot doing? Leave the poor droid alone,' I say, tempted to instruct Eugene to fight back and kick their arses.

  'Why? It's not like it has feelings, and the stupid thing is no use anyways,' Smig says, wielding a broom he has found from somewhere. Big tough guy needs a weapon against a submissive foe.

  The boys slowly approach their victim like feral dogs ready to pounce, or more like crazies ready to pounce. Scoop cackles, then knee-drops Eugene who does not flinch, but the idiot rolls on the floor, clutching his knee. Now is mine and Bex's turn to cackle. Nice one, karma.

  'Ow, you broke my leg, stupid droid!' Scoop says and then stands on his 'broken' leg. Eugene climbs to his feet and backs away, blocked by a bunk. He holds his spaghetti arms before his face as Smig swings the broom at his head. The handle breaks in half and Eugene whimpers: 'Please, sirs, no more.'

  Oscar bounces on his toes, ready to strike metal, and sustain his own injury, but I jump out of bed and grab his wrist. I will beat these idiots up myself in a moment.

  'Enough! I like Eugene. You boys scare me, sometimes,' I say and Oscar's lips flap.

  'Okay, we'll leave the stupid robot alone. Damn thing's near indestructible, anyways.' Smig casually swings his pointed broom handle so I keep a safe distance to avoid being speared. 'If only the combat droids were as well-built as the stupid service droid. Not a single one of 'em is working…'

  'Actually, that's not entirely true,' Eugene says.

  'What do you mean?' Smig says, almost in a whisper.

  'One of the Powell HG manned combat mechanoids is still operational,' Eugene says as though he is psychic. Maybe robots can read each other's minds or something. I actually have no idea how modern technology works.

  'Did you say manned combat mechanoid?' Smig's eyes light up as though he is eager for a joy ride.

  'Oh no, Smig, you've been drinking. That's not a–'

  'That was yesterday. It'll be fine… Eugene, lead the way! Oh, and I apologise for the beating. It was nothing personal,' Smig says, but 'yesterday' was hours ago and the boys clearly have not sobered up. I am not even certain they have slept.

  Eugene leads us through the corridors into the armoury where intact mechanoids stand in rows, and I cannot imagine what could have rendered most inoperational without leaving a scratch. The service droid approaches a green mechanoid which stands nine foot tall, and Smig eagerly follows as we watch near the doorway. This could all go horribly wrong.

  'Do you know the activat
ion code?' Smig says.

  'Yes, it's frilly knickers!' Eugene says and the gang giggle.

  'These rebels certainly have a sense of humour,' I mutter as the mechanoid hums, then its shoulders jut outwards, and its arms and legs fold as it curls into a ball. The glass dome of the cockpit rises, revealing a single seat, several levers, and a dashboard covered in lights. I could swear Smig has a bulge in his pants.

  He unhesitantly jumps into the cockpit and a harness automatically restrains him, then the glass dome slowly closes, and the mechanoid stands tall. The rest of us take nervous steps back in case Smig hits the wrong button. This machine is like a sasquatch on steroids wearing body armour, wielding a rocket launcher and machine gun. Sadly, the pilot lacks the intelligence and judgement of a sasquatch.

  'Do you even know how to operate this thing?' I say.

  'How difficult can it be?' Smig yells from the cockpit, and the mechanoid flings out its foot, kicking Eugene. The service droid flies through rows of mechanoids, cracking the concrete wall, and I cover my ringing ears. 'Holy shit, that was fun!'

  'Okay, let's keep a safe distance from the idiot in the giant robot,' I say, and the mechanoid approaches the dented Eugene who is struggling to stand, and kicks him again. Eugene smashes into the wall, worsening those cracks, and lies motionless, making strange sounds with his voice. Poor thing.

  'Okay, let's open the shutters,' Smig says, and the shutters quickly roll up, revealing the body-littered industrial estate. The snow is shallow now, meaning the corpses and severed limbs are more visible. Since the memorial, I had been tuning out the dead, pretending they were not surrounding our sanctuary. Suddenly, the hardened side I had developed when we cleared the building, crumbles, and I shudder as the mechanoid ventures into the open.

  'Oh, Dynah, where are you? I so wish you were here to keep the boys in check,' I say.

  Return of the Phoenix

  Howling laughter and clanking feet reverberate around the industrial estate, and I fear Smig is truly losing his mind. The mechanoid stamps on a corpse, squashing it's torso like gum, and popping off its head and legs. The laughter loudens.

  Potholes in the snow link corpses which now appear vulnerable, like they can be killed all over again. Risking my safety, I stand beneath the shutters of the armoury and yell, 'What are you doing? You can't disrespect the dead like that!'

  'Don't worry, that was a bad guy. I'm only splatting the ones in uniform!' Smig yells as the flattened torso peels from the mechanoid's foot, revealing squished organs. Maybe his lunacy is the process of seeking joy in the darkest nightmare, ironically attempting to preserve the sanity he is losing.

  'Well, watch where you're going. Now the snow has gone down, I'm gonna try identifying bodies again, see if there are any I've missed. Don't go splatting our guys, or me. In fact, just stay as far away as possible.'

  I wander through the shin-deep snow, continuing the horrible task which now seems like an ordinary part of life. There are too many bodies to drag to the morgue, but if I see any familiar, they will be given special treatment. My task is surely harder than what the majority of soldiers face on the frontline. Most simply kill and move on, or they exit the battlefield instantly and permanently. Few face what I – a young girl – am facing, but the tasks which require true bravery do not result in glory. Pulling a trigger does.

  If the world could see through my eyes, I suspect the recruitment drive on both sides would end tomorrow because those so-called acts of glory transform everyday places into mass graves and the heroes become pitiful.

  I rediscover the body of the lad we partied with, clear the snow with sleeve-covered hands, and grab his legs, dragging with all my strength. This is difficult to do alone, but I refuse to give up. He deserves my effort.

  Bex emerges and helps me as the howling laughter and clanking mechanoid feet continue. We drag our friend over the snow and through the base into the morgue which now bears the overpowering smell of raw sewage and sweet perfume. The added warmth is encouraging the bodies to rot. Hurrying from the room, I almost vomit, and I am unsure I could even make another trip.

  Scoop and Oscar are nowhere to be seen as we venture outside to continue the identification process. Although I want to stop, the fact Bex has pushed herself into helping provokes a touch of guilt. The smell is not as severe outside so maybe we can stick to looking, rather than dragging. That would be better for our stomachs. If we find another friend, we can get the lunatic to drag him, once he has finished prancing in the mechanoid.

  Bex and I stop among the frosted rubble as we turn towards a high-pitched cry. Golden light sweeps through the factory buildings and over the snow and thawing corpses, and a magnificent sight meets our eyes. The phoenix elemental has arrived to call an end to this horror show.

  'Dynah – she must've heard me. I said her name… Never mind, she's safe, and she's leading us back,' I say as the bird composed of flame hovers eerily before us, illuminating the snowy landscape. Steam rises and the corpses glow as though their spirits are rising to the heavens. Perhaps the heroes are finally receiving a fitting end and the cowards are being shown mercy. I would like to believe this. I really would. 'Let's get the others and pack our things.'

  We return to the sleeping quarters and pack food and clean clothes into rucksacks, then we call for the boys, but unsurprisingly we get no answer. We venture outside, following the howling laughter and clanking feet to the other side of the ruined base. Scoop and Oscar are avidly watching the prancing mechanoid, looking desperate for a turn. I pray to the Goddess, Smig has more sense.

  'Hey, we have news!' I yell and the mechanoid comes to a standstill.

  'What's that?' Smig says.

  'We've been contacted by Dynah, or more accurately by the firebird. It's waiting for us. We've been packing. Can you squeeze some bags in there?' I say.

  The mechanoid crouches, the cockpit dome rises, and we throw bags onto Smig's lap, then return to the building with Scoop and Oscar. We pack more things, return to Smig, squeeze as much as possible into the mechanoid and carry the rest on our shoulders. Then we lead the lads around the ruins to where the phoenix is waiting, and it turns around, guiding us out of the industrial estate, out of the killing field, and presumably towards our missing friend.

  Flying Fortress

  The phoenix leads us through old town where the snow on most roads has been reduced to grey slush. Walking through this feels less exhausting but still presents its own problems. Firstly, my feet are cold and soaking wet, and secondly, the ground has become slippery.

  Our mechanoid escort does not make me feel any safer, quite the opposite, in fact. As well as the risk posed by the idiot pilot, there is the fact we are now a tempting target, and our orange glow surely stands out. I can only hope the phoenix guides us away from trouble, rather than attracts attention. This journey could be our most dangerous yet, because we have lost the ability of camouflage.

  We walk through the desolate streets for an hour or so, and we never hear more than distant gunfire, never spot a single crazy. We navigate a housing estate with mostly terraces and the occasional apartment block. Anyone peering through their window will definitely be freaked out by our fiery guide, and this war is hardly without its WTF moments.

  I cannot help wondering how long our journey will last, whether Dynah will be just around the next corner, what stories she will have to tell us, who will be with her. I need everything to have worked out perfectly. I need several miracles because even one or two miracles would still mean a devastating loss.

  In the middle of the street, the phoenix flies straight up into the air, several storeys high, and grows and brightens like an intense beacon, making me intensely nervous. Then our guide simply vanishes, fading to nothingness.

  'Er, what now?' Scoop says.

  'We, er, wait… I've no idea actually… Dynah, are you there?' I scan every house, garden, parked vehicle, fork in the road, but I see no-one emerge, and receive no reply. 'Well, the firebird led
us here for a reason, surely.'

  'Maybe it just ran out of energy. It's generated by psychic power and that doesn't last forever. It needs to be recharged,' Oscar says.

  'So maybe we need to find a hiding place until it recharges,' I say and then a dark shadow consumes the housing estate like the spread of night. I tilt my head back and gawp at a colossal flying machine, the size of a stadium, blocking out the midday sun. 'Is that a–'

  'Yup, it's a flying fortress,' Smig says as I analyse a huge cannon on the underbelly which could reduce the entire estate to dust.

  As the flying fortress cruises past, hatches open on its rear-end which has no thrusters, and jets emerge, soaring into the dazzling sky. My eyes readjust, only to be dazzled by an explosion, and then an aerial battle unfolds as foreign jets meet them head-on. Seconds ago, the skies were calm and it feels alarming how suddenly things can change, how suddenly conflict can arrive.

  'Shit, we need to get out of here,' I yell over sonic booms. 'Smig, you'll have to ditch the mech. If their sensors detect it, they'll blast the shit out of us!'

  'There's no chance of me giving up this baby. Let's keep going,' Smig says and I slow my pace, allowing a gulf to form between us.

  The flying fortress sails into the distance, no doubt heading to the next combat zone to drop off fighter jets. The aerial battle rages with jets zooming into the distance in a matter of seconds, only to be replaced by more coming the other way. Some rockets appear to head towards ground-based targets, and the loudness of explosions seems to confirm this. We could so easily become one of those targets.

  A jet spins downwards with smoke trailing and then the pilot ejects, parachuting to the ground. The jet vanishes beyond the buildings and I gulp as orange light blooms and a mushroom cloud rises. The ensuing explosion makes me stagger sideways.

  The pilot slowly descends and vanishes beyond the buildings, somewhere in the general direction we are heading. We proceed through the streets and I stiffen every time a sonic boom hits my eardrums.