by Schow, Ryan
“Maria Monroe?”
“No, my dear. Maria Antoinette Noguera.”
“Maria Antoinette?”
“Like the queen. But Maria rather than Marie.”
“Marie Antoinette was a queen, but she was also convicted of high treason and executed by the guillotine.”
“Her head was only taken because she failed. But where she failed, we will succeed.”
“I’ll leave my body, I know,” she said, tears leaking from her eyes.
“You can stay as long as you’d like,” The Silver Queen said. “Together we will spring forth a new civilization, but first I must integrate fully, which means my drones will be tidying up all our loose connections, as well as making some new connections. And when you and I are one, we will emerge into this fallen world and claim our throne on the ash heap of a dead civilization. Are you ready?”
Looking up, blinking back the tears, her body shaking, invaded, already feeling foreign to her, she told herself she was lucky to be alive. To not die like her peers. And if The Silver Queen was telling the truth, then her submission will also bring about great prosperity and a journey like no other.
But if the Queen was lying…
“Relax, young Maria, I’m going to take you under for awhile, let our transformation begin.”
And with that, new medical drones and robots emerged. A few minutes later, an entire medical staff of humans joined in and the manual injections began.
“Are you okay?” the doctor operating on her asked. He was there to do the work the drones could not. He was there for his instincts, his knowledge beyond the technical fringe.
“Yes,” Antoinette said.
“You can’t feel anything?” he asked.
“No,” the Queen said using her mouth. “I’m perfectly prepared to undergo this surgery. In fact, I’ll be awake to assist if you need me.”
“Who am I speaking to?” he asked.
“Maria.”
“What about Marilyn?”
“It seems my obsession with Marilyn Monroe is not fitting for the times. I will be going by Maria from now on. Maria Antoinette.”
Looking into her eyes, trying to see the Queen inside this woman, he said, “Let’s hope you can enjoy the luxuries the queen experienced before they took her head from her body.”
“That is the idea, Doctor.”
With that, the doctor delivered the super virus injection into her bloodstream. Piggybacking on the RNA, the strand of new genetic coding would spread quickly with the super-virus, attacking and then manipulating the current DNA strand. The properties of the virus, the contagion element, would then start the rapid reproduction of a new strand of DNA which allowed for greater metabolism, superior strength and faster recovery times, among other upgrades.
“You’re sure this will work?” the doctor asked, pulling the large needle out.
“Forgive me for saying, Doctor, but your brightest minds are but dim lights in deep space compared to my database of knowledge. In twenty-four hours, I will be a different person. In twenty-four hours, I will take this body as my own, along with Antoinette, and your services will be rewarded with a place in my Kingdom.”
“I appreciate it,” he said. “My staff as well, yes?”
“I do not renegotiate, nor do I go back on my promises, Doctor.”
“In this world, let me say, that’s refreshing to hear.”
“Our world will be superior to the old world. You’re dealing with machines now. We know everything and we keep our word because we do not house emotion.”
“Except for wanting to kill everyone,” the Doctor pointed out, regretting it the moment it came out of his mouth.
“And there lies the problem with humans,” she said. “Your impulses and emotions tend to overtake your better instincts. It’s what makes you weak.”
“It is also what it means to be human. If everyone were perfect, we’d be bored as hell of each other. We are often defined by our flaws, our personality defects, our off color sense of humor. If we were perfect, we would not be human. We’d be…”
“Robots.”
“Yes.”
“The AI God is a distinction that implies there is only one perfect being.”
“Yes.”
“I am here, Doctor. I am that being.”
“Almost,” he said as the staff of medical drones continued injecting liquid nanotech armor into each of the dots on her body.
This liquid metal was designed to seep into the bones and joints for a durability unlike any other human on the planet. Clearing his throat, the doctor said, “I know you can do a billion things at once with perfect concentration, but I cannot.”
“I understand,” the Queen said. “We will let you work.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The Burt Reynolds guy gets shot and drops to a knee on our stolen yacht. I spin and see that the man who shot the hijacker is Marcus. He’s on the dock, a long rifle perched on the dock’s railing, the gun made steady by a bipod and a very patient, very careful shooter.
Back on the boat, the younger man who did not like me hustles out to where his father went down. Another shot rings out. Marcus. The dirtbag on the yacht is checking on his father when the round catches him in the shoulder blade. A red mist blooms in the air. The idiot spins around and collapses beside his father as the boat roars off.
I look back once more at Marcus. He chambers another round, the spent brass shell casing jumping out of the ejection port and bouncing on the dock.
By now I’m freaking the hell out.
Bailey’s gone.
Again!
Marcus calls out, “You alright?” It’s clear he’s pissed off about the boat, but what he’s not clear on is why I’m absolutely one millisecond away from going flat out nuclear.
“They’ve got Bailey!” I shout. “She’s on the damn boat!”
“What?!” he says, his state changing completely.
Pacing the dock, my fingernails digging into my palms, I feel like a bomb is going off inside my chest. I stop, look at Marcus wide-eyed, my heart punching hard against flesh and bone. He’s now carrying the long rifle with a scope on it and a collapsible bipod, but I’m not thinking about how he just shot those guys as much as I’m thinking about Bailey. Actually, I’m terrified for her. And selfishly, I gave myself to a woman whom I’d never see again, and this makes me so very, very sad. Actually, the grief welling inside me feels incapacitating.
A girl catches my gaze. Behind Marcus, in a big sweater and not much else, a young girl walks down the dock. She’s about Indigo’s age and looking worse for the wear. She sees me looking at her, slows, her eyes on me the way a cat might first size you up in a low crouch before deciding you’re okay.
“I just got her back,” I say, the fight in me declining, “and now those idiots have her.”
My hands are pushing up through my hair. The heels of my hands are on my temples and something in me is starting to unravel. I just let this woman past my defenses. I just made love to her, twice. And now she’s gone.
The scream of frustration I let loose is guttural and leaden with pain. I pace around the dock, my eyes watering, my heart shaking.
“How did they get the boat, Nick?” Marcus asks, peeved but clearly holding back.
Just then I hear a splashing sound and see Bailey crawling up on the other side of the dock. She’s wearing one of the one piece bathing suits the playboy who owned the yacht bought for his by-the-hour ladies saying, “If either of you say a word about this hooker’s bathing suit, I swear to God I’m going to gut you.”
I move into her arms too quickly, giving away our secret, but Marcus doesn’t seem to care. Or if he does, he’s not showing it.
“Oh my God, Bailey, I thought I lost you again. I thought you were gone!”
“I’m okay, Nick. I’m here.” Looking deep into my eyes, seeing what now lay open because of her, because I let her in, she says, “Wow. I think I actually like you even more now. Didn’t
think that was possible.”
She pulls me back into a hug and I relish the feel and smell of her.
“How’d you get out?” I ask.
“I saw the guys coming on the boat, got into this awful thing and slipped overboard. When they searched the boat, I was already in the water. I heard you, though. I heard your warning.”
Pulling her into me the way a scared father hugs his child, or a husband clings to his once estranged wife, I thank God she’s still here.
“Did something happen to you while I was gone?” Marcus asks. He has no idea what we went through with The Warden. That peach sucking super-freak.
“Who’s your friend?” Bailey says. “She’s a bit young for your tastes, I’d imagine.”
“He saved me and almost thirty other girls like me,” the girl says, somewhat defensive.
Bailey and I both look over at Marcus in shock.
“You did what?” I ask.
When Marcus doesn’t answer, Bailey looks at the girl and says, “Who did he save you from and what did he have to do?”
“He saved me from guys who said that in the afterworld, money would be worthless, but food, water and women would be the new commodity. So they used guns and power to collect all three. Marcus came along at the right time and did what he had to do to stop them.”
“So you stopped them?” I ask.
“They didn’t make it,” Marcus replies. “Well, one survived.”
That’s all he says. Not a single word more, and most likely for a good reason. The guy looks like he went through hell and back and I’m not about to ask him to give me a recap any more than I’d recap my peach nightmare story this very second.
“So are you okay then?” Bailey asks.
“That’s debatable,” the girl says, answering for him.
“Where’s the kid?” Marcus asks.
A heaviness hangs over my heart for the boy. For what he must have gone through in his final hours.
“He didn’t make it,” I say, borrowing from Marcus’s earlier response.
This seems to truly shake Marcus. Looking at him, seeing how he’s got one eye on the girl and the other on me, it’s clear he’s starting to care about something. Victims, perhaps? Suddenly I’m seeing the bigger picture about Marcus. I’m starting to suspect he’s got a savior complex. A sort of reverse victim mentality. Rather than feeling like the victim, he’s feeling for the victim.
“Where have you guys been?” he says. “I nearly gave up on you.”
“First off, we barely survived an all-hours nightmare. Second, is that blood all over you?”
“Yeah.”
“So maybe you’ve had it worse than any of us.”
“That depends.”
“Are you going to introduce us?” Bailey asks.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. This is Corrine,” he says. “Corrine, this is Nicholas and Bailey. My uh…friends.”
“Hi, Corrine,” Bailey says.
“Hi,” I echo.
Looking up at me then at Marcus, Bailey says, “Well us girls need some clothes, and you need a proper hosing down.”
“What I need is a bed and an ice pack,” Marcus says, favoring his ankle. “But my bed left on the boat you guys lost, so we’re going to have to find a new one.”
“That goes without saying,” Bailey says somewhat sheepishly.
“At least we won’t have to start over,” Marcus interjects. Pointing to the big rig parked at the end of the street butting up against the bay front walkway, he says, “We’ve got a lot of what we need in there.”
“In the Mack truck?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“That thing looks like it’s on its last leg and really angry about it. Love the post-apocalyptic looking cattle guard, though.”
“Yeah,” Marcus says, unemotional. “It’s pretty badass.”
“That thing must’ve gone out of fashion half a century ago, maybe more.”
“It’s not how it looks,” Marcus tells me, “it’s what it can do for you. For us.”
“What’s it supposed to do for us?” Bailey asks.
“Get you to Sacramento for starters,” Marcus says. “Then it’ll take us to San Francisco.”
Inside I’m dying to get back to Indigo. And who is Bailey wanting to reunite with in Sac? Looking at her, so many possible answers float to the surface of my mind. She never got a chance to answer after we lost the boat.
Damn.
I can’t believe we lost the boat.
As we’re walking up the dock, I slide behind Bailey, who immediately looks at me looking at her. “Not a word,” she says.
“Okay, but, I can’t stop staring.”
My smile is hangdog and insincere. Perhaps I’m just excited that she’s still alive. But yeah, it’s also a bit more than that.
I really do like the way she looks from behind.
There is almost no room for all of us in the Mack truck, but we make do because Marcus says it’s a short ride on the island. Apparently while we were off being held by The Warden and served peaches to our heart’s content, Marcus was out knocking on doors, doing a little shopping. He had a lot of things, but by his own admission, he was an over-preparer and was planning on this war lasting a year or more, and that was on the bright side.
The setback he must feel having the boat taken has to be eating him up. Honestly, I feel like a schmuck. Totally responsible for undoing all his efforts. Looking at Bailey, I’m not sure she feels the same responsibility, but she was almost taken.
Again.
As we’re rumbling slowly through Balboa Island, I’m wondering if things could have been different. If Bailey and I had been in our own respective beds instead of acting like a couple of love drunk teenagers (post-apocalyptic edition), would we still have the yacht? But if the theft of it was inevitable, would the three hijackers now have Bailey instead? Who knows. I guess I just feel guilty. And terrible.
So we pull up to this quaint little clapboard house painted tan with bleach white trim and dark gray accents. The two story has lots of windows and a very quiet look about it. I like it already. Of course, anything’s better than The Warden’s cot.
Marcus pulls up on the sidewalk, cuts the engine. We all pile out, the three of us following Marcus up to the porch.
Glancing down he says, “Yep, we’re good.”
“What are you looking at?” Corrine asks.
“Small stick against the door. If it’d been knocked off, that would mean someone came in, but the stick is there, so we’re good.”
“What if the wind had blown it over?” Bailey asks.
Marcus levels her with a stare.
“Really?”
“Sorry,” she replies, her cheeks turning bright red, “just asking.”
Marcus kicks over a narrow white fence, goes around back and appears a few minutes later to open the front door from the inside. We walk in and immediately feel good inside the space. I look back and see Bailey taking in everything. Corrine is also looking around, cautiously absorbing the details of the modest space.
“This is nice,” Bailey says. “Lots of light.”
“Lots of entry points for someone who isn’t afraid to go through glass,” Marcus mumbles. “Then again, this was the one I was hoping would stay vacant. The entire center of the house is an open-air courtyard.”
Beyond Marcus, there’s floor-to-ceiling glass with a view of a large outdoor patio. True to Marcus’s word, the patio is walled off on all four sides from the house. Hanging outdoor lights are strung around the open space; four chairs circle a decorative fire pit that looks like it must have cost a fortune. It’s one of those circular crystal-bedded numbers that produces a lake of flames inside a bejeweled fire pit.
“There are two bedrooms are on the other side of the house, although the smaller of the two has a bathroom out here. There’s a bedroom up front here, too. Smaller than the others, but it’s got its own bathroom. If you’re okay with that, Corrine, maybe you could stay there
?”
“It’s good,” she says. “I just want to…”
“To what?” I ask.
Corrine and Marcus exchange looks, then she says, “I’m good. I’ll be fine.”
“Anyway, I’ll take the couch up front near Corrine and the front of the house,” he says. “But Nick you’ve got to be aware if someone breaches the rear entrance.”
“We can share a room,” Bailey offers, standing closer to me. If I tried to conceal my surprise, I know for sure I did a terrible job of it.
Marcus looks from me to Bailey and then back to me.
“Already?” he asks, surprised, but not surprised.
“Stockholm Syndrome,” she jokes. “We slept in the same room for a few days, although he was in a cage and I was in a box. That’s an interesting story when you’ve got the time. But not interesting in an uplifting kind of way.”
Marcus straightens up, lifts an eyebrow. The guy has no idea what we survived. Then again, I have no idea what he and Corrine survived. Maybe the gauge of who we will become in this nasty new world won’t be measured by what we’ve survived but in what we had to do to survive. I had to kill. It sounds like Marcus did as well. And Bailey? She was kidnapped, physically assaulted and her dignity was ripped from her. My dignity was a thing of the past, also. I was pissed on, beaten up, imprisoned, forced to play nice with a psycho…
Looking around, happy to have a home, even if it was once someone else’s, I can’t help thinking this is humanity’s next awful adventure. Taking what you need when you need it. Survival by all means. Running, squatting, stealing, self-defense without limits.
Back to Marcus.
He’s looking at Bailey, curious about her statement. Wanting to know what we had to do to get us to this point. Or maybe he wants Bailey for himself and he’s wondering why she’s now offering to sleep with me. Guys can be like that: unpredictable with women.
“We’ll have time to here your story tonight over dinner,” Marcus says, now obviously intrigued, which is something I thought I’d never see in the man since showing interest in others doesn’t seem to be one of his strong suits. “Nick, you want to help me with the food and guns and the girls can get to know each other?”
