by Dena Nicotra
“I know it is, but what isn’t? I’ve got to get something in my stomach, and once we get across the bridge, there won’t be much opportunity.”
He sighed. “You’re right. Okay, we’ll give it a try, but any signs of trouble and we’re out of there.”
“Agreed,” I said. I needed to save what little ammunition I had left, so I reached down and unzipped my back, pulling out my slingshot. I’d need to get something to load it with, once we exited the car. As I was getting myself prepared, I realized that Ben was rummaging through his own pack. I turned to look over the seat and saw that he had extracted a rather large cleaver-looking knife. It was curved so that the point portion was fatter than the base.
“Nice knife, Ben,” I said.
“You like it? It’s called a ‘kukri.’
I stole it from a museum.” He fingered the blade with pride. It’s served me well for both protection and utility.”
“Nice.” I said, turning around to face the road. I glanced over at Mic and could see he was grinning. I had to admit, the old man was surprising. I just hoped he could use it. I double-checked my own blade, which was tucked in my boot. As we pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store, Mic explained that he would drive straight up to the entry. The glass was broken out, and it was highly probable that the merchandise had long since been picked over. It was what we were all used to: picking over the remnants and hoping for a can of anything that would fill a belly. As planned, we all exited the car and stayed close together. I loaded my pocket with large shards of broken glass, taking care not to cut myself in the process. The guys continued forward and I took the rear. Turning in a sweeping motion to check the perimeter, I determined that we were clear for now.
We stepped carefully over broken glass and began our search for supplies. The aisles were mostly empty. I spotted a few cans on a shelf, but when I looked up, I saw that Mic was pointing to a sign over our heads. We were on the pet supply aisle. I shrugged and shoved the two cans of dog food in my pack. I’d eaten dog food before and it would do, but I was hoping for something more appetizing. Powdered sugar was all over the floor along with something brown and sticky on the next aisle. I maneuvered around the mess as best as I could, and the men did the same. We made our way through the rest of the store and came away with a small, dented can of tomato paste, a jar of wax peppers, and a box of yellow corn meal.
Back in the car, I pulled the top from a can of dog food and used my fingers to dip into the brown gravy. The mushy bits of meat tasted bland, but palatable. I held out a bite to Mic as he started the car, but he shook his head.
“What, are you too good for dog food?”
“No, I just don’t think I can eat that.”
“Why?” I asked, passing the can to Ben in the back and then licking the gravy from my fingertips.
“I know what they put in it, that’s why.”
I stopped licking my fingers. “What do they put in it?”
“By-products that humans wouldn’t normally eat, like bits of brain, bone, intestine…”
“Okay, stop it. I don’t want to know.” No longer hungry, I refused the can when Ben tried to pass it back to me.
“You can have the rest, Ben.”
“Suit yourself.” he said, slurping up the gravy by tilting the can to his lips. I shuddered and tried to focus on the scenery. We were coming up on the bridge, and I could feel my nerves begin to knot up again. IDE was about five miles away, and the risk of simp trouble increased the closer we got. Mic pulled the car over and made some adjustments on the personal console. In short, he was asking the onboard computer system to survey the bridge before we attempted to drive over. Everyone knew that bridges and structures were dangerous after the war. Bombs had taken out huge portions of freeways, overpasses, and tunnels, and simps had sabotaged others. We sat in silence as the onboard computer spat out latitude and longitude, a series of equations that made no sense to me, and then finally stated that the structure was impassible.
“We’ll have to walk from here,” Mic said.
“Okay, that just sucks,” I said, grabbing my pack and stepping out of the car. The bridge seemed more ominous by foot. The sea below was a dull shade of grayish green, and the wind was picking up just enough to make me miserable in my tank top. Mic threw his pack over one shoulder and took my hand. Ben was on my right, but he was already struggling to keep up. Large chunks of road were missing, and still others heaved up in such a way that climbing over and around things felt like an obstacle course.
“We won’t come back this way,” Mic grumbled.
“There isn’t another way, Mic. We don’t have a choice,” I said, huffing as I climbed around a segment of road that was open to the sea below. It was fortunate for me that I wasn’t afraid of heights.
“There’s my hovcar.”
“Oh, yes, that would be better, providing we can get to it.”
“I’m getting my hovcar,” he said with determination. “I’m also getting us something decent to eat as soon as we get there.”
“You doing okay back there, Ben?” The old man waved at us to keep moving.
“I’ll catch up, just keep going,” he said, as he leaned against an abandoned vehicle. I turned my head back to the road in front of me, and then stopped dead in my tracks. Ahead of us was the curve of the bridge that took the top just out of sight. In unison, a row of simps came into view from the other side. They were more in number than I had ever seen. Ben caught up with us and stood with his knife in his hand. With his dingy beige knapsack over his shoulder, I couldn’t help but link him again in my mind to a very warped Santa.
“Okay, now what?” I whispered. The wind was dancing over the bridge now, and my teeth were chattering. The line of simps in front of us could be attacking in seconds, and with their speed, quick thinking was imperative.
“I can use the pause and set them all still, but we’ll have little time to get past them. It won’t work a second time. Their coding is sophisticated enough to provide a workaround that will block my efforts, thereafter.”
“I don’t see that we have any other choice, Mic. There are too many of them to fight off, and it’s too far down to jump,” I said.
“It means we’ll have to run. Ben, are you up to that?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll do my best. Just promise me that you will not stop for me. If I fall, keep going. I’ve told you both already that I’m old, and if it is my time to go, I’m ready for that.”
Mic nodded and pulled his tablet from his pack. After a series of finger slides, the line in front of us dropped like dominoes. Taking our queue, we began to run toward them as best as we could. Large concrete sections were blocking the left, so we had to hug the right side near the water and run in a single file order. I knew it was a risk that they would rise up before we passed, and that once we passed they would be on our heels in the opposite direction. I prayed that we’d have enough time. My eyes darted to a line of once bright yellow tollbooths that were positioned about halfway between us and the simps. Several were crushed, but a few still remained. If we could make it there and hide before they came back online, we might stand a chance. “Let’s try for the tollbooths instead!” I yelled out. My companions heard me, and, fortunately, followed my lead. I made it to the middle booth and pulled the door with all of my strength. It resisted initially, but finally gave way. I clambered insight with Mic right behind me. Since Ben was nowhere in sight, he pulled the door closed and covered me with his body.
We were both breathing so hard that I was certain they would hear us and we’d be dead in a matter of seconds. I closed my eyes tightly and tried not to panic. In the next several minutes, the simps were all around us. We could hear them, and it occurred to me that it was an unusual experience to listen to what simps would say to one another without a human present. To my surprise, they spoke much faster than humans do…it was difficult to make out what they were saying, and the pitches were mixed between men and women, so it was
a crescendo of oddness that became terrifying as they moved around us. I covered my mouth with both hands to keep from screaming. One of them was now very close. I could hear the handle being turned and Mic shifted ever so slightly to press his back against it. The upper portion of the booth was entirely made of glass, so all it would take is a glimpse inside to see us both huddled below. Another male voice called out, and then we heard the quick sound of footsteps moving away from us.
It seemed that time stood still while we waited, but eventually the sounds and voices stopped. The muscles in my legs and back were screaming at me because I’d been hunched over for so long. Finally, Mic moved and pulled me to my feet.
“I think it’s safe now,” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair from my eyes. Unable to find my voice, I followed Mic out of the small space and rubbed at the back of my neck in an effort to loosen the muscles there. Ben appeared from a pile of rubble about thirty yards ahead of us. His eyes looked wild as he approached.
“Have you ever seen anything like that?” he asked with a low whistle.
“No, I can’t say that I have, Ben.” Mic looked exhausted, and I had to wonder, looking at the two of them, if I was fairing any better. Seeing that many of them all at once made me realize the dismal reality of our situation. I began to hyperventilate and for the first time since I was in my neighbor’s basement watching my friends and family be slaughtered, I began to cry. It wasn’t like me, and I hated having these two men watch me fall apart, because the last thing I wanted was their pity. Everyone was afraid, and everyone had a right to be. My fear did not deserve any special attention. Mic wrapped his arms around me in an effort to console me, and I instinctively jerked away.
“No, don’t!” I spat.
“Shhh…it’s okay, it’s okay,” he said, trying once more to take me in his arms. This time I caved and slumped against him. He smelled of dirt and sweat, and I felt instantly selfish for falling apart and making him feel like he had to rescue me. I also found myself wondering why I hadn’t insisted the two of us just stay in the bed we’d started the day in. I buried my head against his chest and sobbed. Mic continued to stroke the back of my head until I ran out of tears and pulled myself together.
“I’m sorry, I don’t usually fall apart like this,” I said, wiping my nose on my arm.
“Everyone falls apart now and then, Lee. It doesn’t make you weak, it just makes you human,” Ben said with a smile. “Are we ready to continue on now?” he added, pulling his pack over his shoulder.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I said, anxious to move beyond this embarrassing moment. Mic chucked me under the chin and cocked his head to the side. “You know, you’re really kind of cute when you cry.”
“Shut up,” I mumbled.
We finally made it to the end of the bridge and continued in a northern direction. The freeway stretched for several miles ahead of us, and I was beginning to wonder if my feet would make it without a rest soon, when Mic announced that we’d be exiting at the next off ramp. I wrapped my arms around myself and picked up my pace. The sooner we got this over with, the better. I didn’t like how vulnerable I felt. I also didn’t like how cold, hungry, and thirsty I was. By the time we reached the bottom of the ramp, my head was pounding, and I wanted to kick my own ass for agreeing to this madness. Mic reached out to take my hand.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Not really.”
“Two more blocks; you can do this, Lee.”
“Can and want are two different things.” I looked back to see where Ben was in relation to our position. He’d found a straight piece of pipe and was using it as a makeshift walking stick. His shirt was off and tied around his head, revealing a puffy belly covered in white hair. I preferred Santa in a red cap over that sight. I turned my attention back to Mic. “How are we going to get in the building once we get there?” I asked.
“We’re going through my private elevator, and I’m going to use my tablet to get us to my lab.”
“And what if your private elevator isn’t accessible? Then what?”
“Then we improvise.”
“That’s it? That’s your plan?”
“What did you expect?” he asked, sounding aggravated for the first time.
“I don’t know what I expected. Fuck, I don’t know why I agreed to this!” I stomped ahead of him and continued on my own. I could see the top of the IDE building in the distance, and knew that this mess was about to get worse. I might as well get on with it. I began checking car doors. I was sick of walking. Mic came up beside me with his damn tablet in his hand. Sliding his finger across it with deliberate dramatics, he then looked up at me. “Your chariot is on the way.”
A cranberry colored box on wheels roared up, and when the doors opened automatically, I welcomed the technology. I slid into the passenger seat and buckled my seat-belt. Mic made small talk with Ben and helped him in to the back. I closed my eyes so that I didn’t have to see or deal with anything. Mic closed his door and the vehicle sped off. “Next stop, IDE, Inc.” he said wearily. The vehicle responded with that familiar (and extremely annoying) digital voice. The female with the intentional perkiness in her voice…IDE Incorporated, is approximately six miles west of this location. Destination acknowledged. God, I hated that bitch! I’d heard in history classes as a kid that people used to find that digital voice impressive. It made them feel as if they were advancing into the future. They even made movies with themes surrounding futuristic worlds — how absurd the future would seem to them now!
Mic instructed the vehicle, which was moving in auto-drive mode, to pull up just before the building. We got out and walked the rest of the way. I looked up at the white crisscrossed metal framework in the front of the building. It seemed ominous in the gloom, and I suddenly wanted to turn and run from all of it. Sensing my apprehension, Mic stopped me. His hands rested on my shoulders, and he looked deep into my eyes.
“I promise, I won’t hurt you.”
I forced a smile. “Let’s just get this over with and get out of here.”
“Okay. Follow me.” Ben and I trudged behind him toward a stairwell that led beneath the building. We walked down a long dark corridor to a metal elevator, and then waited while Mic put his eye to a scanner. Four low musical tones followed in sequence. I positioned myself to the side of the doors, gun aimed and ready. Ben stood on the other side with his knife held at hip level. The doors opened to an empty car, and we stepped inside. The elevator shot us up to the eighteenth floor and then opened. We stepped out to a white corridor with glass cut outs in the shape of giant S’s running the length. There were three doors at the end of the hallway, and Mic was already speed-walking toward them. “Stay close,” he instructed. He was already pushing buttons on an elaborate looking keyboard on the wall.
“Welcome home father,” A digital female voice echoed through the hallway, followed by an incessant alarm that was so high-pitched we had to cover our ears. The lights in the hall were flashing off and on, creating a dizzying strobe effect. I couldn’t hear Mic, but from his hand gestures, I understood when the door opened that he wanted us to hurry inside with him. I had to help Ben, because he had both hands over his ears and wasn’t moving. I could see Mic’s mouth was moving, and made out that he was saying hurry! I glanced over my shoulder to see several guards in black uniforms moving toward us. It was obvious that they were simps by their speed and unity. Everything moved in slow motion, and getting Ben inside was taking far too long. The old man stumbled and fell, just as we reached the entry. Mic was quickly punching numbers into a panel on the interior side that made the doors begin to close. Ben was half in and half out. Realizing this, Mic rushed to my aid and we began pulling him. His bare stomach jittered along the highly polished tile. I felt like I was trying to drag a beached whale. Mic was shouting something, but I couldn’t make it out over the deafening sound of the alarm. The simp guards were getting closer and would be right to us in seconds. Mic grabbed one of Ben’s hands and now we w
ere both pulling the poor man with everything we had. When the door closed, it trapped his left foot, severing it instantly just above the ankle in the process. The alarm sound vanished with the closing, but Ben was now screaming and writhing in pain on the floor. Thick, dark blood spurted from the stump and fanned out quickly in a grotesque pool of soup around him. I began frantically searching the room for something to use as a tourniquet before the man bled out. I knocked over several beakers in the process before stumbling upon a shelf containing stacks of folded white towels.
I became aware that Ben was no longer screaming, and rushed back to where he was. Mic was bent over him obscuring my view. “Is he gone?” I asked.
“No, he’ll be all right. Come around this side, and be careful not to slip.” I moved to the other side so that I could see what he was doing. As I watched in a state of complete disbelief, Mic sprayed a globby stream of foam liquid from a white bottle directly on to his wound.
“What the fuck is that?” I asked, dropping the towels directly into the soupy mess on the floor. Ben was now unconscious. “This is a synthetic fiber that binds at the molecular level. It has a numbing agent in it as well. It’s enough to stop the bleeding and the pain.”
“Well, holy shit.”
“Give me a hand will you? Let’s get him up on the gurney, and then I’ll see what I can do about his foot.” I shook my head at his calmness, and opted to take Ben’s upper body. We made short work of getting him on the gurney, and then Mic set about pulling down equipment and sensors from his workstation. The room we were in was expansive, with white walls and white tiled flooring. I noticed that there were drains placed every few feet. Rows of metal tables were surrounded by massive computer stations, and heavy black tubes and wires snaked from the ceiling between florescent light fixtures. It was quiet now, with the exception of the whir of equipment. I absently noticed that my ears were ringing.
“Mic?”
“Hum?”
“They can’t get in here, can they?”
