Zero Repeat Forever

by G. S. Prendergast

  Then I dream silence and darkness, but in the darkness, something moves. I dream of charcoal and waves of buzzing bees floating back and forth. The dream changes again. Suddenly, it’s all flames and heat. My body stops shaking. I see a shadow move in the flames, then nothing.

  I awake with my bare hand wrapped around someone’s throat.

  “Raven,” a voice gasps. “It’s me.”

  I let my hand fall, straining in the dark to see who’s there.

  “Topher?”

  He sits back, rubbing his neck. My vision begins to clear. I’m lying on a ridge. I can see the valley floor spreading beneath us, the remnants of a fire glowing next to me, and the stars above. Topher is gathering some snow into a ball, which he carefully presses onto my forehead. I begin to notice the throbbing pain. The cold numbs it somewhat.

  “I dreamed this,” I say. He doesn’t reply. He pulls off his gloves and slides them onto my hands.

  “I don’t think you have frostbite,” he says. “How did you manage to build a fire?”

  “I didn’t,” I say. “I dreamed it.”

  “You’re delirious,” he says. “You’ve been out here for hours.”

  I try to sit up. The pain in my head is like a hot coal. Topher presses the snowball on my forehead again.

  “Felix,” I say.

  Topher’s face confirms what I already know. “He’s dead. So is Lochie. We took their bodies up into the village. I came back to look for yours . . . you. . . .” His voice breaks here. I realize he thought I was dead. He takes a moment to compose himself, a marvel of restraint and dignity. So very Topher. “We’re nearly a mile from the trailer park. I came when I saw the fire. How did you get here?”

  “I dreamed . . .” No, that’s not right, I think. The pain in my head is making it hard to talk, hard to make sense of what I remember. The smoke of the campfire infuses my next breath, and a memory floats to the surface. “A Nahx brought me here.”

  Topher frowns. “You’re delirious, Raven. You must have wandered off after the Nahx left. Were you hiding?”

  “Felix told me to hide,” I say dumbly.

  “He saved your life.” Topher stares up the hill. “We need to go,” he says. “Can you walk?”

  I try to stand. Every inch of me hurts, stiff with cold or aching with bruises. When I sway and can’t get up, Topher helps me, his arm around my back, holding me upright. I’m self-conscious about the smell of piss, but he doesn’t mention it. Halfway back to the village, I’m feeling stronger, so I ask him to let me go. In the moonlight I can see there are tears on his cheeks. He doesn’t try to hide them.

  “I peed my pants,” I say before I can stop myself.

  “That’s okay,” Topher says.

  We walk in silence. We’re close to the village again now. Just before we reach it, Topher stops me.

  “Where did you hide?”

  “In the bathroom of the trailer.”

  “The one Felix died in? But I went back there. We went back for his body after the Nahx were gone. Where were you?”

  “A Nahx found me,” I say. It’s a bit blurry though. Did I dream that?

  “If a Nahx found you, you’d be dead,” Topher says. “You hit your head. You wandered off.”

  Maybe he’s right, I think. Nahx don’t hold their fire. Nahx shoot first and never ask questions. I don’t tell Topher about the breathing. I don’t tell him about the long minutes the Nahx and I spent facing each other. I don’t tell him that somehow in the time between being knocked unconscious and waking up with Topher hanging over me, I stopped thinking of that Nahx as “it” and started thinking of it as “him.” I’m not sure why that makes a difference, but it does.

  Before we even reach the village, I can hear Sawyer crying. What’s left of us gather in front of what looks like a little chapel, with the two bodies laid out in the snow.

  “Oh my God,” Xander says when he sees me. He leaps up and throws his arms around me. “You must be a cat, Rave. Seven lives left.”

  Sawyer lies with his head in Emily’s lap, shaking with sobs.

  “Why don’t we go inside?” I ask. My senses are starting to return, and even I can see that it can’t be safe having a fire out in the open like this.

  No one answers. Mandy stirs something in a pot, poking at the fire listlessly. Xander and Topher help me to sit. Sawyer sobs as Emily strokes his hair. Her face is stained with tears.

  “We should go inside,” I say firmly. With Felix dead and Sawyer incapacitated, someone has to take command. “Let’s go into the church, at least.”

  “What do we do with them?” Mandy asks, indicating Felix and Lochie lying there in the snow, dead, spiderweb veins tattooing their faces.

  “What would they want us to do?”

  “Get to safety,” Mandy answers. “Keep going.” She picks up the pot of whatever it is and heads up the steps of the chapel. Finding the door locked, she simply steps back and gives it a good kick. It flies open with a bang. Sawyer twitches in Emily’s lap.

  The boys lift him up and follow us inside.

  The chapel is tiny and cold, but soon the soup Mandy heated is warming those of us who can still eat. I change my clothes and try not to think of Felix and Lochie out in the snow.

  When we finish eating, Mandy comes over with her flashlight. Shining the light in my eyes, she ascertains that I don’t have a serious concussion, but her careful fingers find a hard, painful lump on the back of my head as well as the gash on my forehead.

  “How on earth did you do this?” she asks, dabbing at the forehead wound with a stinging wet cloth.

  “Is it shaped like a lightning bolt, at least?” I ask.

  She coughs a little half laugh and decides to leave it without a bandage, since it has stopped bleeding on its own. She checks my fingers and makes me take off my boots so she can check my toes.

  “No frostbite,” she declares, giving my nose an affectionate tap. She instructs me to sleep, and helpless to resist, I climb into my sleeping bag and close my eyes. “Check her every hour,” she says to someone as sleep captures me. Hourly, I guess, I’m disturbed, but never enough to fully wake.

  When I next open my eyes properly, daylight is streaming through the stained glass windows of the chapel, my nose is pinched with cold, and Topher is asleep beside me, one hand scrunching a handful of my sleeping bag. I look up at the ceiling rafters and sigh, wishing that the slow deconstruction of what I thought was my life might be a little less complicated. It’s easier to hang on to Topher as an obstacle, an antagonist, than cling to him as a lifeline. But all that changed when Tucker died. Slowly, our obsession with each other as the last remnant of the wild boy we both loved is evolving into something else. I’m not sure, but I think in this postapocalyptic world, Topher might be turning into a friend.

  I carefully uncurl his fingers, trying not to wake him. He moans a little, but rolls over, snuffling and pulling his cold hand inside his bag. I wriggle out of my own bag, unzip it, and wrap it around my shoulders like a cape. Standing, I consider my traveling companions wrapped up on the floor. Xander and Mandy lie together like spoons in a drawer, curling around each other’s warmth. Emily’s ring-bespangled hand rests on Sawyer’s sleeping bag, but Sawyer has vacated it. He’s sitting on the altar, back against the wall, right under a stylized crucifix.

  “You were his last word,” I say, sliding down beside him. Not strictly speaking the truth, but what does truth matter anymore?

  He nods. “I heard it.”

  “Why did you come back up here? I heard you yelling to go back down the hill.”

  Sawyer’s demeanor changes, from heartbroken to officious. He becomes a soldier debriefing after a disastrous mission. “The Nahx trailed us back down into the valley but gave up the chase near the river. They disappeared in their transport. We figured they’d come back to take us out where they left us, but might not think we’d be crazy enough to come back here.”

  I nod. It’s a sound theory. It seems to hav
e worked so far anyway. But I doubt the Nahx will stay away for long.

  “Where to now, chief?” I ask. If becoming a soldier again helps him recover, I’m happy to play my part. We need him.

  Sawyer pulls a small canteen from his thigh pocket and uncaps it, taking a swig. “Back to the camp? Or onward? Shall we vote again?” That’s how he makes it clear I’m not off the hook for Felix’s death. Felix, Lochie, Tucker. I suppose I’m the reason that the Nahx invaded in the first place. Hell, I’m the reason Adam ate the forbidden fruit. Anything else anyone wants to blame on me?

  A faint thumping noise saves me from further accusations. Sawyer’s face shows neither fear nor surprise, but the others begin to stir. After a second Topher shoots upright.

  “What’s that? Nahx?”

  “It sounds like a helicopter,” Sawyer says.

  “What?” Mandy’s face breaks into a huge smile. “It must be humans, then. Rescuers?”

  We fall silent, listening as the thumping grows, becoming more familiar, more certainly something from the human world. When there’s no longer any doubt, Mandy, Emily, and Xander share a celebratory hug, Xander lifting the girls in turn and spinning them around. But Topher and I just look at each other. Do we dare hope? I’m not even sure this is what Topher wants anymore. As for Sawyer, his face is still fixed and emotionless.

  “Gather your gear,” he says, picking up his rifle and heading to the chapel door.

  EIGHTH

  I’m not lost anymore, but I wish I were. I wish I could have stayed when she started to stir, but I didn’t want to scare her. So I hid nearby, watching, until one of the other humans took her away.

  I’m concerned that he took her somewhere safe. The First and Third are unlikely to come back to finish what they started; this kind of work is beneath them. I’m sure they’ve noticed I’m missing, but of course they don’t care. If they could be relieved, they would be.

  But others might come. This territory is designated for complete preparation. The darts are stockpiled by the thousand, by the million. I have what is in my rifle, about forty, and the six spares. But I doubt I’ll ever use them.

  I can see quite far from up here. I can see the deep green trees poking out of silvery snow, and the river, like a thin snake winding through the bottom of the valley. I can see the burnt strip of forest where I first saw her as the river sucked her away. What strange forces made me go into that trailer, open that door, and find her again? It’s hard not to see some meaning there, but that’s ridiculous too.

  I’m disconnected, so my thoughts drift into a more orderly state. But I can think only of the girl human and her friends. Did they get away? Did the high ranks come back? I’m sure I’ll stop obsessing eventually. And now that I have nowhere to go and nothing to do, I’m in no hurry. I’ll keep out of sight of her people and mine. I need a new plan, because I can’t go back to the mission. Not now.

  You don’t have to do this.

  I’ll pretend I don’t exist. Stay away from hubs, so I don’t get sucked in by new transmissions, ignore the buzzing directives and what they tell me to do. I can resist them. I know that now. I can hunt for food, melt snow for water, even make a little fire during the day. Sixth laughed at my fires, since we don’t need the warmth or to cook our food. But I like the smell and the color of fire. And I like making them and keeping them bright. I wish I could make one at night, but that might draw my people here, thinking I’m a human.

  I’d rather not see any of my kind again. Perhaps I might even turn away from my reflection in puddles or my shadow on the snow. My distaste for all this is much stronger when I’m disconnected from the armor. It’s almost like being . . . something, something hidden, not remembered. Something that leaves a negative space behind it, where it used to be. Like the shape of Sixth on the crushed grass with the wings of blood. Like the feel of the little human in my arms and the smell of her hair.

  Dandelion.

  I’m a vile and terrible, monstrous creature who doesn’t deserve to live. What a relief to be able to think that properly, not having it sucked into the slime inside me and turned outward again, turned into hate for the humans. I refuse this mission. I refuse. If I can stay disconnected for long enough, I’ll be able to hang on to that. I won’t get drawn back to the others again.

  There’s nothing complicated about the directives that flood my thoughts when I’m connected. Dart the vermin. Leave them where they fall. Move on. But as time passes, away from the hubs, without a fresh transmission, the directives have degraded to a low humming sensation. I’m starting to see them as separate from me. It could be the armor that’s vile, the monstrous armor and the slime that infuses my blood when I’m connected to it. Maybe I’m . . .

  Defective.

  I can reconnect only when I need to, when it becomes hard to breathe. But first I can sleep. I need sleep. I’m high up enough that I should be able to sleep for several hours, maybe even a whole night.

  I know I’ll dream about the human girl. That’s how my half-ruined brain works. But that will stop eventually too. It won’t be so bad, not like the dreams about Sixth, I hope. I kind of look forward to the dream, as long as it’s not too scary. I look forward to seeing the human girl again.

  RAVEN

  The base appears in the snow haze as the helicopter slowly descends into a deep valley between two high mountains about a two-hour flight north from where they found us. At least I think it’s the base. From the air it looks like drifts of snow and piles of rocks, a railway track that leads from nowhere to nowhere and something that could be called a road if all cars were actually amphibious snow tanks.

  “Why didn’t the Nahx shoot us down?” Topher asks. We’ve all been thinking it during the flight. Expecting it, even. Maybe wanting it.

  “We’ve analyzed their patterns. They don’t spend much time in these remote areas, and when they do, they don’t come back for weeks,” says a skinny and pale young soldier sitting across from me. He introduced himself as Liam before we took off. “It was a risk, but we spotted your fires. We’ve been sending out spy drones at night. They look like owls. You might have seen them. They’re the latest technology. Don’t need GPS or anything. The Nahx haven’t got a clue.” His bluster gives me a strong next-to-die vibe, like he’s that guy in the movie who has to fly one last mission, or retires the next day. I wish I weren’t sitting right across from him, in range of any potential blood splatter or flying organs.

  As if to increase my anxiety, Liam adds: “My mother is the base commander. We came out here after, you know, and she lets anyone who wants to, to serve. You guys look like you’d make good soldiers.” He sniffs a little too haughtily for my tastes. “Even you girls. With some training.”

  Emily and I lock eyes. I happen to know she can take apart and clean a rifle faster than most people can blow their nose. As for her archery, she can hit targets I can’t even see.

  “What’s your rank?” Sawyer suddenly says, with a dark expression.

  Liam hesitates. “I don’t really have one,” he says. “Not yet.”

  “That makes you a recruit. I’m a lieutenant. I outrank you, and I’m telling you to shut up.”

  To his credit Liam mumbles, “Shutting up, sir,” before falling silent. Next to him, Xander’s head lolls to the side. He’s asleep.

  We touch down quite far from anything recognizably manmade. Three other uniforms help us out of the helicopter.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry, the location is classified,” Liam says. “But it’s an old nuclear bunker from the Cold War. I can tell you that. Finally put to good use, I guess.”

  As the helicopter blades wind down, he gathers us together. “May I?” he says to Sawyer, not even attempting sincerity. I’ve barely known Liam two hours, and already he annoys the shit out of me.

  He continues. “We’re not a real command unit here. We don’t exactly use ranks, and mostly we go by first names. My name is Liam, like I said. My mother’
s in charge. Her name is Kim. You’ll meet her later. I didn’t get all your names.”

  We do some brief introductions before he goes on. “The entrance to the base is about a half mile from here. There’s a climb down a pretty steep canyon. The whole thing is underground, so I hope no one is claustrophobic.”

  I think we’re meant to laugh or something, but no one does. Liam gathers what’s left of his dignity and continues. “I could radio for a jeep if you don’t feel up for the walk, but we’re supposed to be rationing fuel, and the jeep has to go the long way around.”

  “We can walk,” Emily says. Liam gives her an approving look that makes me vaguely nauseous. We hoist our packs and head off into the snow.

  “This snowstorm has been great,” Liam says as we walk. “Even though it’s cold, it’s made us much less visible from the air.”

  “Will you go back for the bodies?” Sawyer asks, following his own personal agenda. I can’t really blame him.

  Liam turns and walks backward as he talks to us, like he’s conducting a museum tour. “Not likely. It’s too dangerous. You know they don’t decay, right?”

  No one says anything, but I can tell the others must have seen some evidence of this, as I have. Liam keeps talking, because he doesn’t know the horror of what he’s saying to me and Sawyer and Topher in particular. “It’s the toxin in the darts. It’s some kind of embalming thing, or a preservative.” A shadow crosses his face like a cloud, but it soon passes. “Weird, huh? Wonder what they plan to do with all these bodies.”

  Tucker at least is in our hidden valley, under a blanket of earth and birch leaves. It’s a strange thought that I might be able to go back there in years and find him just as he was the day he died. One glance at Topher tells me he’s having the same thoughts. It’s a whole Dorian Gray thing for him, too. He’ll age, while Tuck will be an image of him as he is now, forever young.