Jon swatted the smaller and faster one with his aluminum bat, standing in a pool of blood. It was definitely a type of searcher, newer, one they hadn’t sketched yet. Just a searcher, and except for weak stunners it probably didn't have any deadly weapons. It zipped around, nearly impossible to target. It dove deep and swung around Jerry distracting him, then back up to Jon. The creeper made use of the opportunity and rushed forward slamming into Jerry, then withdrew, observing.
He’d gotten the wind knocked out but Jerry could take a hit better than a linebacker, for he was bigger and stronger than most. Undeterred he continued to lash out with his ten-foot spear but this did very little as the spear slipped along the creeper’s smooth edges. It honed in on him, closer, and closer, easily parrying his efforts. Its rounded shape left for nothing to spear so he started swinging. Oddly, the creeper started to have trouble dodging swats as if it suddenly couldn’t see him anymore. Jerry thought of Amy and looked toward the cave entrance, Oh no! And he managed a good stumbling hit.
She tried to click it to mode 3 but the power was low. Mode 2 worked. She nudged it as close as she could without being seen.
But, even if only by indirect means, it already knew his position, and he wasn’t going anywhere quickly. After the hit, no more playing; its red eyes lit brighter. Almost as if it had been holding back, hesitating the kill, toying, trying to learn why—how any human could still be alive? The hovering beast slid low and slammed into him at the knees. Then three sharp knives ejected around the drone’s frontal edge as it pulled back. It slammed inward again, this time higher; one stabbed Jerry’s neck. Barbs ejected at the tips and the machine pulled back, taking Jerry with it. Jerry fought violently, his extreme weight pulling the drone down; but the spikes were shockers. They’d all seen this execrable method before. His bite clenched hard and his eyes went back as the shocker powered up. It had enough heat to blacken his neck, shoulder, and the left half of his face. The drone released and tilted forward. Jerry dropped limp onto the rocks next to Amy’s bed and it followed up with a scan. A flat red laser moved up then down then stopped at his head, intensifying. He jolted straight stiff and his body started to spasm. The scanner paused, a device ejected from the nose of the drone. Jerry lay still, limp and immovable, but able to see, blinking slowly from the non-burnt side of his face. With a glint of fire-orange his remaining eye moved to see the cave’s entrance—to Amy. Peeking around her rock she saw. His eye revealed the depth of his love for her, but also, it reignited memories of her recent dream and the terrorizing feel. He blinked twice. Amy blinked in response, squishing out her tears.
The red laser pierced his right eye and held burning for a second, all while the scanner intensified. It burned a hole in the clay behind him and the edges around the hole were charred black, wide open. His skin around the wound caught fire. Amy had seen enough death in her short time but daddy Jerry was her rock. Memories flooded her: the first time she’d caught a fish and the gooey earthworm juice, laughing at his bad cooking, and loving his good cooking. The good memories clashed with the pain—she broke down in a flood of silent tears. And somehow, she managed to contain her outburst, they’d taught her how, and sadly enough, had practiced for this very day. Jerry’s executioner flew silently above him, looking, trying to—it couldn’t see clearly, and was clearly was trying to figure out why. It floated back a few feet and spit out a fireball that lit the cave brighter than it had ever been; flames torched Jerry. A black ash statue remained as the machine hesitated one last time. A final blast exploded the ash. A first, because they always left statues: demented trophies.
“Noooooo!” Jon yelled. He’d been battling the searcher near the entranceway when things got bright. He had been trying to get down the steps but the little drone kept stunning him, and he dropped lower with every blast. The smell of burnt air tortured his nostrils and Jerry’s death infuriated him. He got in a hit; just one and managed to cripple the small drone he was fighting, then smashed it into the earth with his boot. The gun! He thought, and dove up the stairs away from the creeper that was now turning toward him.
His severed hand, the trail of blood leading outside; the drones must of found him outside the cave and shot it off.
He grabbed it, still warm and wet with blood—and he saw Amy. She was a mere two feet away peeking around the large boulder at the entrance, shivering, crying, doing her very best to be quiet and invisible.
His eyes widened, time stopped, they saw each other. With a face she knew he assured her—a small nod—you’ll be okay. He had to fight, for her. The body of his friend was a pile of ash clouding the air and the creeper was emerging through it from below, toward him, up the steps, its evil bright red eyes, searching, more so feeling as if unable to see. Jon had no time to pry the clenched dead fingers of his right hand from the gun. He held it up, squeezing atop the trigger finger. It fired but the bullet ricocheted onto the cave’s ceiling making another cloud of dust, mixing with the remains of Jerry. The drone swerved side to side firing aimlessly, blindly, missing.
Jon’s head rolled and fell downward. He was losing blood quickly, feeling faint and weak, unable to make another shot. Things started to go dark. He thought of Amy: how he read to her and invented stories as if they shared a sort of TV time, laughing together at the crazy dreams she would describe daily in such detail every single morning, how she grew into the always optimistic cheery person she had become; regardless of their circumstances she always made the best of things and didn’t complain. He pressed on hard and shook it off, the darkness abated leaving him with at least a tunnel of sight. He knew he had just a few bullets left—he’d used one to kill the first of the three that had spotted him, right outside the cave.
Amy stared in horror, one eye around the rock. Tears washed her dirty face in blotches, flooding the dry ground beneath her. She knew there was nothing she could do, and regardless her daddies told her: hide, don’t move, be silent and still at all costs—no matter what! Nothing could prepare any child for this torment. Her discipline to be silent was breaking; a faint cry escaped her. And she knew—her eyes opened wide with fear. She knew the cost of her mistake and she thought of the rabbit at the junkyard, the skinny lady in town, I’m next! The drone did sense it, another person, and sped up the steps, blasting wildly and blindly. Jon heard it, but he couldn’t blame her. She had been so awesome, so controlled.
He must kill this machine.
It won’t come to this! Jon thought. “Leave her the fuck alone,” he yelled, each word emphasized loud and clear. He stood with a renewed power, adrenaline afire. His tunnel vision opened up and he could see everything as clear as if he was hopped up on drugs. Powered by the final will of a determined man, he took clear aim directly at the eyes and fired his gun.
The bullet ricocheted just the same. “Fuck!” Jon cursed. He threw the gun at the drone as it flew past him—severed hand and all. It stopped blasting—now, it wanted the other person. Amy screamed a high pitch worthy of a sonic drone then let her pent-up emotions explode, “Daaaddeeee!” The drone went full circle, veering about. It paused, rotating slightly left, then right, then hovered inches forward until it was almost touching her nose. Amy was paralyzed in fear and held her breath. It was unable to see her directly, but knew, she was right there. Its wide beaming robotic eyes mesmerized her into a trance and she was frozen still; the scanner charged. Jon watched in horror but his determination never faltered, he continued limping her way wrapping his arm tighter to stop the blood. He felt the darkness returning and knew he had to save every drop. He was mad, red mad. He managed to reach the gun which had fallen right outside the cave, his dead hand had released it and he was finally able to get a good solid grip on the weapon. He straightened his back with the last of his energy and lifted it—then squeezed several times: click, click, click, nothing. Empty. “No, no, no,” he said.
The creeper initiated the scan. It didn’t know her exact position so started at the ground. Amy was squatted, hugging her l
egs and the flat red beam touched her toes. She wiggled back pulling her toes in tighter. Crash! The beam went up instantly, a flat laser into the sky. Jon landed atop the drone. It wobbled and fought his weight as he did his best to hang on. It rose into the air sideways away from the cave, tilting back letting him dangle. Something gave him strength, the will to hold on. A good grasp helped. His fingers were lodged into a deep groove, the edge of the blade-less turbine at the center of the beast. He had an idea. The machine kept jerking but Jon’s fingers were caught tight in the groove, not allowing him to fall, crunching, breaking. He didn’t feel the pain—just used it. The three shocking daggers ejected but Jon was at the side of the drone and they all missed. The creeper flipped and turned tossing Jon in all directions, front, back, back to the side, the other side. It tried to fling him off but eventually Jon landed on the top right above the turbine. He was able to position himself—then forced it in. The arm was numb so he didn’t feel much. The heat inside burned his skin cauterizing the end of his nub. The drone couldn’t fly with something in the blade-less turbine and lost its ability to maintain lift and crashed into the ground. The shockers kept popping in and out uselessly while the drone jerked on the ground. Its incinerator ejected, turned on itself, and fired. The flames blew Jon back lighting him on fire; the drone partially lit itself in the process too. Its deadly mix was made to stick like gel and burn, even with a mere short blast. Jon fell back onto the ground, and the drone rose up once again turning to his burning body. This time not hesitating, the incinerator rotated forward.
Amy jerked her head to the side at the sight of Jon’s burning body. She couldn’t bear to see anymore. He was flapping his arm and rolling about the ground. That’s when she saw them.
The silhouette of men coming toward her against the descending sun, that’s all she could make out. It pushed the brush aside and ducked into their clearing. A robot! It looked to be made of white plastic, just like the ones she’d seen fighting in her dream. It looked down to Amy then over to Jon and the creeper drone. It lifted its rifle and a green ray shot out blasting the drone back sending it crashing onto the roots of the big tree. It fell, twitching, electric sparks fizzing on its shell; a puff of black smoke whooshed out. And the other robot came through the brush.
“We’re here to help little girl,” the bot said in a strong and caring voice. The second bot immediately ran to Jon and put out the fire with a blast of white powder from a pull line on its pack while the first knelt down to Amy slowly, offering comfort; but she bolted away.
“Daddy, daddy! No daddy no.” She rolled him over and the second bot knelt down to help her and Jon plopped to the side. He couldn’t see, his eyelids were singed, hard and unable to open. His hair was a melted in patches and filled with smoke, and his red raw skin was bubbling and smoldering; his plaid flannel shirt was fused with his skin. The bot reached to hold his head straight. Amy cried uncontrollably in front of him, bubbling, then he uttered, coughed. Amy poked up her head.
The darkness was upon him, and he knew it. He felt no pain, and was blind, but very happy. He knew Amy was there. She’d made it, he did it. Rescue. And he—this was it. He uttered his last words, “You are spec—” He coughed; blood ejected from his mouth. One of the shocking blades had managed to stab him in the chest during the struggle. But no blood was coming from of it; he didn’t have any left to bleed. “Spec—ial. Remember that always. Am—ee I love yo—” His head fell to the side.
Amy wept and completely fell limp on top of him; her head lay on his smoking chest. She hugged Jon tightly then the bot pulled her away and carried her out to the ship.
“No, daddy. No!” She fought and screamed longing to be back with him. A ship hovered down, forcing a few of the smaller perimeter trees down, crushing them. A side door opened and a ramp folded down, but it didn’t reach the ground. The bot jumped fifteen feet high in a single bound and placed Amy inside, still kicking. It was inside for no more than a few seconds before leaping back out empty handed onto the ground at the front of the cave.
“It’s been a long time since we had a human rescue,” one bot said to the other. “I wonder how they managed to survive so long out here.”
“I couldn’t say. But if there’s one, there’s bound to be more. Let’s round up these bots and check the area. And get this body up, stat.”
On the ground where Amy was hiding remained a small black device. It had a barely visible yellow light.
5. PART II - Jim
The sky was clear as usual, less orange. Over the years it had been regaining its natural blue hue, like before, and he noticed. Sipping his morning coffee from within his top floor apartment, Jim gazed at the wall that contained him and everyone else he knew in the world. A chance to live on, sure, but for what? To him it was a prison. He often thought of escaping, merging with technology once again—like the exciting days of his youth. For all anyone knew, those people down there were the last humans alive in the world, and this was the final stronghold. All should all be happy, grateful just to be alive. Yeah right.
The great wall, as many called it, represented a last chance, and it worked. The barrier had been created over twenty years ago from whatever metals could be scavenged, much of the crushed parts contained hints, clues of the past: logos, bumpers, buses, all flattened to a seamless solid. Brown patina decades in the making faded the clues. Braces, angular supports spaced fifty feet apart allowed it to stand strong at over one hundred feet tall. The mega structure completely surrounded the town providing a one mile diameter of safety.
He took a sip, watching as the people trudged around below, back and forth, and sarcastically raised his cup to this new day. And the orange morning sun peeked over the wall.
It had become a self-sustaining civilization. He’d been told there were regular supply drops from the outside, but as the early years passed they had slowed, then quit altogether. As well deposits of survivors came from time to time; but no more. Alone. He wondered every morning: what’s happening outside, my old home, the cities? Is anyone still alive out there? What happened to the deliveries, and who were they, and most importantly why hasn’t anyone contacted us since? Is this it?
But most citizens of peaceful Jewel City were happy, more so than Jim, and enjoyed life in the secure town of 321 beings. He knew: he thought too much, reminisced about his childhood and the world as it once was. Basic knowledge, all accepted it, there remained nothing but a dead planet scarred by war and destruction beyond the wall. An uninhabitable wasteland surrounded by desert; miles of quarantine zone in every direction (flat desert made it easier for perimeter defenses to detect and zap any intruders). It was the final and most destructive war in human history. Millions perished. Plants and animals, art and ideals, religions and cultures, all went extinct.
Life had come to this, and it wasn’t bad, just simple. People worked a little, talked a little, and then repeated the process over and over. And most didn’t concern themselves with worry or what they didn’t need to know.
Jim was half ready for another day at work. He finished the first cup and headed inside for another, black and strong. The quotidian routine surrounding work was a little monotonous but necessary. Anyone involved in the Lender Program had to keep their body and mind fit to high standards. If they failed to do so they’d be ousted from the program and would have to carry out a more traditional, old fashioned type job in the town. But of course there’s nothing wrong with a normal job. A cook at the restaurant, physical trainer, tailor, there’s good work in the green houses, perhaps even a member of the town council. As Jim thought about it, it made him appreciate the opportunity he had, but mornings—mornings brought out the malcontent in him. His job was the only reason to go on, and really, he couldn’t imagine life without it—well, maybe if he could get out, over that fucking wall; yeah, he could imagine that.
Silence. He reveled in it before work, watching the weed pullers begin on the streets below. He stood bag-eyed and barefooted in his pajamas
, leaning against the railing. The slightest trace of a breeze came by as the sun became yellow and finished mounting the wall. His was a basic apartment but the tallest in town; a perk of being a lender—to almost be able to see over the wall; top lenders got the higher floors. His living area was sandwiched between large sliding glass doors. He liked to spend time outside on either balcony clearing his mind; if he jumped high enough he could see the top of the wall. Some mornings he could see signs of smoke far in the distance, and rarely, hear explosions or feel slight tremors. It was a confirmation—things still worked. Jim knew, and that’s why he had to go to work.
As light flooded the town below Jim watched it come to life. The routine. The dull fucking routine he thought. Everybody walked or ran. No vehicles, but there were a few bicycles in town. He could see it all from his apartment: the park straight ahead at 12 o'clock, town hall at 3 o'clock a block down the street, the lenders facility (The JCDC as known to the townspeople) in the distance inside the base of the wall at 2 o'clock, and the gym at 10 o'clock before the road curved along the wall near the canal to the small bridge. Behind him on the other side of the apartment: the green houses and gardens.
Mentally tired from a draining work week, Jim looked forward to his day off, well partially. Thursday, tomorrow, was his mandatory gym day which took up most of the morning; Sunday he had a full day of rest. Each lender was assigned an exercise day—the townspeople were required to exercise also—but activity needed varied from person to person based on several factors. Jim maintained fitness well. He had a solid chest and powerful arms and was overall strong compared to others, and didn't need the help of personal trainers. The overweight—or underweight—or others who had trouble staying fit, did more to stay on top of things, and were assigned a trainer. Keeping the body fit was essential to the type of work lenders had to do; to maximize efficiency—important for the mind. A lender hasn’t much need for strength or endurance to complete physical tasks, rather the opposite, not to lose what they have due to physical inactivity. Jim thought briefly about the upcoming workout, looking forward to it, a break from brain-drain as he called it, and went inside to eat closing the glass slider behind him.
Lenders Page 3
