Robinson Crusoe 2244

by E. J. Robinson

  Yet if his mother had set down here intact, where was her flyer? If she had survived the renders, the Bone Flayers, the struggle for sustenance, and the elements, where had she gone? He wanted to believe she was alive, waiting for help to come, but he knew in his heart it wasn’t true. For her, this had been a one-way journey and he needed to find out why.

  To the Aserra, hope was a coward’s word because it meant that you had not taken fate in your hands. Of all the commodities to possess here, hope was last to be rewarded and the first to lead to ruin. But it remained, buried deep inside him, waiting for the narrowest shaft of light to grow. Hope was eternal. It was what made them human.

  Behind the memorial, Friday chased Resi with a stick. He had latched on to a fish she’d caught and was now leading her in circles, jumping and barking with delight. Friday groused and cursed but eventually gave up and went back to the water. When Resi trotted over and set the fish beside her, Friday patted him on the head and said, “Good dog.” Robinson didn’t want to lose this. And up until the minute he saw that chalkboard, he had been ready to follow Friday wherever she wanted to go, whether it was south after the Aserra or to the gates of the Bone Flayers themselves. But now, with the evidence that his mother had been in the city as recently as last year, all that had changed. He still wanted to go with Friday, but could he live with the cost of knowing he would never discover what had happened to his mother? It was the hardest choice he’d ever had to make.

  Ultimately, he decided he needed answers—answers he couldn’t get anywhere else. To find out what had happened to his mother, he would have to follow his nose, and it pointed toward the military base. He knew he couldn’t risk Friday’s health by dragging her across the countryside at night. And there was no way she would let him leave on his own. So he came up with a plan, even though he knew there would be a stiff price.

  As dusk arrived, the sky turned a golden pink, with small, white puffs of clouds that spirited across the sky and headed out to sea. The river spun loudly as they settled down to supper. Resi snored lightly beneath the table, weary from the day’s exertions.

  The fish Friday had caught turned out to be succulent, flavored with just the right spices to sate their hunger and put her in an amorous mood. As much as Robinson wanted to reciprocate, part of him felt badly about deceiving her, so he told her it was best if she recovered another day before they resumed their lovemaking.

  After supper, Robinson read until Friday was asleep in his arms. He waited until her breathing slowed before he grabbed his gear and crept for the door. Resi whined.

  “I’ll be back soon,” Robinson whispered and scratched his ear. “Watch her for me, will you, pal?” To his surprise, Resi licked his fingers.

  Outside, Robinson slicked his clothes with oil and set off to the east, past the monolith, until he linked with Independence Avenue. As expected, there were many renders out, but by that time, he’d learned a great deal about how to navigate around them.

  It wasn’t until he’d reached the capitol building that he heard a new danger. It began as one lone yowl, slow and keening. And then it was joined by a chorus of others that melded together until the divergent tones became an orchestra of impending death.

  Robinson took out his eyeglass and looked out over the city, finding a group of shadows devouring something several blocks to the north. The moonlight illuminated the attackers long enough for him to see they ran on four legs, not two, and were very fast.

  He slid the eyeglass shut and slipped it back into his pack. He needed to get as far away as possible. He was pretty sure he’d be safe if he could make it to the Pennsylvania Avenue Bridge. But when he turned, all the air was sucked right out of him.

  There, twenty paces away, was a massive mutated dog staring at him with black render eyes. Robinson didn’t move. He didn’t blink.

  And then the creature started to bay.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The Hunt!

  The render dog was used to hunting in a pack. Robinson knew this because the second he ran toward it, it flinched. It took two steps back before it bared its teeth, but by then, both tomahawks were buried in its skull. It managed one surprised yelp before its blood and brains stained the grass.

  Robinson pulled out his tomahawks, knowing his victory would be short lived if he didn’t get moving quickly. The keening of the dog’s mates carried across the park. There was no way to misinterpret them. The pack was now hunting him.

  He fled southwest across the capitol grounds, only looking back when he reached Pennsylvania Avenue. From there, he saw the pack flooding around the capitol building, each mutated dog running with a grotesque gait all its own. The throaty yaps were terrifying, but one rang deeper than all the others. The Alpha. Larger and thicker, it directed its horde with big, booming roars.

  Robinson knew he’d never make the bridge, so he broke south toward the water, passing under the elevated freeway he had first traveled across nearly a year before. The sound of heavy padding grew behind him and he turned to see the first render dog closing in. To his surprise, it had no eyes, but its long, mutated tongue whipped out every few meters to taste the air for his trail.

  Robinson slid his tomahawks back into their straps and pulled out his sling, along with a rock he’d ground to razor sharp points. He spun it until the dog was a few paces behind him and then let it fly. The projectile hit it where its eyes should have been, resulting in a spray of bone and blood. The dog pitched forward, but before it could yelp, its face struck the asphalt and its neck snapped with a loud crack.

  Robinson pushed harder toward the water as the bays closed in. He blew through a gate marked “NAVY YARD” and the shape of a boat emerged. It was an older military vessel, a little larger than the savages’ ship. It was canted slightly to one side, hanging half out of the water and half perched atop an old wooden pier that had partially collapsed long ago.

  Knowing his odds of survival would be greatly improved if he could reach the ship, Robinson ran as hard as he could for its single, strangled ramp. He was a dozen feet away when he felt the attack come from his right. He dove to the ground just as the render dog passed overhead, its fetid breath warming his ear with a loud snap.

  When he spun to his feet, the dog to the east was at his flank and a third dog surrounded him. Seeing Robinson had both tomahawks in hand, the dogs postponed their attack. They wanted to keep him there until their pack mates arrived.

  Robinson twisted and feinted while the dogs dipped and lunged, snapped and retreated, always keeping the human on his defenses while working to tire him out.

  Once again, Robinson fell back on the Aserra’s teachings: never expend needed energy unnecessarily; always keep calm and focused; when the opportunity comes, attack first and be decisive; and always, always go for the kill.

  When he heard more dogs approaching, he knew he was out of time, so he feinted toward the dog to the east and then spun, catching the one nearest the ship as it lunged. The tomahawk barely left his hand when it sunk into fur and the beast fell dead.

  The third render dog latched onto his sleeve, but it had miscalculated the distance to the channel. Robinson spun fast and hard, and propelled it off the ledge and down the steep, rocky incline that led to the water below. The sound of bones snapping eclipsed its cries until it landed in a heap near the water’s edge.

  With the narrowest of windows, Robinson rushed across the twisted gangplank just seconds before the pack arrived. They snarled and barked but stopped short of crossing. Then the Alpha emerged. The pack cowered under its powerful gaze until, at last, it turned its attention to the human.

  Of all the grotesque mutations Robinson had seen to date, none had repulsed him like the Alpha. Its form was rife with muscles pocked by bloody abscesses that ran from its front, thin legs to its squat, powerful rear ones. To his surprise, he saw teats lining its chest and belly, marking it not as male, but female. But it was the qualities of her face that really made his stomach churn. They w
ere not canine, but human. What perversion of nature could create a fusion of man and beast? Mythology was full of them, but here was fable made flesh. And as her eyes bore down on Robinson with intellect and hate, he wondered, was man’s folly staring across the void at him, or was he staring at his future?

  Robinson set down his tomahawks and took up his sling, sliding one of his last three stones into the pouch just as the Alpha snarled and the pack charged. The first dog was halfway across the gangplank when the stone came loose and hit it in the mouth. The render dog bucked sideways, shrieking in pain as shattered teeth flew. It smashed against the railing, which broke away, and then plummeted to the rocks below.

  A fearsome bellow erupted from the Alpha’s throat. Quickly, Robinson grabbed his second-to-last projectile and slipped it into the cradle. The Alpha stalked just beyond the gangplank but was intelligent enough to stay back while the sling whirled. To Robinson’s surprise, the Alpha directed the remaining pair to either end of the boat. The stern was five meters from shore, but the cant of the ship had left the aft section slightly submerged. If the render dog was capable of swimming, it could easily get behind him.

  The second dog had the more difficult task, but it seemed less hesitant. It treaded its way to the upheaved dock where it looked to leap onto the bow of the ship. If both creatures were successful, Robinson would be caught between anvil and hammer with the Alpha ready to make it a three-pronged attack. He would have no chance of survival.

  Thinking fast, he edged higher up the deck so he could keep all three targets in sight but still maintain the revolutions of the sling that kept the Alpha at bay. Then his foot struck against something that shook with a groan. He looked up and saw it was a tall, rusty radio tower that extended three or four times his height. On the same plane was a bowed cable at least one hand thick that ran along the waterline and was presently suspended over the Alpha.

  When Robinson heard the splash to his left, he decided to act. He released the projectile with as much force as he could muster. He knew it wouldn’t be a killing shot, but when one of the Alpha’s eyes blossomed red, he let out a triumphant cheer. Immediately, he turned and tugged at the tower with all his might. The rusted bolts on the deck snapped and the tower groaned as it toppled forward. The plan seemed to work perfectly when the tower struck and snapped the cable at one end, sending it plummeting straight for the Alpha, but she vaulted back at the last second, allowing the cable to whip by freely. After it passed, she charged. To Robinson’s left, the dog in the water was just reaching the submerged stern. To his right, the third dog was leaping for the bow. It came up just short, but its limbs clung to the railing as its rear legs kicked to get aboard.

  Robinson was certain he was about to die, when suddenly the cable recoiled toward the dock and tore through the rotting wood like butter. With a roar, the timber tumbled down the incline, smashing into the gangplank and the ship’s hull. The ship jolted once more, throwing the dog at the bow into the water and under an avalanche of falling debris.

  With the boat bucking wildly under the avalanche of wooden beams, Robinson ran across the radio tower and made for land. The Alpha sprang up and lashed out at him as he passed below. Pain flared through his foot as one of its nails sliced through his boot. The ship started pulling away from the shore, the radio tower drawing back, and he dove at the last second, impacting hard against the incline’s edge. Jagged asphalt bit into his chin, but he scrambled to safety.

  When Robinson turned back, he was shocked to see the ship was now free and listing away from land. The Alpha stalked up and down the deck, howling and slashing at the last remaining dog that had swum to the bow. Eventually, she settled, but her eyes never left Robinson. Implicit in that stare was a fury that chilled his blood. He hoped wherever the ship landed, it would be far enough away that they would never cross paths again.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Base of Operations

  The remainder of the trip to the military base went without incident. If there were renders this far out of the city, they were hunting other game tonight.

  A few blocks from the base, Robinson saw a glow over the airfield. As he got closer, he saw industrial lights set up to illuminate the trees surrounding the base. He wondered why such a display wasn’t drawing more predators, but as he neared the perimeter, he saw several mutated animals writhing in pain along an imaginary line.

  Only when he neared it did he feel a pinch at his temples that made his teeth buzz. Someone was using radio waves to keep the renders back. The waves weren’t debilitating to him, but he didn’t know what prolonged exposure would do, so he ran between two abandoned hangers for a look of what awaited him on the other side.

  The base had been set up in the central airfield, surrounded by the carcasses of ancient flyers. A dozen glowing tents were huddled just off the main tarmac, with a large group of Iron Fists milling outside. Many sat around fires, laughing and drinking, while political prisoners sat huddled together in the cold, a dozen meters away. They were finishing off some sort of meal and had only thin bedrolls for cover. None bore chains that Robinson could see, nor was there any kind of fencing, but as he drew closer, he saw each had a device locked around his or her ankle that emitted a small, pulsing light.

  It took a while but he finally spotted Taskmaster Satu lying on a blanket near the back. Another prisoner brought him food, but he waved it off, only to reconsider when the man badgered him. It was incredibly difficult to see someone so domineering reduced to such a shell of his former self.

  Between the tarmac and the far tree line was a tent, triple the size of the others. Half a dozen flyers surrounded it. Iron Fists came and went from the tent, each carrying boxes of paper that were then either stacked in a flyer or tossed into a bonfire.

  Near Robinson were a number of latrines that the Iron Fists used at will, but the prisoners were left to attend to their business in the open. To the west was a large water tank that had been hoisted onto a wooden platform adjacent to a still. Over the course of a half turn, Robinson heard the Iron Fists call out for the prisoners to fetch their drinks and promptly clouted them when they took too long. The situation made his blood boil, but he needed answers, so he crept along a low berm to the back of the water tower. There, he waited nearly a turn before Taskmaster Satu rose wearily and made his way over to fill his cup.

  “Taskmaster,” Robinson whispered, “can you hear me?”

  His former teacher went still for a moment. Robinson was about to call out again when he asked, “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Robinson.”

  Robinson thought he might have heard the beginning of a laugh.

  “Bloody hell, boy. Is it really you? Or have I finally gone mad?”

  “You’re not mad. Not any more than you’ve ever been.”

  This time he did laugh, although it was low and not loud enough to carry.

  “I should have known after all the hullaballoo yesterday. I thought my eyes were deceiving me. You used the radio.”

  “That’s right.”

  He chuckled again. “Asking for your father. That set the hornet’s nest up end, I’ll tell you. Then again, that was always your forté.”

  “Taskmaster, I need to know what’s happening. Why are the Iron Fists here? What are they looking for? Is my father still alive? What about my brother and sister?”

  “So many questions. I see your time away hasn’t changed you much.”

  “Then you’re not looking closely enough. Who’s behind this? Is it Tier Saah? Is he in charge?”

  “It’s Regent Saah now. And yes, he’s had the entire bloody Isle turned upside down looking for you. When he couldn’t find you, we thought you might’ve come here.”

  “We?”

  “Your father and me.”

  “Then he’s alive?”

  “He was. Locked in the Tower for months. Now, I’m not sure.”

  “Why didn’t Tier Saah just kill him? Or have him walk the Road? Or bring him here
with you?”

  “Vardan and your father go way back. I believe he views Leodore as his sworn enemy. ‘Nemesis’ might be a better word. Perhaps he keeps him to gloat over. Then again, he might also fear making him a martyr. Your father is loved by many, you know.”

  “What about Tannis and Tallis?”

  “Alive and in hiding, but again, I can’t say for how long.”

  “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  “Impossible. They have affixed us with these devices like chattel. Quite irremovable. Twice my fellow detainees have attempted escape only to be recaptured and … well, I’ll save you the unsavory details. Needless to say, these conditions do not bode well for our long-term health.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  He paused and then spoke softly, “You’ve already lost so much.”

  And then an Iron Fist yelled out from across the field, “Teacher! A glass!”

  “Right away, Ser!” Taskmaster Satu responded before grabbing a cup and spitting into it. “Petty and crude, I know. But I’ve found little is beneath me these days.”

  “What does Saah want with the documents? And what does any of this have to do with my mother?”

  “Your mother was the one who discovered Ser Saah’s plot. She was trying to find a cure for the Rendering when she learned of his campaign.”

  “The campaign to do what?”

  “What men do best: make war.”

  “Teacher!” the Iron Fist yelled again. “I am getting parched. And when I get parched, I get angry!”

  “Right away, Ser!” Taskmaster Satu responded but the cup fumbled out of his hands and cracked. Across the field, several of the Iron Fists laughed.