by AJ Powers
“You ‘dunno’ about what?”
“It sounds plausible and everything, but…Do you really think they would do this?”
Hadas covered her face with her hands and shook her head. She sighed into her palms before dropping her arms, revealing a look of pity. “Listen, Aaran, you are a really nice kid and all, but you are incredibly naïve.”
Aaran found himself more annoyed that she’d called him ‘kid’ than naïve, especially since she wasn’t much older than him. “Well, I’m not saying it couldn’t be them, I just don’t think it is.”
“Oh?” she said as her head perked up. She was interested in hearing his theory on the matter. “Then who, pray tell, is responsible? Who is the mastermind behind humanity’s enslavement?”
“The Nebula.”
“The Nebula?”
“Yeah. For years, people warned us about the dangers of artificial intelligence. We saw AI becoming more and more self-aware, and yet, it’s decision making was anything but rational. It was erratic and sometimes even hateful towards mankind. Just seems like it isn’t that far-off base to assume a one or zero got out of whack somewhere inside the Nebula before sending the signal to take control of everyone connected.”
Hadas wore an unconvincing smile and nodded along. “Okay, let’s say for a minute you’re right and it was—” Hadas silenced herself abruptly. Her brown eyes were wrought with worry, and she slowly tilted her head.
“Hadas? You okay?”
She sat quietly for a moment and pressed on the earbud in her ear. “They’re here.”
Chapter 11
Aaran’s chest tightened as he stiffened his grip on his Scorpion. Each contraction of his heart sent a ripple of fear through his body while he struggled to control his shaky breaths. He could already feel beads of sweat above his brow as he waited in silent dread to learn of his fate.
This moment was becoming all too common.
Aaran and Hadas both jumped when a loud, crashing sound erupted from upstairs, alerting them that the Sentinels were inside. A short time later, a myriad of footsteps trampled directly overhead, the deathly sounds reverberating around the concrete dungeon they were hiding in.
We’re screwed, Aaran thought.
There was no quick escape route to allow them to quietly slip away from danger, and there was no way they were getting out with heavy trigger fingers. The only way out was the way they’d come in, and the shuffling footsteps above were headed that way.
Hadas tapped Aaran on the shoulder, causing him to jump again. He turned around and saw her holding a finger up to her lips. She then pointed at the empty water bottles and trash from breakfast.
“Clean up,” she mouthed more than spoke.
Hadas walked over to her chairs and quickly but very carefully, put the bottles into her pack. Then, with her thumb and index finger, she pinched at the very edge of the foil packaging of the chip bag and picked it up. Taking great care not to disturb a single chip, she tiptoed a few feet away to an open cardboard box and placed them inside before closing the flaps on the box.
Aaran had already picked up his trash and was lining the chairs up against the wall when Hadas returned. He grabbed the lantern and twisted the switch off before stashing it behind a broken bookshelf. He clicked the button on his flashlight twice, giving him the dimmer of the two settings, and made sure to keep it aimed at the floor.
A loud crash above their heads caused them to cower in fear, their hands shielding themselves from the perceived impact that never came.
They’re in the kitchen, Aaran thought before saying a quick, silent prayer that they wouldn’t discover the hatch beneath the floor mat.
Aaran looked down and saw that a blanket and some coats were still on the floor, but they were out of time. He didn’t want to wait for the Sentinels to discover the trapdoor before they’d found a place to hide. Absentmindedly taking charge, Aaran grabbed Hadas’s arm—a bold move she didn’t care for, but for the moment tolerated—and led her to the back wall where an old podium was sitting beneath a thin painter’s tarp. He walked around to the back of the wooden stand and slowly lifted the tarp, revealing a small void that was just big enough for Hadas, but not her pack.
Quickened footsteps moved across the planks above and toward the stairs, leaving a trail of dust and dirt raining down from the joists. They found the door! Aaran grabbed Hadas’s backpack, dropped the tarp, and frantically searched for a place big enough for him. Raising his flashlight as high as he dared, Aaran scanned the basement and found an old metal desk up against the long wall. Strangely, the first thought in his head when his flashlight illuminated the antique piece of furniture was, How did they manage to fit that thing down the stairs?
He was halfway there when the trapdoor shot open, dousing Aaran with panic. He immediately killed his light, plunging himself into darkness, and walked from memory with his hands stretched in front of him. Inch by terrifying inch, Aaran got closer to the desk, to his refuge.
The light from the kitchen didn’t reach far into the basement, so the Sentinels paused at the top of the stairs as they shined their flashlights into the room below. Please don’t come down, Aaran pleaded in his head, but before he could finish his appeal, he heard the first boot drop down to the rotting wood.
Aaran reluctantly picked up his pace, fearful a misstep could knock over a stack of communion trays or something, sending them to the ground with a fatal clatter. However, if he didn’t make it to that desk in the next few seconds, his fate would be no different.
Relief flooded his body when he finally reached the cold, hard surface of the old desk. Thank God! he screamed for joy in his head.
He felt his way around to the front of the desk, which was fortunately facing the concrete wall. Aaran dropped to his knees, and no sooner had his head fallen beneath the top of the desk, did the Sentinel’s flashlight swing his direction. He held his breath, watching particles of dust swim around in the beam of light over his head; a beam that was lingering around for just a bit too long. Finally, the light swung away from the wall, and he silently exhaled.
Aaran wriggled his way between the two desk drawers, pulling his knees to his chest. Then ever so carefully, he pulled Hadas’s backpack in. If one of the zippers so much as glanced off the metal drawers on either side of him, he was going to have problems. He silently succeeded in concealing himself, but with the two backpacks, it was painfully cramped. The discomfort, however, was a small price to pay if he managed to get out alive.
Aaran was mentally writhing with anticipation. He didn’t have to just worry for his own life, but Hadas’s, too. His anxiety ramped up with each step the Sentinel took toward the back of the room—toward Hadas. Aaran fought the urge to pop out from his cover and execute a manual defrag on the Nebula’s goon with a well-placed shot to the head. But such a drastic measure would only lead to a very bloody and untimely end for everyone currently in the basement. So, the only thing he could do was wait and pray.
While the Sentinel slowly searched the basement, Aaran’s heartbeat pounded the seconds away. He traced what little light he could see beneath the desk, straining his ears for any hint of sound that would tell him where the Sentinel was. The Sentinel kicked at the tower of cardboard boxes, the muffled thump echoed through the room. A moment later, aluminum chairs crashed to the ground. The Sentinel’s meticulous search brought him closer to Hadas. Aaran’s heart beat faster, and his hands began to shake. A rustle from the tarp reverberated in Aaran’s chest and panic grabbed his breath. A deafening silence hung in the basement, suffocating him. Time stood still as Aaran feared that Hadas had been discovered. Then, the flashlight swept the room again, and the Sentinel continued his search, leaving Hadas safely tucked away inside the podium.
But now, the Sentinel was coming toward Aaran. Every muscle in his body painfully constricted around his bones as the flashlight danced off the wall in front of him. He focused on controlling his breaths, keeping them small and quiet. And when the moment c
ame, stopping them altogether.
Each footstep got slightly louder, and the light panning across the wall got smaller and brighter. The Sentinel was just a few feet away from the desk now. Aaran could hear his calm, rhythmic breathing while he scanned the clutter in the basement—never had Aaran heard a sound so disturbing.
Out of nowhere, Aaran was struck with a fierce pain in his leg. His eyes bugged out with the immense throbbing, and it took every fiber of his being to halt his body’s natural response of thrashing about uncontrollably. Tears collected in the corners of his eyes as he endured through the most excruciating Charlie horse he could remember. If he whimpered, he was dead. And though his brain knew what was on the line, it was as if his body didn’t care. All he wanted to do was to let out an agonizing scream that could be heard for miles, but he forced himself to stifle it.
The Sentinel paused beside the desk for several petrifying moments before doing an about face. He continued searching the rest of the basement before he walked back up the stairs, quickly falling in line with the rest of the footsteps overhead that all seemed to be heading toward the exit.
A few minutes later, silence had fallen over the small church once again. Aaran might have felt relief if his mind had not been preoccupied with the twinging pain still harassing his leg. “Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed through gritted teeth, trying to rub the ache away.
The sound of plastic scrunching from across the room gave him a much-needed distraction.
“Aaran?” Hadas whispered.
“Under the desk,” he said, not nearly as hushed as her.
Hadas clicked on her flashlight and walked over to the desk. Aaran’s body was still underneath, but his legs stuck out to the wall. She shined the light at his face, causing him to screw his eyes shut and turn away.
“Thanks for that,” he said, holding his hand in front of his face for an added layer of protection against the 800-lumen retina melter.
“Sorry,” Hadas said, with a voice that didn’t quite sound sorry.
Aaran handed Hadas her pack and then scooted out from under the desk, gingerly making his way to his feet. He took in a deep breath and let out an exasperated sigh. “Boy, I really wouldn’t mind if that would stop happening to me.”
Hadas scoffed. “That was nothing.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. I’ve had way closer calls.” Before Aaran could challenge the statement, Hadas headed back to where they had set up the chairs earlier. Aaran lagged behind, something she took notice of. “You all right there, gimpy?” she asked, shining the light on him again.
“Ha-ha,” Aaran said with a sarcasm-fueled tone.
“Seriously, though, what happened?”
“Well, I’ve got a swollen knee on this one, and a nasty Charlie horse bucking around this one,” he said, pointing to each leg respectively.
“Bet that was fun to work through in silence.”
“I can think of a few more enjoyable things…”
Hadas giggled, but quickly stifled her laugh and got back to business. “Since they already checked here, I’d imagine they won’t be coming back as long as we don’t do anything stupid. We should probably just crash here for a few days until the dust settles.”
Aaran didn’t argue. He needed the rest—for his battered body and his exhausted mind. It had easily been the worst few days of his life since the purge. Yet, as he looked over at Hadas repositioning her chairs the way they’d been before, he couldn’t help but feel they were also among the best.
He pulled his own chair over and sat down, keeping both of his legs straight. “So, how did you know they were coming? What’s with that earbud thing?
Hadas kicked her feet up on the second chair and pulled a small blanket up to her neck. “I hear them communicate.”
“You hear them communicate?” Aaran’s quizzical tone was full of excitement. “Like, you can hear them talk?”
“No, they don’t actually talk. I guess I should say, I hear their transmissions.” Hadas looked up toward the ceiling as she tried to think of a way to describe it. “Did you ever use a computer and all the sudden you would hear some sort of interference on the speakers. It would sound like some sort of digitized pulsating sound or…” she trailed off before sighing in frustration when the appropriate words escaped her. “I don’t know what you would call it, but—”
“I know exactly what you’re talking about,” Aaran replied.
“Okay, well, it doesn’t sound exactly like that, but it’s the closest thing I can think of. Just a bunch of digital garble that comes over the headphones so long as they are connected to my cell phone. All I have to do is make sure the phone stays charged and the cord stays plugged in and I’ll hear them whenever they get close.” Hadas reached into her pocket and pulled out the phone, clicking the side button. “Speaking of which, this thing is getting pretty low,” she commented, but seemed somewhat unfazed by the situation as she reached for her pack and rummaged around inside until her hand found what she’d been searching for. She pulled out a small box with USB slots on the side. From her pocket, she fished out a cable and connected it to the box. The phone screen grew brighter for a moment, and the battery icon blinked on the screen a few times.
“So, how far away can you hear them?”
“Not sure really, but I’ve noticed that my environment plays a factor. I heard them from pretty far away at the workshop because there wasn’t a lot of material separating me from them. But down here, they were right on top of us before I heard them. I don’t know the ins and outs of it all, but thick concrete like this,” she said, gesturing at the walls around them, “certainly limits the range. But when I’m out in the open, it should give a pretty good advanced warning.”
“That’s good to know.” Aaran shifted his eyes to the charger. “So, how many charges do you get out of that thing?”
“I am pretty sure in a pinch I could get eight, maybe even ten out of it, but I don’t like to rely on it after four. So, we’d better find a place with some electricity after this.”
Aaran tilted his head, unsure if he had heard her correctly. “We?”
She responded with a smile.
Chapter 12
“You ready?”
“Yeah, just about,” Aaran said as he reached for the last of the items to pack.
It had been three days since they’d sought refuge in the glorified crawlspace of the abandoned church, and things had finally calmed down outside. Though there had been plenty of activity immediately following Aaran and Hadas’s escape, the last thirty-six hours had been quiet. Neither of them had noticed so much as a grumbling motor in the past twelve hours, so they agreed it was time for their departure. Where they would go, however, was still up for debate. Aaran didn’t care where they went, though. He was just happy to have someone to talk to along the way. More importantly, he was relieved to know someone was watching his back.
Aaran knelt down and laced up his boots, wincing when the exposed, plastic molding on the collar of the boot rubbed against his raw ankle. I really need to get a new pair of shoes, he thought to himself. Truthfully, new boots had been on his to-do list for over a month, but the task never got checked off. It wasn’t that there was a lack of inventory around him, he just didn’t much care to venture inside retail stores. And as luck would have it, none of the houses he ever searched carried size thirteens. He would make it a point to find some soon, but for now, he would have to just grit through the pain.
He flexed his knee a couple of times and was thrilled with the near-absence of pain. Though it was still a bit tender if he twisted or overextended it, neither would affect his normal gait. Slinging his pack over his back and grabbing his carbine, Aaran said, “All right, let’s roll.”
Hadas had her hands on her waist while she stretched her back, preparing her body for the first dose of physical activity in days. “After you,” she said, gesturing to the door while doing some lunges. Aaran gave her a funny look, which stirred up a sco
wl from Hadas. “Yuck it up, buddy, but I promise that you won’t be laughing when you pull something when we’re on the move. And make no mistake, I’m not gonna risk my neck to come back for you just because you’re cramping up like a teenage girl on her first period.”
“Thanks for the lovely imagery,” he said as he passed by. He reluctantly put his foot on the first step and watched as the entire staircase rocked back and forth. He slowly made his way to the top, hunching down beneath the hatch. He retrieved his pistol with his right hand and put his left on the bottom of the door. “You got your ear thing going?” he asked in a whisper.
A moment of silence, then, “You’re clear.”
Aaran quietly lifted the door and climbed out, immediately swinging his Glock 19 around the room. His eyes continued to scan for threats while Hadas climbed the stairs behind him. So far, her earphone-transmission-interceptor-thing was batting two for two, but Aaran didn’t fully trust it yet. At least, not enough to bet his life on it. So, he kept his ears open and his head on swivel.
Hadas let out a sigh of relief when she traded the stale, moldy air of the basement for something slightly more refreshing. Leading with her Tavor, she moved to the other side of the kitchen, her feet gliding silently across the linoleum floor. Aaran holstered his pistol, grabbed his carbine, and followed closely behind. They walked out of the kitchen and into the central room of the church where they found a table flipped over, just outside the secretary’s office. There were pamphlets, newsletters, and other church paraphernalia scattered across the floor.
“I’m gonna check the rooms over there, see if there’s anything useful for us,” Hadas said, pointing her thumb behind her. “Why don’t you check the others?”
