by AJ Powers
“Aaran?” she asked herself, in total disbelief. She questioned if her entire morning had been one long, believable dream. She was almost convinced that she was still sleeping and her mind was showing her the happy-ending story she wanted. She blinked several times.
But it was no dream. It’s him!
Hadas dropped her pack and hobbled down the unfinished road. Her brain registered the excruciating pain that accompanied each step, but she blissfully ignored it, only finding herself running faster with each step. “Aaran!” she shrieked as she closed in on him, her smile visible from outer space.
Aaran looked worse than she had ever seen him. The expression on his dirty, battered face did not match the overwhelming joy he felt after resting his eyes upon Hadas once again. It was a marvel that he was even still breathing, much less standing. But Hadas slammed into his chest anyway, nearly knocking him to the ground as she wrapped her arms around him. Aaran managed to find the strength to put one arm around her back, giving her a tight embrace. The moment was like standing inside a slice of Heaven in the middle of the darkest depths of Hell. It was this moment that had kept him going, even when every other part of him had given up hope.
She kept her face buried in his chest and sniffled through a series of tears for several emotional moments. With wet cheeks and reddened eyes, Hadas finally pulled away and looked at him. “I thought I would never see you again,” she said somberly.
“Yeah. Me, too,” Aaran replied.
Her sobs turned to laughter as a few of the pieces in her shattered world came back together. She gave him a playful slug on the shoulder and said, “I swear, if you ever pull this kind of crap on me again, I will…” her voice trailed off when she noticed the dark brown stains covering Aaran’s clothes. Her jaw dropped and her eyes got wide. “Aaran! What happened? Are you okay?”
He stared blankly at her, as if looking through her. He had heard the questions, but didn’t answer. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be forced to disgrace such a perfect moment with such evil memories.
But she wouldn’t relent.
“Aaran!” she barked, snapping him from his daze. “What the hell happened?” she demanded, pointing to the dried blood.
“It’s uh…” He paused as he tried to fight off the memories assaulting him. “It’s…It’s not my blood.”
Chapter 32
I guess the Man upstairs isn’t done with me, yet, Aaran thought while he stared down at the 290-horsepower engine. It was the only explanation for how he’d survived that night and the grueling days after. With only a flimsy, hollow door separating him from the crowd of Sentinels ready to rush down the stairs, a torrent of gunfire and a small explosion a few streets over had changed the course of the pre-dawn hours in an instant. After doing a collective about-face, the soldiers had fled the house and the truck outside had rolled out, leaving Aaran, once again, sitting alone in the silent basement.
It was difficult for his mind to fully process just how close to death he had been. After the close call at the shoe store, Aaran had decided that he would not allow himself to be taken alive. He would never let them inject the Neuroweb into his body making him just another subservient drone falling into the ranks of millions of others. Instead, Aaran would go out swinging—suicide by Sentinel in a manner of speaking. And if that failed, he had finally convinced himself that he’d need to do the job himself. He had even press checked his pistol to confirm his insurance policy had been up to date and ready to trigger at a moment’s notice.
The grim thoughts made him shudder.
Aaran grunted when he hoisted the battery up from the ground and dropped it into place underneath the hood. He stared in admiration at the beauty of the mounted V-8 motor in front of him and couldn’t help but smile. Even after everything he’d been through, working on the glorious internal combustion engine still brought him some semblance of normalcy. He felt the same sense of nostalgia working on the car that he’d felt when he had been perusing through the auto parts store in town. That is, before the Sentinels had inadvertently flipped a switch inside his head. A switch that had yet to fully reset.
While he fastened the battery into place and connected the cables to the terminals, Aaran recalled the cold, lonely nights that’d followed his near-death experience in the basement. He remembered crying when he’d witnessed the first rays of sunlight gleaming through the basement windows shortly after the Sentinels had departed. It had indeed been a miracle that he had made it through the night, and Aaran had suddenly found himself filled with a fresh wave of motivation to get back home. Though he had no idea what the next forty-eight hours would have in store for him, he’d been more determined than ever to stay alive. Not just for himself, or even for Hadas. Instead, when he had walked out of that house and into the frosty December air, Aaran had discovered a level of courage and determination previously unknown to him. Whether fueled by bravery or rage, he did not know—in all probability, it was a mixture of the two. But in that moment, he knew that “just surviving” was, in fact, not surviving after all.
Luck had finally sided with Aaran as he left the house behind, walking into a nearby wooded lot. Though the area was still humming with activity, the neighborhood he cut through was relatively quiet. Like a hurricane shifting its course, the Nebula’s soldiers had unexpectedly swung to the south—away from Aaran. Though there was no way to know for sure what had caused the abrupt directional change, Aaran suspected it had something to do with the exchange of gunfire that had come from down the road. And while he’d felt a bit of guilt that the person or persons involved had been caught up in the hurricane of destruction that he had caused, their defensive actions had taken the heat off him, affording him the opportunity to escape.
Home was to his northeast, but he had decided to head west, just in case something was keeping tabs on him from the sky. Prolonging his vulnerability to the winter weather and heightened state of Nebula activity was not a very desirable plan, but it had been necessary. The last thing he’d wanted after barely coming out on the other side of such a horrific night was to lead the enemy straight to his own home.
He’d spent the first day creeping and crawling his way out of town. Though the Sentinel presence waned with each mile he trekked, there was still enough sporadic movement in the area to make for a slow and arduous day of travel. He’d ended up sleeping in a road drainage pipe not too far from where he and Hadas had careened off the road in the stolen truck just a couple of weeks before.
The night in the drainage pipe had almost been as bad as the night in the basement. Though there were no trucks patrolling the area or air support buzzing by every few minutes, an unhealthy dose of claustrophobia mixed with hypothermic temperatures had been the perfect recipe for a psychological blitzkrieg. And the gusts of wind that funneled through the concrete tube had generated a spine-tingling howl that only fueled the fires of insanity. He hadn’t made it halfway through the night before he had hit his limit and crawled out of the tubular coffin. It had been a dangerous decision, especially since the phone was dead and visibility was near zero, but the bizarre thoughts going through his head at the time had been troubling at best. His psyche had already been through enough over the last day and a half, he didn’t need to continue piling on the misery.
Fortunately, the second day of travel was not nearly as eventful as the prior two days. He’d had to employ a few evasive maneuvers throughout the day, but that had been out of an abundance of caution rather than strict necessity. Despite how tired he was, he couldn’t afford to get sloppy and careless so close to the end. Like the tortoise, if he moved slowly and methodically, then he would cross the finish line.
He had continued to follow the road northwest for a few miles before the street had taken a sudden turn to the north. A few hundred yards after the bend, Aaran had found himself standing in the middle of the smallest downtown he had ever seen. He had heard of the little town before, but had never actually been through it. With his feet aching an
d the rest of his body screaming for respite, he’d walked into a mom-and-pop shop, the town’s only grocery store, and had taken a few minutes to rehydrate.
Resting his body had had an adverse effect on the rest of his day. His body warned him of the coming dangers if he continued to push himself without stopping for a recharge. As ready as he was to get home, he didn’t want to end up in the ditch somewhere, dead from exhaustion. Reluctantly, he’d climbed up the stairs to the apartment above the little grocery store, and had quickly fallen asleep on the couch.
He’d slept hard.
Though he’d woken up before the sun, Aaran had felt more refreshed than before he had left home. That wasn’t to say he was actually refreshed—he suspected it was going to take a few short-term comas to resolve that problem—but he’d felt like he had enough gas in the tank for the final leg of the journey.
After eating a hearty breakfast of powdered donuts, buffalo jerky, and an energy drink, Aaran had stuffed his pack with as much food and water as he could manage before heading back out into the cold. The world had been washed in a flat, purple shadow that would soon be chased away by the rising sun. He had debated whether he should continue following the road to the north, or backtrack a bit and head for Four Mile Creek.
Confident that he was not being monitored, he’d opted for the creek and headed south. At the bridge about a half mile down the road, Aaran had veered off the shoulder and headed for the natural grade that led him down to the creek. The suffocating mental haze that had been plaguing him as he’d traveled the road dissipated, giving him clarity once he’d left the pavement and descended into the small valley just after sunrise. He had felt like he was finally able to breathe again when he’d walked between the scraggly canopy of trees flanking him on either side of the stream. He had slogged through the mud, and at times, had no choice but to go into the water. His toes had quickly become overwhelmed by the pain of a million tiny needles pricking him mercilessly when he’d exited the water, only to go back in fifty yards later.
But as miserable as the creek had been on his body, it had elevated his spirits. The creek meant he was close to home. Close to warmth. Close to Hadas—which was as close to paradise as he was going to get in this new world. And when he’d climbed out of the creek and had seen Hadas walking down the road toward him, the weight of the previous days had lifted, and he’d been overcome with joy.
Aaran snapped back to the present, his eyes still glazed over as he hunched down beneath the hood of the Mustang. Relief flushed through his body as he realized that he was still home and not back out there; cold, alone, and afraid. He took a deep breath, then got back to work. After installing the air filter and replacing the distributor cap, he changed the very dirty oil before doing a quick once-over on the engine. Everything looked good. It was time to fire up the old girl. Sitting in the driver’s seat, he grabbed the wires he had already stripped for the ignition. He pressed down on the clutch and touched the copper ends together. The engine rattled and sputtered as it wanted to turn over, but couldn’t. He gave the gas pedal a few pumps, waited a moment, then tried again. More spluttering, but still nothing. He stewed in frustrating silence as he tried to think of what he might have forgotten. Certain that he hadn’t missed anything, at least nothing that was visible to him, he tried one last time. The 302 V8 engine bellowed to life, filling the tiny garage with a beautiful roar.
“Hell, yeah!” Aaran shouted with excitement as he made the tachometer tease the red line a few times.
He twisted the wires together and got out of the car to inspect the engine while it idled. She was purring like a kitten, but was ready to roar like a lion with the flinch of a foot. It was truly a thing of beauty. The idling engine was music to his ears.
“Sexy,” Hadas spoke loudly over the grumbling engine, a wide smile on her face as she walked inside the garage wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.
Aaran turned around, returning the smile. “Yeah, she’s a beautiful machine, isn’t she?”
Hadas vigorously rubbed her arms with her hands. “Sure,” she said.
The response confused Aaran, making him question whether her initial comment had actually been about the car. Trying not to read too much into the meaning behind her words, Aaran walked back to the driver’s door and killed the engine.
The fumes wafting around the garage were nauseating, but it was a good nausea because it meant they had a running car. Should the need arise—and Aaran expected it would, sooner rather than later—they would put it to some good use. All he needed to do now was siphon some gas out of a few cars from the neighboring farms and they would be set.
Hadas walked over and gave Aaran a hug. She had been exceptionally affectionate towards him since he’d gotten home, and he wasn’t about to complain. He appreciated the warm touch from her soft, silky skin.
“I made some tea. Why don’t you come inside and warm up a bit?” she said, stepping toward the door.
Aaran closed the hood of the car, killed the engine, and walked outside with Hadas. The accumulating snow crunched beneath their boots as they headed to the front porch. Hadas moved a bit more quickly than Aaran, as the steady winds terrorized her exposed arms. She stomped her feet just outside the door, then hurried inside. Aaran trailed just a few feet behind.
Though the thermostat was now set in the high fifties, Aaran thought he was stepping into an oven. He had never appreciated the heat as much as he did after spending a night inside a drainage pipe—a terrible experience he prayed he would never have to repeat.
Hadas was sitting on the couch with a blanket already draped over her shoulders as she cradled the hot beverage in both hands. Aaran sat down next to her and blew on the tea before taking a sip. He made a funny face, shook his head and set it down on the coffee table.
“You’re going to have to grow up someday, Aaran,” she joked. “Eventually, the remaining soda in the world will go flat.”
“And on that day, I will grow up.”
Hadas laughed, set her drink down, and pressed into him. He put his arm around her and the two sat in silence, enjoying each other’s presence. It was a true gift that neither one would take for granted ever again.
After fifteen minutes, Aaran had started drifting to sleep when Hadas spoke.
“So…What now?”
Chapter 33
Aaran woke to the soothing voice of Doctor Frasier Crane handing out expert advice on his daily radio program. He opened his eyes and watched as the flickering screen of the TV glanced off the ceiling above. He lay motionless, cocooned inside a heavy down blanket that was far more comfortable than he’d thought possible. He was peaceful, relaxed, but the moment wouldn’t last. Slowly, the radio psychiatrist’s voice was replaced by Aaran’s own monologue of thoughts. An endless loop of concerns and “what-if” scenarios played incessantly through his head. Something that had started the very moment Hadas had asked that question three nights ago.
The loaded question had spawned a lengthy conversation between the two that had carried on late into the night. Then, the next day. And then, the day after that. But, as of dinner time last night, they had finally reached a verdict. As soon as the matter was settled, they’d gone about the rest of the night as if they hadn’t just made the biggest decision of their lives.
Aaran’s arms broke free from the blanket burrito he was trapped in and reached over his head. He stretched every muscle in his body that was willing to move, and groaned at the ones that wouldn’t. He balled his toes into fists, keenly aware that he was only able to feel seven of the ten. He had lost feeling to them while hiking through the creek, and the feeling had never returned for three of the little piggys. He wasn’t sure if the numbness would ever go away, but even if it didn’t, it was an acceptable loss, given that he’d fully expected to be dead and decomposing by this point in time. So, a little bit of permanent damage from frostbite was still a win in his book.
After a ferocious yawn, Aaran turned his head toward Hadas’s side o
f the bed, observing her imprint on the other side of the mattress. Her absence suggested to Aaran that it was already morning. She was an early riser, at least compared to him. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that it was indeed morning—but only barely. With both dials closing in on the number twelve, Aaran decided it was time to get up and get moving for the day. There was a lot to be done, especially now.
He procrastinated leaving the warmth of his bed for another few minutes, while he gave stretching another go. The efforts were slightly more satisfying this time around. Finally, he kicked his legs over the side of the bed and planted his bare feet onto the carpeted floor.
It’s progress, he thought as his brain took another few minutes to wake up. He reached over to the table and twisted the knob on the lamp, quickly blowing out his vision from the bright LED bulb shrouded beneath the square shade. Aaran blinked away the burned image in his retina before finally getting to his feet.
Waddling over the pharmacy, he grabbed a few ibuprofen to stave off the headache that was aiming to reach migraine status and chugged a whole bottle of water. And then another after that. After a refreshing sigh, Aaran stepped into the closet and put on another sweatshirt to keep the warmth he had stolen from the toasty blankets from dissipating. He then made his way down the stairs.
“Morning,” Hadas said as she walked over to the dining room table, a heavy duffle bag hanging from her hand. She grunted as she hiked the bag onto the middle of the table, a substantial thud filling the air as the table wobbled. She began pulling out boxes of ammunition, stacking them up next to a couple dozen boxes that were already on the left side. She removed dozens of AR-15 magazines, Aaran’s six spare CZ Scorpion magazines, and every spare pistol magazine they had on hand. Most of their guns were sitting on the other half of the table, including the scoped Savage, the AR, and both Mossberg shotguns. She pulled the magazines out of every gun that had one and set them next to the others. She started pointing at each of the magazines while she tallied up figures in her head, quickly jotting them down on a notepad.
