“And then the machine brought you back,” she added, continuing his explanation. “It brought you back and now you only have one year like the rest of us.”
“And I did it again and again—a sickening Groundhog Day—but you probably don’t get the meaning,” the man added, nodding, his expression bearing a shame that reminded Isla of a shame she once brought upon herself.
“You said you helped build the machine?”
“I’m the original architect,” he answered. Her eyes followed one of his hands as he tucked it away in his pocket. He motioned upward, pointing above them. “The idea was simple. They gave us this technology, telling me that it would save our planet. But that isn’t at all what it was for.”
“Your leg,” she said with alarm. A small blossom of red had begun to spread on his pant-leg.
“That,” he said, shrugging. “That’s nothing. Just an old injury. Stupid cut won’t close. But I see your hand is doing better.”
By now, Isla had forgotten about the wound on her hand. She turned her palm over, checking on the bandage. The tidy little wrap held tight and had stopped the bleeding.
“What was the technology for?” she asked, thinking of the mineral analysis that had become a part of her every day. “What exactly have I been helping with?”
“The machines are for them,” he answered, adding nothing more. Phil grimaced as he spoke—a look of punishment in his expression. The blood on his coveralls grew into a longer stretch and nearly reached the top of his knee.
“What do you mean for them?”
“They want the planet for themselves. A thousand years, like baking a cake in an oven. You’ve been mining the ingredients, feeding it into the mix, and the machines have been pumping the batter out for years.”
Isla felt her legs give. She braced herself, understanding what they were doing. She caught the edge of the lab table and herself before plopping down into her seat.
But the machines were meant to save us, she told herself. Rescue them from our past.
Her heart pounded in her chest, souring with the realization that she helped no one. Her stomach turned, threatening, but passed with the shiver of cold sweat. The first tear cut into her cheek—dismal. She let it travel until it fell to the floor, paving the way for more. And as she sat, crying silently and mourning her actions, Phil went on and on, saying something about terraforming and talking about the great plan and how they had all been betrayed. She became lost in the drone of his words, letting them circle around her like a great storm, spinning out of control until she was dizzy.
“Seven machines, and a thousand years… mining into the Earth until they all converge and become one! Don’t you see? They are all connected!” Phil continued to yell, his head rocking up and down as if preaching to some ghostly congregation. By now, Isla couldn’t be certain that the strange man was aware of her. “And when that happens, when the machines converge on that one single point deep in the middle of our planet… the world we once called home will be lost forever. FOREVER! And I hate to break it to you boys and girls, if we don’t act fast, if we don’t do something now, we’re gonna fly right past that point, and we won’t be able to turn back. We’ll miss the exit ramp boys, and girls. Oh, it’s coming. Oh, it’s HAPPENING!”
“ENOUGH!” Isla screamed, unable to listen to any more of the man’s ramblings. Phil stopped abruptly, his mouth left in a hanging sag. “Tell me what to do. I want to help shut the machines down!”
Phil seemed to step out of his preacher’s pose, advancing toward her slowly, and then knelt down at her feet. He pulled a bloodied hand from his pocket and wiped the tears from her cheek.
“Thank you,” he told her, looking impossibly exhausted. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”
27
THE FIRST HAND TO grope her just had to be a figment of her imagination, blindly feeling her belly and taking a long time before pulling away. But the second and third hands were more than obvious. One rested on her breast, clutching, spinning her around as she tried to get free.
Her heart went into her throat, and Sammi began to breathe heavy as the terror of the machine suddenly became real. Declan led them through a maze of bodies that seemed to become heavier and congested, closing in around them. Another hand was on her, gripping her shoulder this time, spinning her back in the other direction. She let out a short scream, but held in the tears and clutched at the tether strap for assurance.
How many times had she crossed from one corridor to another without so much as a brush against someone else? A hundred? A thousand? The lights stayed dimly lit, blinking a message for all the passing eyes except for hers. Sammi tugged on the tether strap until Declan turned. His expression was tired with worry.
“I can’t keep up,” she mouthed. “Slow down—”
Sammi’s words were cut off by the sudden commotion of bodies coming between them. They were drowning in a wave of arms and legs and heads that seemed to be going in every direction. Or were they? Hands were on her breasts again; they were on her backside and her legs and arms, swarming her, trying to lead her down one of the other corridors.
“Declan!” she screamed, but a low groan swallowed her words as her attackers aimed to steal her away. “Declan! They have me!” The low groan became louder. Mouths sagged open, spilling the guttural sounds in an oddly unified chorus. She gripped the tether strap and pulled. The sound of slapping flesh and grunts and tumbling bodies came then as Declan emerged, swinging his arms and legs to fight off their attackers.
“Hold on!” he yelled over the chorus. “Hold on and don’t let go!”
“They want our baby!” she screamed, realizing the horror of the truth. Pain erupted behind her eyes as she read just a hint of the message spewing from the lights. She turned away, unable to finish. “They want my baby!”
She followed Declan, holding his hand and wrapping her other hand around the tether strap. The chorus of groans became deafening, an impossible sound that she was certain would disintegrate the fragile clockwork deep inside her ears.
“Hold onto me!” she heard Declan screaming. His other hand swung around wildly, connecting with a younger man’s face. The man’s nose exploded and spewed blood and snot. Declan hit him again, knocking him out of the way. He then elbowed an older woman and kicked at another man, clearing a path as if they were being swallowed by a forest of man-eating vines. Only the vines were fleshy with sprouting fingers that clutched at the air, trying to take hold of her.
Why do they want my baby, she thought, more frightened than she thought possible. Fear tumbled inside her, stealing her breath and dimming the sight of Declan in front of her. Hold on, hold on! When the jab of an elbow caught her side, Sammi doubled over. Declan pulled on the tether, and she struggled to get back to her feet. Something warm ran between her legs, taking all of her breath with it. Oh, please let that be pee. Please!
Hope came in the form of a small keyhole. Just a glimpse of light at first, jutting from an open door in the corridor on the other side of the hub. Sammi saw something unlikely then and guessed that she had to be imagining it. She saw a man standing at the door, waving. But he was waving his hand at them, motioning to the open door. Declan saw it too and began to lead them in the man’s direction. A voice. She heard a voice amidst the incessant groans. The stranger was yelling something to them, too.
“This way!” she heard him say. “Over here. It’s safe.”
But in an instant, the machine turned on the stranger. The lights blared a new set of messages and the bodies swarmed on him. She watched as a folly of hands pulled on the man, gripping at his arms and head. He was tall and strong and shooed them off like flies. And what she saw next had to be a mistake. The man laughed as he fought the swarm. He laughed, swinging his arms, punching and kicking until the opening was clear. The stranger seemed to enjoy himself as he opened a woman’s head and broke a man’s arm.
The distraction was all they needed, and Declan hurried them to the open door, than
king the man as they slipped inside. Scratches on her neck and face began to rise and burn, and the painful sting on her scalp left her certain that some of her hair remained in the clutches of their attackers.
Inside, the room was oddly quiet. She recognized the room as one of the labs, with long tables and glassware dressing most of the surfaces and large cabinets of equipment. But unlike other labs, at the farthest side of the room there was a large metal door with a single round window that looked like an eye, watching them.
The man from the door walked around them and began to pace back and forth, his lips moving as though he were counting. Sammi glanced nervously at Declan and then back to the strange man. As he paced, she couldn’t help but notice his coveralls, tattered, dirty and torn—unkempt like his wiry hair, which jutted out in every direction. When she saw his legs, Sammi began to wonder just how long he had been wearing the same clothes. Streaks of red—what looked to be blood, some fresh and some not—ran down, past his knee.
At the sight of blood on the stranger’s coveralls, her thoughts went to the jab at her side—the one that doubled her over. Her thoughts then went to the rush of something warm between her legs. She hesitated, not wanting to know the truth. Her hands shook as she forced herself to check if she was bleeding. Relief. She gasped and covered her mouth with a trembling hand, thankful that it wasn’t blood.
Declan motioned to the center of the lab. A younger pretty woman sat alone, quietly perched on a chair. Her hand had been bloodied and bandaged. She waved to Sammi, putting on an odd grin as if to welcome them. Sammi shifted uncomfortably, squeezing Declan’s hand.
“My name is Isla,” the young woman said calmly. Out of breath, coughing and spitting blood from his mouth, Declan reached out to shake the hand of the man who had saved them. “And this, this is Phil, Phil Stark. We’re going to shut the machines down.”
28
THE SOUND OF WAVES crashing came to her like a yawn—slow at first, easing, and then all at once. Her eyes sprang open to find darkness, and her mind raced, passing in and out of confusion. Next to her, she found a warm body, rising and falling in the throes of a deep sleep. Richard, she guessed, remembering dinner and the fire and the sudden feeling of exhaustion taking over.
I’m in the teepee, she remembered, staring up and the canvas closing around them. I’m in the teepee with Richard.
She blinked away the last of a visiting dream—Andi, and the classroom, she thought—and wondered if she would ever teach again.
Dinner… with the outsiders, she told herself as another wave broke on the beach. Richard’s body rose and fell, encouraging her to sleep some more. Are we alone?
Janice pushed herself up onto an elbow and immediately laid back down. The front of her head pounded with a throb that matched her heavy heart. She took a deep breath, hoping it would arrest the pain.
“I must have passed out,” she mumbled, recalling the meal around the fire. “Sammi? Did he say something about Sammi?”
The smell of fire drifted in their teepee. Janice propped herself back up onto her elbows, stretching to see if anyone was outside. The faint glow of orange told her that the center fire was still burning. The passing shadows growing across the canvas also told her that someone was awake.
A guard maybe? But guarding who?
Thirst crept up her throat like the sand between her toes, dry and scratchy. Janice decided to chance a visit with the leader. Richard rolled onto his side, leaving behind the shallow snore that he had started. Without any thought, and as if by instinct, Janice rubbed his back, soothing him before standing up to leave.
Janice tried to shake the sleep out of her clothes and hair, but in the dim light, she didn’t much care how she might look. And as she had hoped, the leader was still seated at the fire, his legs and arms crossed in a tidy bundle. He sat, fixed and unmoving, like a statue guarding his small group. When he heard movement, his eyes popped open and found her across the fire. He tilted his square jaw, motioning to the seat next to him. A chill came over her, and she moved closer to the fire, inviting the heat.
“Evening,” she said, her voice cracking as her breath fogged in the late night. “I must have passed out earlier.” And as if to confirm her statement, the fire popped, sending an ember to lay in front of her. The red glow stayed bright for a moment, but then disappeared in a puff of smoke, turning coal gray.
“You’re fine now?” he asked. She nodded with some uncertainty and then motioned to the water beside him. He passed the bag. Janice gulped the fresh water until the dryness was gone from her throat. “Slow, you don’t want to get sick.” She drank some more. The cold sensation ran a line between her breasts, down to her middle where it quickly began to warm with the rest of her.
“Your man is up,” the leader said, stirring the fire. While the relationship wasn’t quite what he thought, Janice liked the sound of what he had said. “I want to tell you what we are planning to do.”
Richard sat next to them, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He offered a hazy smile, looking somewhat rested, and leaving her to wonder how much time had passed since their meal. The fire spat another ember, flinging it upward. That is when she noticed that the darkness she woke to had begun to lift. The fog was lighter, opening up to show her the rest of the group—some sleeping around the fire, some in their teepees. She had slept nearly a full night but had no recollection of it.
“Feeling better?” Richard asked; his voice sounded scratched and hoarse. She handed him the water, nodding. “Good. Had me worried.”
“Tell me what you know,” Janice said abruptly. “I remember some of what you said about our mortician and something about red—”
“The girl with red hair,” the leader finished Janice’s words. “She and two other women came from the machine. They came from the machine to take the young man inside.”
“But that is impossible,” Richard countered. “Wait. Young man? Declan?” The leader nodded, holding his words as he pulled a large square bundle from behind him and placed it at his feet.
“None of what you’re saying can be true. Sammi is dead,” Janice said. She heard the emotion in her voice and hated that she was not stronger. She nervously tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, and added, “I participated in her cleaning. I watched her…” She couldn’t finish, and swiped at a tear, impatiently.
“The vial,” the leader answered. “Your mortician told us how the machine brings people back—people from your Commune, to work and to run the machine. And now do you understand why we’ve had to stay away?”
“But why?” Richard asked. “None of this even sounds possible. The machines are just machines that were built to save the oceans or something.”
“Were they?” the leader asked, sounding sarcastic. “Before your mortician stepped into the ocean, he showed us something. He showed us the truth.”
The leader extended his hand, weathered and creased like old parchment, he began to draw a figure into the black sand. In the fire’s light, the sands turned to shimmering gold, dried like dust that the leader easily pushed along with his finger. He drew a large circle, punching seven divots around the edges, and then intersected a single line from each divot to a single point at the center. From the count, Janice could tell that he had drawn the Earth and that the divots represented the seven machines. It was the same drawing she had used in a thousand classroom lessons to teach her kids. But there was something wrong with the leader’s drawing. A teacher’s instinct came over her, and she pushed her hand into the shimmering gold dust. But before she fixed his drawing, she lifted her finger and pointed to where the lines intersected.
“I’ve used this drawing to teach,” she exclaimed, and then touched the center, pushing her finger into the warm sand. “But this intersection at the center. I’ve never seen that before.”
“So your Commune knows of the Earth and the seven machines?” he asked. Janice and Richard nodded. “But you don’t know what these lines are?”
“What… what are they?” she asked, sounding impatient but feeling anxious.
“The machines are mining. They’re mining deep into our Earth, converting all the minerals into this fog,” he told them, waving his hands to touch the low hanging clouds.
“That’s right!” Richard said. “Which was supposed to save the environment.”
“But that is where you are wrong,” the leader countered. “It is supposed to change the environment. And when the mining reaches the center, the change will be over, and our home will have changed forever.”
Janice shook her head in disbelief, “But why would we—”
“Nobody ever said anything about we,” the leader interrupted. “Changing the Earth wasn’t intended for us. It was never for us. The mortician said that they were coming soon, just as soon as the change had been completed.”
“This all sounds too unbelievable,” Richard said dryly, shaking his head. “How can you prove it?”
The leader dragged his fingers across the drawing, cutting into the gold light before sitting up to uncover the bundle in front of him.
“It isn’t a matter of proving anything,” he answered. His voice remained steady, almost unemotional. “We’ve seen enough to believe, and we’re going to end it.”
Janice recognized some of the technology in front of the leader. Energy cells and wires, loosely fastening them together in a way that could cause an explosion. A significant explosion. Janice leaned back and wanted to get up and run. But run where? With the number of energy cells packed together, all of the beaches around them for thousands of hands would disappear.
“You’re going to blow up the machine?” she asked, reluctantly. A shudder of apprehension fixed deep inside her. “What if you are wrong? What if it makes things worse?”
The leader of the group looked at Richard and then to her, the light from the fire gleaming in his eyes. She saw a crazed and excited look brimming in his expression. “Then we’ll finish this whole sorry mess!” He belted a raucous laugh that made her jump. A seriousness came over him then as he placed his hands on top of the device, rubbing it as if soothing a baby back to sleep. “When we blow up the machine, all of the machines will fail and you will finally see the end of gray skies.”
End of Gray Skies: An Apocalyptic Thriller Page 24
