Ravagers [03.00] Deviate

by Alex Albrinck

  He looked around the space for the first time. It was large and… strange.

  The floor space was divided roughly equally between computer equipment on one side and a series of freestanding door frames on the other. On the far wall, he noted a large screen displaying a world map with glowing dots over specific locations. He squinted. Each dot had a number inside. Odd. He also noted a large machine on the back wall, one with vast quantities of shielded cabling snaking from the top. The cabling ran along the ceiling before splitting and connecting to each of the individual door frames. One of the frames looked like it was heavily damaged by fire.

  He shrugged and glanced at the scattered bits and pieces of computer equipment in all manner of disrepair, gears, wheels, and wires spread over the work surfaces to his right. It looked like the lab of a mad scientist. One minor fire or explosion seemed quite tame given the sheer chaos in the room, chaos that existed long before five humans clustered near the stairwell in something that was part emergency sheltering, part slumber party.

  Wesley moved toward the doors. The General managed a secretive military organization charged with spying on the enemy, using the greatest advances in technology available to Western minds. It wasn’t surprising that he might use this getaway site to work on new ideas of his own, away from the general tumult and stress of the Bunker itself. That explained the equipment to his right, even the large machine and display screen covering the rear of the room. But the doors? He couldn’t explain those.

  He moved to the back of the room. The largest machine was most assuredly a generator; he could hear pieces spinning inside, could hear and even feel the electricity generated within. He moved his eyes to the mounds of cabling erupting from the top of the generator. The General created a massive quantity of electrical energy with this machine, likely enough to power dozens of Lakeplex apartments. But why, though? He maintained a simple bungalow with minimal power needs given his rare appearances here. He doubted that the robot staff here required much energy for general operation. His eyes traced the cabling. Unless he’d missed something, it looked as if all of the power generated in this laboratory stayed here.

  Judging by that same cabling, nearly all of that power went, not to the computers or the giant display screen, but to those odd door frames.

  John joined him. Wesley glanced back at the makeshift bed; Mary was in the midst of telling the children a fanciful tale he couldn’t hear, but their enraptured faces suggested a special talent. He glanced back at John. “This doesn’t make sense.”

  John glanced at the wires. “You noticed that too, then.”

  “Yeah.” Wesley moved to the nearest door. A faint sequence of numbers reading 228376 glowed above. “As best I can tell, the General’s sending a massive amount of electrical energy to each door for the purpose of displaying a number.” He pointed to the nearest doors. “Not only is he using far too much electrical power to do that, he’s not using the same amount for each.”

  “One of the kids noticed something.” John glanced at the number above the door, nodded, and then walked toward the large display screen. He studied the screen, then pointed at a glowing dot on the map, one near the southern pole. “Look at the number here.”

  Wesley looked. 228376. He frowned. “They match.”

  “Yeah. Why, though?”

  “I don’t—”

  The house shook violently. Both ran to Mary and the children. Mary glanced up at them. “You boys okay?”

  “Just checking on the kids,” Wesley said.

  “I’m not scared!” Jill declared.

  “Wesley Cardinal, we have detected a new presence on the island.” Whiskey’s squeaking voice trembled a bit. “We have yet to identify the entity, but it is not human. It appears to be a machine.”

  The adults shared a worried glance. Wesley had a thought. “Whiskey, are we getting any rainfall on the island?”

  “No, Wesley Cardinal. We are still suffering from just the high winds, currently gusting to sixty four point three one miles per hour.”

  John and Mary gave him a questioning look. “Water,” he said, feeling helpless. “If it’s raining, it could deactivate or slow them down.”

  He saw the quick transition in their eyes, from understanding to despair. The Ravagers were here. And there would be no assistance in the form of rainfall.

  “We have to get off the island,” Mary whispered. “If we don’t, we’re done for.”

  “Done for?” Jill squeaked. “What do you mean?”

  “She means we’re going to die,” Jack said bravely, punching his sister in the arm. “Don’t cry.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “I won’t if you won’t.”

  Wesley felt his stomach sink. He returned his focus to the adults. “We can’t outrun them at this point; if there are enough for Whiskey to find, there are enough to get to us and any boats.”

  “So we just wait here, then?”

  “No.” A strange thought ran through his mind. In building his podcast of conspiracies, Wesley had learned one thing: there was far more to the world than met the eye, far more available technology than that shared with the masses. He’d seen that demonstrated in his role working in the Bunker. Might Micah Jamison have access to technology he’d not yet seen fit to share with his staff? “Whiskey said that the General and his companion left the island, but that they didn’t do so by boat.”

  “So, what, they just flew away or something?” There was scorn in Mary’s voice, but not nearly as deep as he usually heard when suggesting the possibility of powered flight. It sounded more as though she was testing him. As if she knew powered flight was real… and wanted to see if he knew as well.

  “Perhaps.” He stared at both Mary and John. “I don’t think that’s the case here. And as with the boats, we’d have to leave the temporary safety we have here in this lower level.” He pointed at the doors. “I think they left that way.”

  “What?” John looked puzzled.

  The house shook again. “Wesley Cardinal, I must report that the invaders are tiny robots, but they reject our efforts at communication and control. They are wreaking destruction across the island, and will at their present pace reach the house in two point two minutes.”

  “Thanks, Whiskey!” Wesley shouted, before speaking in hushed tones once more. “I think the reason the numbers on the doors match the numbers on the map is that the doors lead to the places on the map with the same number.”

  “You’re kidding. That’s the most ridiculous—”

  Wesley held up his hand, and John fell silent. “Yes, it sounds ridiculous. If I’m wrong, we die anyway, because we have no other options. Might as well try the ridiculous, right?” He turned and sprinted to the map. Where should they go? He ruled out the one on the southern pole; too cold. He didn’t see any in Western territory and glanced over, only now noticing that half of the doors, mostly those toward the wall farthest to the left, were dark. He glanced at the glowing lights in Eastern territory. Most were in the heart of known Eastern population centers. Those wouldn’t be the best places for five Western refugees to appear.

  Then he spotted it. Another island. Small. Likely with minimal or no human population.

  Perfect.

  He memorized the number. “Find the door labeled 4355! Grab all of your supplies, including the bedding. We’re going through.”

  “This is insane,” Mary muttered.

  “All of this is insane!” Wesley shouted. “I don’t think sanity is going to help us now.”

  The children jumped up and joined the adults, running from door to door. “Found it!” Jill shouted. She pointed to the glowing numbers 4355 above the door nearest her. “Now what?”

  They all raced around, grabbing the supplies they’d carried down the stairs earlier.

  The house shook, more violently than before. Wesley heard a new sound. Howling winds. But the winds had been there before. Why—?

  “Wesley Cardinal, the invaders have reached the house and a
re destroying the structure. I have lost four members of the robot staff. Please take all necessary measures to survive.”

  Wesley felt a lump in his throat. “Come downstairs, Whiskey! I think we know how to leave the island!”

  “My programming does not permit me to leave, Wesley Cardinal.”

  He heard a few sniffles as the implication hit all of them. The sniffles didn’t come from the children, though. “Thanks for everything, Whiskey.”

  “You are welcome, Wesley Cardinal. My friend.”

  Wesley ran a sleeve below his eyes. “Okay. If I’m right, we can walk through this door and we’ll be safe.” He moved to the door handle. “Here goes nothing.” He turned the handle and pulled the door open.

  John gasped. “That’s not part of this room. You were right, Wesley.”

  Wesley heard the sounds of an ocean surf and smelled a waft of salty air. “First time for everything. Get through the door.”

  John led the way, followed by the children and Mary. Wesley was the last to go. He picked up his bags, which seemed heavier than usual, and glanced around.

  He heard a high pitched scream, then watched as the ceiling near the stairs began disintegrating.

  He gulped, jumped through the door, and pulled it closed.

  He found himself inside what appeared to be a small outdoor shed, featuring walls lined with various shovels and rakes, and the floor piled high with bags of seed and straw. The sound of the breakers crashing upon a sandy beach told him they weren’t more than a hundred feet from the ocean. He smelled the salt in the air, heard the seabirds’ song echoing above them.

  They were safe.

  “You’re so pale,” Mary whispered. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. The Ravagers were eating through the ceiling when I—”

  The sudden pain staggered him, as if his entire body had been set aflame, and he screamed at the agony. Through watering eyes he looked down at his right arm, watching in horror as the deep gash grew deeper and wider, all due to the efforts of the growing oily sludge pulsing inside the wound.

  He dodged the Smiths and their confused faces and burst from the shed. He blinked in the bright sunlight and looked around. He had one chance to survive, one chance to ensure he didn’t contaminate this tropical island with either his body or the Ravager scourge.

  His eyes took in the ocean waters and he sprinted, gritting his teeth to maintain focus as the Ravagers slowly gnawed away at the meat and bone of his arm. He’d never run so fast before. The soft sand slowed his progress somewhat; sandy beaches and boots weren’t conducive to high speed sprints.

  He reached the edge of the water and dove forward, holding his damaged arm out so that it hit the water first, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he contacted the ground. Contaminated arm fully submerged, he used his other arm and legs to push himself further from the beach and deeper into the water. The water contained its own living organisms, and between those and the salt Wesley felt a new, stinging pain in the arm… before he felt nothing in the limb at all.

  Shocked, Wesley inhaled with his face underwater, then coughed and spluttered as he expelled the water from his lungs. Once he got his breathing under control, he rose to his knees and pulled the damaged limb out of the water. It looked like an animal had ripped a huge chunk from his arm, which opened clear to the bones from just above the wrist to a few inches below the elbow. His hand seemed to float in the air against the background of the white foaming breakers below him, as little but the marred remains of the radius and ulna bones in his arm kept his fingers from falling into the water.

  But the oily sludge was gone. He looked inside his useless hand, then twisted his arm to look up into the area of the elbow. The Ravagers were gone, deactivated and destroyed by the water.

  Wesley heaved the contents of the dinner prepared by the robots—all of the robots no doubt destroyed by the same machines—and then collapsed, falling beneath the surface of the water. He’d killed the Ravagers. But they’d killed him in the process. He didn’t fight the water as it rolled through his mouth and nose.

  Strong hands grabbed him beneath the shoulders; others grabbed his ankles. Wesley felt only vaguely aware of the sensation of being lifted from the water, noting only the warm sun and gentle breeze caressing his skin. Was this what dying felt like? It wasn’t so bad.

  A few moments later, the sensation of sunlight and salty breeze transformed to the scent of wood and fertilizers, and Wesley felt himself lowered onto something soft and warm. A mouth descended on his, like a gentle kiss. Warm air poured from the mouth and down his throat, a puzzling sensation. The warm air kiss repeated again, and again, and again, each time seeming to reach further toward his lungs.

  Then the water gurgled up and out and Wesley’s eyes shot open in surprise. Friendly hands rolled him onto his left side, another pair lifting his massacred arm and letting it rest on his side as he spewed salty water out onto the soft comforter they’d salvaged from the lake island. Wesley gasped and gulped in air in tandem for several moments until his breathing stabilized, before his eyes could focus on the deeply concerned faces of all four members of the Smith family.

  John and Mary shifted to either side of him and helped him into a sitting position. Neither bothered asking him how he felt. Wesley looked down at his exposed forearm bones and wanted to vomit again, but stifled the urge. He looked up at the Smiths; he had no doubt that his sense of deep despair washed over his face. Mary glanced at his arm, then moved to the supplies and pulled a bottle from Wesley’s bag, one he’d never seen before. She pulled the cap off and poured it over the wounds near his wrist and elbow. Wesley hissed in pain as the alcohol cauterized the savaged arm on the stubbed ends below the elbow and above the wrist, then offered him the bottle. “Drink.”

  Wesley took the bottle in his left hand and took a huge gulp, swallowed, and sputtered as the burning sensation tore down his throat. But it settled, and he found the taste quite palatable. “What was that?” he whispered.

  “Whiskey,” she said. “Your robot friend stowed a bottle in your bag.”

  Wesley felt the tears in his eyes. The robot had taken initiative, and he’d never get the chance to offer the squeaky-voiced machine his thanks. The robot sacrificed itself to ensure they’d been warned of impending danger and could escape before destruction rained down on them… and even included a bottle of its namesake beverage for comfort of various kinds. A human created the marvel that was Whiskey. Yet humanity also produced the Ravagers, the machines that caused the misery necessitating that strong drink. How could the same species produce both?

  The Smiths examined his damaged arms and exchanged a meaningful glance. Mary, who held the damaged arm, shifted more in front of Wesley. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another person what you’re about to see.”

  Wesley blinked. “What am I about to see?” Even talking hurt.

  “Promise.”

  Wesley wanted to shrug, but that didn’t seem advisable. “Okay. I promise.”

  The children’s faces took on determined looks, their eyes full of concentration and a compassion beyond their years. Jill sat near Mary and wrapped her delicate fingers around Wesley’s right hand, just below his wrist. Jack moved near Wesley’s right shoulder and wrapped his fingers around Wesley’s elbow, just above the spot where the skin and muscle vanished. All four Smiths went completely silent, as if nothing could be more mesmerizing and fascinating for a would-be family than staring at a massacred, bloodied arm.

  Then he felt it, a sense of warmth sliding up his arm, like a gentle burst of electricity. As best he could tell, the tingling sensation from that electrical charge was far, far stronger below the elbow than it was above. Wesley looked at Jack’s face; the boy’s gaze held such intense focus and determination that Wesley suspected he could yell “Ravagers” and the child wouldn’t move. And it left him with a very uncomfortable, very bizarre idea.

  Jack was generating that electrical sensation.

&n
bsp; He looked at Jill and saw a similar look on her face. Her as well?

  Mary, who’d watched the entire proceeding as if there was nothing unusual about it, looked up at Wesley. “Look at your arm, Wesley.” A small smile had sprouted upon her face.

  Wesley glanced at his left arm before realizing she’d meant the other one. He looked… and nearly fainted.

  The bones had recovered a healthy shape and color, and Wesley watched as connective tissues extended from elbow and wrist, crawling slowly toward each other and joining. The process repeated with blood vessels, fascia, and given the sudden sensation of Jill’s fingers on his hand, literal bundles of nerves. Muscle grew around the fresh internal artistry of the human body, before, at long last, smooth, clean skin covered it all.

  The process had taken twenty minutes, but somehow seemed to move faster. The amount of time mattered little to him now. Whatever the means, his Ravaged arm was fully restored, stronger and healthier than it had been in his memory.

  John had inched his way behind Wesley during the process, and he caught Jack as the boy passed out. Mary caught the unconscious Jill. The adults shifted the children so that they lay comfortably on the covers and pillows carried from the lake island cabin before turning to face Wesley.

  “It’s not our names that are critical, Wesley,” she said. Her voice was soft, controlled. “But those who know about these children will know their names, and will have recognized through circumstances that we’re now bound to them. Knowing our names means they’ll know we’ve survived, and they’ll use techniques worse than Ravagers to retrieve those children. Do you understand?”

  Wesley couldn’t seem to get his jaw closed. He stared at his reformed arm and flexed his fingers as if nothing had happened. But he managed to nod, then swallowed and found his voice. “Will they be okay?”

  John slid over. “They’ll be fine. That was a brutal injury, but with a bit of rest and food they’ll fully recover. They just need a quick nap.”