Paradigm

by Helen Stringer

  Alma was standing in the still-smoking remains of the fire. She had thrown off her poncho and was dressed head to foot in black, bristling with a variety of belts, guns, knives and small objects which Sam didn’t recognize, but which he was reasonably sure were as deadly as everything else she was wearing. Her long black braids swung slightly around her head and she had a rather unsettling half-smile on her face.

  Sam was about to say something, but soon realized that the smile wasn’t for him—a heavy-set man crept out from the bushes behind her, a nasty-looking knife in his hand, his face a mechanical mask of night-vision gear.

  Alma didn’t move, as if she had no idea he was there. The man got closer, closer…

  “Take her!” urged the voice, “She’s just a girl! Take her!”

  The man reached up, grabbed two of the swaying braids, yanked her head back, then leapt away screaming, his hand lacerated and bleeding. Alma spun around, kicked the knife out of his hand and was about to deliver the coup de grâce, when another man burst from the trees and barreled into her, knocking her backwards and pinning her to the ground.

  She had been wrong! There weren’t four—there were five!

  Sam heard a slight noise behind him. The tarp covering the car slid to the ground. Nathan was in the driver’s seat, his face tense and his eyes wide, trying to take in as much as he could make out in the dark clearing. He leaned across and slowly wound the passenger window down. Sam reached into his pocket, without taking his eyes off Alma, and handed Nathan the keys and the cigar lighter.

  “Aren’t you going to help her?” whispered Nathan.

  “She seems to be pretty good at looking after herself.”

  “Yeah, but there’s another one over by those trees, see?”

  Sam didn’t know why he was so surprised that she’d got the number of attackers wrong. There was something about her that just exuded confidence and capability. She’d said there were four, so there were four. He’d know better next time.

  If there was a next time.

  He could see what was going to happen. She was about to kick off the guy who’d jumped her, leaving her exposed in the middle of the clearing. It would only be for a split second, but it would be long enough for the one near the trees to kill her.

  Sam sighed. He knew what he had to do, he just wasn’t sure if he could do it any more. And what about the car? It might take out the car as well.

  It had to be focused. Tight. No more than an eight foot radius in front and nothing behind. The car had to stay behind him. He stood up and stepped forward.

  “What are you doing?” hissed Nathan.

  “When I give the word, start the car.”

  “There! There!” wheezed whichever of the men was commanding the raid. “Take—”

  Sam tried to shut it out. Stop listening. He needed to concentrate. It had been so long since he’d tried anything like this. He lowered his eyes, feeling it building throughout his body: a tingle, then a throb, moving from hands, feet, legs, arms, up to his head and then to that point behind his eyes. It was quick, no more than the length of a thought, but he was aware of each step. Then he raised his head.

  There was no sound. No bang. No pop. It was just that everything stopped working. The night vision, the sensors. Everything. The attackers were as blind as their prey.

  “Now!”

  Nathan fired up the GTO as Sam threw in his boots and scrambled into the back seat. There was another sickening thud from near the fire as the final body hit the ground. The car gathered speed across the clearing, bouncing over the underbrush as Alma grabbed the roof and swung into the passenger seat.

  “That way,” she growled, pointing to the right. “That’ll take us to the road. My bike’s about two miles north.”

  Sam could only see the back of Nathan’s head, but he could sense the fear. Alma twisted around and looked at Sam, folded into the back seat, all arms and legs. She looked flushed with excitement, her dark eyes sparkling.

  “Well, that was better than expected!” she said. “I thought they were just scavengers. And I got the number wrong. I never get the number wrong.”

  “You sound like that’s a good thing.”

  “It is. Things get so dull. So where is it?”

  “Where is what?”

  “Well, that was a pulse, wasn’t it?” Her eyes scanned the dashboard. “Did you fit it yourself or did it come with?”

  “A pulse?” Nathan turned onto the road and made a left. “Are you talking about an EMP, an electro-magnetic pulse?”

  “What else would make everything go off like that? Look...” She pulled out one of her guns, making Nathan jump and swerve, almost hitting another of the long-eared rabbit-like things.

  “See? The sight is totally fried.”

  “Sorry about that,” muttered Sam.

  “No big. I can get it fixed. Probably saved my life.”

  “Definitely, more like.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So how’d you make it so directional? Or do you have some kind of shielding on the engine?”

  “The engine?” Nathan’s fear had apparently deserted him while he tried to understand what on earth the scary girl was talking about.

  “Yeah. The pulse should’ve taken out the car, too.”

  “Which is pretty good proof that there wasn’t a pulse.” Nathan was almost sneering now. Sam felt this was probably not a good idea.

  “But there was.” Alma turned to look back at Sam. “Was it you? Do you have some kind of hand-held—”

  “Him?” Nathan couldn’t help laughing. “The only thing he can operate is the car, and that’s over a hundred years old. Is this your bike?”

  “Why? How many do you see?” asked Alma witheringly, before sliding out of the passenger window as the GTO rolled to a stop.

  Sam opened the door and unfolded himself from the back seat while Alma stowed most of her weapons in the bike’s saddlebags, mounted up and started the engine. She revved it a few times.

  “What have you got in your hair?”

  “What?”

  “When that guy grabbed you.”

  “Oh. Razor blades. No one touches me unless I want them to.”

  “Good to know,” said Sam. “Pretty lucky they had their com-links up so loud, though.”

  “What?”

  “Their radios or whatever. You could hear whoever was commanding the attack.”

  “Really? You must have really good hearing.”

  “You didn’t hear it?”

  “Nope. By the way, you might want to think about repainting your car. Red’s probably not be the best way to go.”

  “I like it,” said Sam, smiling in that way he knew infuriated almost everyone. “See you soon.”

  “Unlikely.”

  The engine roared and she disappeared down the ragged road in a cloud of dust.

  Sam walked to the driver’s side but didn’t have to say anything—Nathan was already over in the passenger seat. He slid in, put the car into gear and headed in the opposite direction. Nathan looked at him like someone with a lot of questions, but he didn’t speak, he just sat and let the old engine rock him to sleep.

  Sam leaned back, one hand on the wheel and the other hanging out of the window feeling the rush of the cold evening air.

  This had happened before. Back when his mom and dad were alive, they’d had to up stakes and run more times than he could count. But that had been because of his dad and his work and this time it felt like they had come for him, which made no sense at all.

  Or maybe it was all in his mind. Maybe they were exactly what they seemed to be—scavengers out for easy pickings.

  Right. And they just so happened to have really expensive gear. No, the person at the other end of their com-link knew exactly what he was looking for.

  Sam sighed. He should’ve let the girl die. It would’ve been the smart thing to do.

  He reached under the seat where he kept his stash of
Tootsie-pops.

  Smart was overrated.

  Chapter 3

  “NO.”

  “Ah, c’mon, Sam. In and out. I promise.”

  Sam turned sharply and started up the aisle to his right. Or what was left of it. According to a faded sign that swung on a single length of rusting chain, it had once boasted floor to ceiling shelves, groaning under the weight of giant bags of cereal and case upon case of canned beans and coffee. Now all that remained were a few broken uprights, too far gone to be of use to even the most imaginative settler. The whole vast warehouse was little more than a shell—left on the floor of the valley like the forgotten building block of a young giant.

  “Sam…”

  “Did you look down here?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about the office?”

  Nathan sighed and followed Sam into what had been the manager’s office but was now just a very small, very empty cubbyhole of a room.

  “There’s nothing left, Sam, it’s all gone. We can’t make a living doing this any more.”

  “We’re doing fine.”

  Nathan looked at him, sighed, and walked slowly away. Sam didn’t turn around. He just listened as Nathan’s footsteps echoed through the emptiness as he walked back to the main door and out into the jaundiced sunlight.

  They weren’t fine, of course. And much as it galled him to admit it, Nathan was absolutely right. Surviving by scavenging the products of a bygone age was simply not sustainable any more. The time when every family just had to have at least seven or eight different ways of preparing a sandwich or making a drink were long gone, and so was the kind of nostalgia that, for a while at least, had made the grown children of the Last Generation still hanker after the mechanical trinkets of their youth. Now those children were dust and it was their children’s children who subsisted in the Wilds, scraping to get by and more than satisfied with full bellies, warmth at night and whatever security they could get by banding together.

  So was that the choice? The city or the most basic survival?

  He wandered out of the small office and strolled down the nearest aisle, just to be sure. It was only then that he noticed Nathan hadn’t gone outside after all—he was standing in the open doorway as if he were admiring the view.

  Only there wasn’t one.

  Sam’s heart sank. He strode across the warehouse as quickly as he could without actually running. Running would make too much noise and something told him that noise could be bad.

  “Nathan!” he hissed. “What is it?”

  Nathan didn’t move. Sam joined him at the door and peered out across the shattered parking lot to the road. There were two mobile homes parked just beyond the lot, one small and one large, but both beat-up and so patched that there was almost nothing left of the original surface. The largest one was being pulled by an old Volvo station wagon, while the other was hooked to a small Ford pick-up. Neither vehicle had a hood and both showed signs of impressive engine upgrades. There were four people standing near the Volvo, but Sam guessed there were more inside the trailers.

  “Oh, great,” he muttered. “That’s all we need. They’re probably after the car.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Nathan, his voice suddenly hoarse.

  Sam looked at him and saw the fear in his face. Not the wariness he would have expected on the arrival of strangers, but something deeper and more visceral.

  “I don’t—”

  “They’re Rovers.”

  “They’re what?”

  “Rovers.”

  Sam racked his brain but drew a blank.

  “Never heard of ‘em.”

  Nathan had gone a weird shade of white, which made his freckles stand out like dots on a map. For a moment he seemed about to speak, but as the tallest of the strangers separated himself from the group and strode toward them, he shrank back, scarcely breathing.

  “Hey! What’s up?”

  The guy was almost as tall as Sam, but more heavily built, with deep set eyes, a shaven head and studs rimming his ears. There were large plugs in the lobes, making them sway slightly as he walked, and a small triangular tattoo at the base of his throat. His clothes were old and that shade of grey that everything turns if you wear it for long enough. Sam smiled in what he hoped was a friendly way and noticed that the stranger seemed stiff and limped slightly as if he were old, although as he got closer Sam realized he couldn’t be more than eighteen.

  “Not much,” said Sam.

  “Anything in there?”

  “Nah. A couple of pieces of chain, scraps of wood. Take a look.”

  He stepped back, blocking Nathan from view and letting the newcomer walk past and inside the old building.

  “Huh,” said the Rover, nodding. “Pretty much the same story everywhere. I’m Vincent, by the way.”

  “Sam.”

  “That’s a nice car you got out there, Sam.”

  “Thanks. Uh...yours are...” He searched for something positive to say, but the words eluded him.

  “That’s okay,” said Vincent, his face breaking into a grin that revealed three black gaps where he had once had teeth. “Our vehicles ain’t made for pretty. Just for function.”

  “Hauling motor homes.”

  “Hauling ‘em fast.”

  He turned and walked back outside. Sam watched as Vincent strolled slowly around the GTO, unsure of what he’d do if the Rover decided to take it. Judging by the upgrades to his own vehicles, it probably wouldn’t take him long to figure out the cigar lighter thing and get her up and running.

  Nathan grabbed at his arm.

  “Get rid of them!”

  Sam glanced at his friend, but it was a stranger he saw—a frightened animal cowering on a corner. He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way and joined Vincent over by the car.

  “Mixed fuel?”

  “Yeah.”

  Vincent nodded approvingly. Sam tried to look relaxed, but there was something very dangerous about the guy. An air of menace that he’d only ever felt around much older people. It was weird.

  “Ride like this...very cool. Must suck up the juice, though.”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “Wouldn’t work for us,” said Vincent, suddenly losing all interest and turning back to the warehouse. “What’s up with your friend?”

  “What?”

  “Over there. Skulking in the doorway.”

  “Nothing. He doesn’t like strangers.”

  Vincent stood and stared straight at Nathan for a few moments.

  “What’s his name?”

  Sam hesitated. He really didn’t like this guy and liked his questions even less. The whole situation felt like the moments before a storm breaks, when the air is thin and crackles with the threat of lightning. Vincent glanced back at him and smiled briefly.

  “It doesn’t matter. See you around.”

  He strode back to his companions and spoke briefly. All four of them looked over to the doorway where Nathan was half-hidden in shadow, then turned, climbed into their vehicles, started the engines and pulled away down the dusty road.

  Sam breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against the car.

  “Okay,” he said. “They’ve gone.”

  Nathan stepped out into the sunlight and stood staring at the rapidly diminishing dust cloud in the distance.

  “So,” said Sam. “What are Rovers?”

  Nathan shook his head and shrugged.

  “Nobody. It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter,” said Sam irritably. “You were so terrified, you were practically catatonic. Who are they?”

  “They used to live at Tahoe,” muttered Nathan, as if that explained everything.

  “Yes?”

  “Where the fish come from.”

  Sam stared at him. He knew that some of the anger that was boiling up inside him was the result of relief and that he really shouldn’t be directing it at Nathan, but on the other hand Nathan was being really obtuse. />
  “I’m going to get in this car and leave you here if you don’t start talking in complete sentences.”

  “They were…that is, they just drive around. In packs usually. Bigger than this one. There’s probably more of them nearby.”

  “More of them?”

  “Yeah. They’re scavengers.”

  “Lots of people are scavengers. We’re scavengers.”

  “Rovers are different. They die young so they don’t care.”

  “How young?” asked Sam.

  “Eighteen, usually. Maybe nineteen, if they’re lucky.”

  “Eighteen?!”

  “Yeah. It was the water. The lake water. Hermes Industries had a research lab on the shore. There was an accident.”

  Sam tried to imagine what it would be like to die at eighteen. Not through bad luck, or accident or foolish bravado, but because that was your natural life span—because you were old.

  “Don’t feel sorry for them,” said Nathan.

  “I’m not,” said Sam. “But…wow. Eighteen.”

  “We should get out of here.”

  Nathan strode to the front of the car and got in. Sam sighed and gazed out across the arid landscape with its scrubby vegetation and vanishing roads. He was seventeen. He wasn’t sure how old Nathan was, but he was pretty sure he was older than that. What would it be like to know that your life would soon be over? Seventeen. He hadn’t done anything yet, except get by and grow. It was no time at all.

  “Are you getting in or what?”

  Sam turned around, opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. He replaced the cigar lighter, pushed it in and turned the ignition key. The old car roared to life, but he didn’t throw it into gear, he just turned and looked at Nathan.

  “What?” said Nathan, clearly exasperated. “Let’s go! I told you there are probably more of them.”

  “Why have I never heard of them before?”

  “How should I know?”

  Sam waited. The Nathan he thought he knew, the one he’d been traveling with for almost a year, wasn’t like this. He was optimistic. He always had a plan. Sure, he was kind of jumpy and not particularly reliable in a crisis, but he was never mean scared. Mean scared was dangerous. Sam had seen plenty of people brought down by mean scared over the years, and it usually wasn’t the one who was worried. It was a bystander… or a friend.