The Unlicensed Consciousness

by Travis Borne

  The tunnel went into the spooky darkness for fifteen feet, ending with a vertical exit shaft, now mostly sealed. When Jerry made stew, the smoke flowed into the haunted house, thinning out against the jagged vertical rocks of the shaft, dispersed further through the cap: Jon’s pile of stacked brush. On the far side was the cave’s large opening. It sloped gently into their home. The steps were made with clay and logs thanks to Jerry’s handiwork, and all said and done, with minutes that felt like hours, it was somewhat homey, no, adequate, for a pit; they had gotten used to the abundance of time and really, had no other choice but to make it so.

  But it worked better than any place they tried. Home sweet—stink—home. Amy called it The Lion’s Den, thinking of a character from her favorite book. And they managed the long minutes, sometimes long seconds, and made the best of things—and survived. Alone in the world, yet together, three humans cleaved to life as hope fluctuated in waves; and as long as Amy was around, the walls of The Lion’s Den were less grey, the days moved with rhythm, and hope didn’t flatline.

  2. Scavenging

  Another clear summer morning. Clouds being scarce these days, the sky radiated more of its orange-juice color. Under the rays, Jon sat crying. He always stayed home. He never left anymore. He, he—wished he was dead. Mumbling quietly, he hunched himself down at the graves and pretended not to hear them. Finally, and slowly, Jerry put a gentle hand on his shoulder, but still, Jon didn’t move. On his other side, Amy mimicked her larger father. As her tiny hand rested on Jon’s thin shoulder, he turned. He looked up to her, tears drying his beard into clumpy curls, more still seeping from his eyes. But her smile always brought him back; less as of late, though—and his beard was longer than it had ever been.

  “We’ll be back, Daddy,” Amy said. Jon nodded one time, acknowledging her, and he did his best to return a smile through his thick beard. It had become the norm and both Amy and Jerry knew he’d lug himself back inside after a few hours of sobbing.

  Before long Amy and Daddy Jerry were at the farm looking for anything they could find useful: scrap cloth, plastic bottles, wax, rope, tools, especially food: insects and worms went into Amy’s bug bag; rats were scarce these days, a special treat. Resourcefulness was life, complacency roused the reaper. And Jerry was a rock, Amy the paper who could smother it: with her help, alacrity, and a grim-reaper-repulsing spirit.

  Finds were gold nuggets and because of the storms almost anything could be found anywhere. Medicine, a sock, even automobiles had once flown through the air like feathers; canned goods were lottery wins—even a simple needle and thread was a score. And they collected and packed their finds while, as always, treading very quietly.

  The barn was just beyond the woods, about a mile below their cave. Jerry was outside sifting through mounds of blown stuff turned junk dunes and Amy was inside, moving the logs she’d placed on end, grabbing up the scattering creepy crawlers beneath. Her bag was almost full and she stopped as her imagination got the best of her, again. The junkyard. She thought of her flyer and fell into a trance, then swayed her head as if tracing a path in the sky. In her mind, she was piloting it, up, over, into a loop and beyond.

  Almost twice as far. More out in the open and past the barely still-standing farmhouse—the junkyard was Amy’s secret getaway. Top secret! She loved daydreaming in the junk cars, often getting in trouble for her curious explorations. But her daddies never knew she had ventured so far. “I’m almost nine,” she told herself many times, “and the drones, well, we haven’t seen any in a long time!”

  Jerry was busy filling his pack with finds and noticed Amy’s gaze. He stopped to watch her, her hands sifting through the air, her imagination exploding. He knew it, she was dreaming awake. And he knew she deserved more, deserved— “One day, one day we’ll get out of here, Amy.” Standing up, his nearly seven-foot-tall self, he draped the strap of his full pack over his right shoulder. He rubbed his beard, smiling at Amy.

  Nothing like Jon’s but he’d grown a mountain-man of a beard. And he thought of Jon: the city boy, so deeply quiet these days, always longing for the way things were. More now than ever, Jon lived in the past. Always dreaming of the good times he’d had, they had shared together, and the… But Jerry wanted to keep his thoughts on the good side of the line, life was better that way, even this life, if it could be considered one.

  Jerry knew Jon held onto hope, a hope that one day all could return to its former glory. But Jerry knew it wouldn’t. Too much destruction, too much death, everything was different. All gone. Jerry only hoped Jon could pull out of his despair. His friend was the intellectual, yet lately, dimly lit in both mind and spirit and it was affecting his health. The length of his beard, longer than ever, was the gauge of Jon’s mental status.

  Come on, Amy,” Jerry said. “Let’s go check the second line of traps and head back. Amy awoke from her daydream and ran to him. Daddy Jerry showed her the goodies he’d found and Amy let him peek into her bug bag—it was stuffed! And they headed back.

  “We got another one, Jerry!” Amy burst, a whisper of an outburst. She was kneeling down, looking into the first trap.

  “We sure did, Sweetie Pie,” Jerry replied, pinning it with a stick. Then he gave it the knife. “Jon’s gonna love this.” Amy looked up at him with ecstatic eyes. He flattened his content smile, easily returning it through the beard.

  “It was a fantastic day!”

  It was. It really was.

  Jerry planted his walking stick and took another ascending step up the thirty-five—the steep section, a shortcut home. Two rats in the bag and amazingly, they’d seen a rabbit—first in a long time. Seeing an animal lifted Jerry’s spirit. Amy bragged about seeing them all the time and maybe he’d choose to believe her after today. He looked down at her skipping happily, and said, “Things could be looking up, Aim.”

  “But of course,” Amy whispered in return. “Now, see ya later, slowpoke.” She sped up and left him in the dust.

  He watched her dart up as if the force of gravity didn’t apply to her. She possessed boundless alacrity and as bad as things were, perhaps from one perspective, Jerry couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of happiness. And he thought of that rabbit, life returning, and being able to hunt again. For a moment he felt guilty about being happy and again thought of Jon. Jerry mumbled to himself, “Two tail-tied rats dangling from my belt, a pack stuffed with the day’s finds, including this book for Jon…if hot rat stew doesn’t work, I know the book might. Technology and Tomorrow: Continue to be Productive Throughout the Era of AI. Jon likes that kind of stuff, closest thing to his old job, anyway.” But Jerry knew Jon’s beard was longer than ever. Hopefully, he thought, the surprises would elicit a shave.

  Bulging with each trudge, Jerry’s still very muscular legs conquered the mountain, while Amy skipped up and away, seemingly weightless in contrast. On the other side of his back, he toted the plastic ten-gallon gas can filled with water from the creek; he’d fashioned it into a pack with brown belt straps and cloth. Eighty-three pounds of water, plus his stuffed bag of stuff on the other shoulder, Jerry felt the burn in his legs. But, almost there.

  They rotated the way home and back to prevent wearing a well-defined path and this was the most difficult route. Through the winding chasm, into the woods, and the path flattened out a bit, then Amy started talking. They’d just departed, the super-quiet zone, a point on the route she was always anxious to reach. Now just the kinda-quiet zone. But Jerry knew once she started, he was in for a story or string of questions. It would be one word after another from here on up, and Jerry didn’t mind one single bit. And the forest thickened as they continued along, while, just above a whisper, Amy continued the morning’s tale, her most recent nightly dream.

  3. The Shave

  Besides delving deep into his sorrows, Jon’s morning consisted of collecting some firewood then prepping his water-purification machine for Jerry’s return. He had to tear himself away from the graves, knowing he had to
rip himself from the grip of despair—for Amy. Maybe I’ll cut it tonight. I always feel better, he thought, after I cut it. After one last look at the cross, one last thought of her and one final tear, he forced his knees to straighten. Stop dwelling on the past, Jon. He nodded to himself and acknowledged to get better. And he thought not of her again—for the day. He thought of Amy. Just a thought of Amy usually did the trick. He went toward the entrance of the cave, then past it, and sat facing the hundred-mile view. He let the descending red sun sizzle his cheeks and he rotated his face to get more. Then he pulled out his knife and the water bottle from his cargo pants, and started to shave. When he finished he just sat there, staring. The world. No longer did the storms come, nor any weather. Just the hot red sun, going round and round and round, never wavering toward the north or south.

  “Daddy, we’re back,” Amy said. She easily found him. He turned to face her. “You shaved!” And she started crying when she saw his white skin-beard. Her elation was a nova and she hugged him tight. Two rats, a good book for my daddy, my bug bag is stuffed—he’s back!

  And Jon returned the hug, squeezing her tight. This time tears of joy flooded his face. He knew he was going to be okay, for now.

  After going back inside, warmth lingering within three hearts like an aura of fluttering good vibes, Jerry prepared dinner: savory rat stew, scalloped prickly pear cactus, and crispy fried grasshoppers; Amy found some salt which made the soup even more delicious. If she ate everything, she knew she’d get ice cream—well, the best Jerry could invent. He got the idea one day after stepping on one, the white stuff squishing out. Actually, it wasn’t that bad, even Jon rather enjoyed it. Jerry added water to all he could squeeze from the roaches, sugar made from sap he’d collected, and for a topping, lightly salted bug bits that tasted like crushed nuts. Packed with protein, it was filling and ridiculously nutritious, one of many dishes Jerry had invented thus far. He’d read a few acquired cookbooks and combined his survival knowledge to become the five-star master chef he had become. And Amy was his taste-tester; her countenance the taste-gauge. With her unquenchable appetite, a yuck from her meant back to the drawing board.

  Amy finished her ice cream. Typically, she demanded more. Jon, eating less these days, handed her the rest of his. Jerry looked at him and smiled humbly. Jerry was glad to see the beard gone. And they both looked to Amy, releasing a much needed mutual and content nod. As bad as things seemed sometimes, they relished each other’s company. Amy smiled her sunshine smile, and Jon and Jerry knew, it was time.

  Story time. Amy imagined another from her creative mind and told it to them before bedtime. After she fell asleep—although they knew she wasn’t as long as they were talking—they resumed discussing the plans.

  “But what if—”

  “No more what if, Jon. We’ve been saying what if for years. And it’s been quieter than ever, and…”

  “What?” Jon asked. Jerry just looked at him, then over at Amy. Jon knew exactly what he wanted to say, and that Amy was listening. “Okay. In a week then.”

  “You already have a plan, don’t you, Jon?” Jon nodded.

  They finally agreed on making the big decision. And Jon had many plans, his sketchbook was full of them, as detailed and thought out as any plan could be. Because, perhaps the war was over, human bases had been established, or whole cities thrived once again. They’d never find out by staying put and rescue was not coming; they’d given up on that idea a year ago. Jon went over the plan and Jerry agreed to it. Decided, they would be leaving soon. And Jon knew exactly why they really needed to, it revolved around one word: special. Jon looked over to Amy again; so did Jerry. Their eyes met and they sealed the vow.

  It was time to come out of hiding. There was a reason greater than the both of them: Amy. And they still had the device. They wished they could have shared it with the rest of the world but it was too late. Seemingly all life had been exterminated, a clean slate; it felt lonely enough, as though they truly were the last humans on the planet. But they had to try. They raised Amy the best they could; she gave them a purpose and Jon and Jerry knew they had to give her more than just this cave. They also knew something else.

  4. Junkyard Flyer

  It had been over a year since evidence of drone activity and the radio, unchanged since the day everything changed, still emitted nothing but indistinguishable static, weird murmurs at best. It had also been more than a year since they spotted another person: Amy, silently waving her over—their last day in the crumbling town since. The three of them witnessed her death, helpless to aid—and sadly, she’d almost made it.

  Death by drone. It was bad. It was always bad. They attentively observed the machines whenever they spotted one and the kill that time was no different from any other; the process: stun, scan, scorch. Although the method of stun varied, the final hammer, incineration, was always the same. The three of them knew it too well. Benumbed by the sheer amount of death they had witnessed through the years, they could watch without blinking.

  But because it had been such a span—for a young girl a year felt like ten—Amy felt free, more free than ever. It wasn’t just her resilience, it was her curiosity. Free! Run, Amy, run! And now Amy was letting her imagination run free—in the junkyard; she’d snuck away, again. An acre’s worth of rusting vehicles and non-salvageable scrap littered the farthest place she ever dared go. She didn’t usually wander this far but as she got older her insatiable curiosity became uncontrollable. She loved exploring and learning, reading and drawing, especially dreaming—asleep or awake. Drones terrified a part of her mind, sure, always would, but because it had been over a year since they’d spotted any she ventured farther, had magnificent adventures, and pushed boundaries—against Daddies’ wishes.

  Her tan skin was taking a beating from the morning sun as she sat inside the old Bug, flying through the sky, pushing on the yoke. Dive, dive, then pull back, up, loop the loop! “Vroooooom!”

  Her favorite—she played in it whenever she had the chance. Converted into a hover-car long ago, its wheels had been replaced by the newer, quieter hover-cylinders that came out just before the war. It was light pink, faded from hot pink or purple, the ass end was sandblasted to hell, and dried-out sunflower decals embellished one of the three remaining fenders. The faded purple interior remained in halfway decent shape thanks to auto-tint windows that had been left at maximum, a shield from the ruthless sun. And the flipped military truck at its side—a barrier from the relentless early storms that once blew from east to west like clockwork—kept it from being entirely sandblasted. The driver side window was broke but she could slide it up and down manually; she kept it closed to keep her drawings, books, and secret bug stash safe while she was gone.

  After the drive she settled down with a story and her snacks. She knew it would be her last time here because they were leaving in three days, so decided to finish off the whole baggie of bugs: definitely not hard to do!

  They told me yesterday, but I already knew. I listen while they whisper at night, and I don’t really want to leave. It’s nice here. Jerry just nods when Jon talks about the past. Daddy Jon keeps telling me about the wonders that could be out there. Technology, he says, over and over. He talks like a broken record about the good old days. It does spark my curiosity, though. Did they really have all of that stuff? I can only imagine. Sounds like too much unneeded stuff to me.

  These hoppers are crunchy. Yum. Jerry really knows how to make them. Now, which book do I want to read? Duh, that’s a no brainier, Amy. Especially for this special occasion—my last day! But it would be nice if the pages weren’t so burnt. It’s still my favorite though. I bet a little girl like me read this a hundred times too, when it was new of course. There must have been kids here on this farm, a family once. Maybe Daddy is right, maybe there are wonders out there, a city, airplanes maybe, maybe a friend for me, same age, her name is…Jess, yeah, that’s it! Ah, I get distracted too much.

  “Okay, let’s flip a few switc
hes on this console. Crew, systems check.”

  “Check, Amy, all systems are go!”

  “10-4, then it’s time to blast off. And this time we are headed to Jupiter! Copilot are you ready?”

  “Affirmative!” Jess says. I look to the passenger seat and Jess is sitting next to me, smiling, strapped in, readier than ever. Then she says, “Let’s do it, Amy! Full speed, show us your moves.”

  I grab the wheel and we soar high into the sky. “Engine room, give me all ya got, we’re taking it to the stars, to Jupiter—and beyond!” Another loop the loop, then dive. Wow! Now, take it up, Amy, faster, light speed, out of the solar system…

  Back on Earth, mission success!

  “Whew, what a flight! You do get too distracted, Amy… I guess I’ll finish my book now.”

  I’ve read it at least a hundred times and the last pages are too burnt to make out but I think they end up killing the wicked old witch. It’s probably better this way—I like changing the ending in my imagination when I read it. I’ll give it to her good this time—burn her butt, chase her with the torch.

  “Too funny, Amy,” Jess says.

  “I know. Now, how about one more story, Jess, before we leave this place forever?” I do still have a few hoppers left to eat anyway. This one will do, my second favorite book of all time, with lots of pictures of airplanes and spaceships!

  5. Boron

  I have to get home, quick, Amy thought, rubbing her eyes. After sliding through the flyer’s window, she hurried home with her books, a pencil, and a few drawings. She also pocketed a few knobs from the flyer’s control panel—to remember it.

  The day was warm, the sky clear as usual, but she noticed more blue—more than ever. She stopped and looked down the road toward a row of houses she’d never explored, still groggy from her nap. A rare breeze carried a tumbleweed across the street at the edge of the old town. And she turned to face the way home, then back again. Her curiosity, mixed with a feeling of liberation lingering from the dream she had moments earlier, left her feeling careless and free.