by Travis Borne
She ran and ran, past the burnt houses, down the weed-littered road—away from home. Squinting, she saw wonderful things: a park ahead, patchy green grass, and people! Two boys were playing on swings; they synchronized their motions, higher, higher, then flung loose shouting WOOOO! Laughing all the way, they crashed into the white sand. There were others too. A little girl had thrown what looked to be a tea party. She sat on the grass, tapping cups with her baby brother and her—MOM! Amy spun round, eyes wide. MOMS! And more adults, chatting leisurely, legs crossed, sitting on a short rock wall. Beyond them was a city and it looked to be in all-right condition, and bustling. The sun felt warm on her face and she glanced up at it. A yellow sun! Things are gonna be fine, she thought. And this whole time we were living in that stinky old cave. Daddy Jon is gonna be so happy when I tell him. He’ll never grow a beard again!
Clouds floated by. Puffs resembling animals, a fat elephant, and a mouse that chased it away a few seconds later. Amy found herself mesmerized by the changing shapes, and the rare presence of clouds. Tired from running, her muscles felt heavy. She wanted to go meet the kids but now felt drained. She plopped into a cool, popping-green patch of grass and watched the clouds. Clouds! What a perfect day, she thought with a delighted smile, her hand behind her head. My Daddies. They are NOT going to believe this! A sigh escaped her and she pictured herself in the cave, telling them about the place she had found. But she also pictured them not believing her, as usual, like with the rabbits.
The clouds started to drift a little faster as a slight breeze gave them a push and her a chill. She grabbed the edges of her wool coat and closed it, hiding her patchy brown clothes.
The sky cotton formed and reformed, expanding in and out. The hue shifted to a darker grey. Shadows defined shapes then dark lines further outlined them. Puffs exploded only to be devoured by larger puffs. The billows imploded, only to reform again larger and faster and faster. Amy noticed the more she focused the more detailed they’d become. The shapes began to resemble people in various poses, some in a fighting stance, then one resembling a chopper drone drifted by. I don’t like that one. The mood changed and she fought her tired muscles, sitting up quickly to look around. Now, the park was empty. She looked up again and the sky was no longer a brilliant blue; its usual orange had returned then evanesced. A bright red filter replaced it, with burgundy on the horizons, and streaks of grey and black smoke rising in the distance. Oh no! Turning her head swiftly, the city was no longer the same. Its edges were burning and it contained thousands of people—no children anywhere. Many were black ash statues, expressions aghast.
“Oh,” she gasped. She recognized those statues. It’s what happens after they get you! Her carelessness, the freedom she had felt earlier, fear dissolved it. Her nonchalant composure morphed into anxiety. She turned from the city, ready to run, and then she saw it. There was a twinkle above, beyond the clouds shadowing her mountain, home. She watched it weave its way through and squinted to distinguish what it could be; a tiny flickering light like a mirror flashing in sunlight. She focused on the dot and it grew larger then swooped downward, closer and closer, side to side, narrowing in. It mirrored the red fireball that was the afternoon sun and the flickering turned into blinding flashes. A drone! It descended, parking itself in front of her before she could move. And she thought of the black ash statues. She thought of the lady who got turned into one only five feet away from her last year.
Amy tried to move but felt heavy and weak. The drone inched closer. The air coming from it was like the twister in her favorite book. It knocked her petrified self to the ground with a nudge. She pushed with her good arm to work herself backward, away from it. Twenty stickers pierced her hand. “Ouch!” The grass was tan and dry and full of them, then again she froze. Terror locked her muscles and the machine angled in—a mere inch from her nose. Hot air blew her hair straight back, and tears from eyes to ears. With a curious side-to-side wobble, it inspected her.
“Please,” Amy cried out, “don’t burn me.”
Saucer shaped with polished chrome, it buzzed unpleasantly, equipped with the older, noisy blades. Sucking air from its banding black grill and forcing it through the fans beneath its central disc, it blasted oven-like air. And stickers flew past Amy like bees losing to a blow-dryer. Many landed in her curly hair and cleaved to her clothes.
The drone angled closer. Bright red eyes made her squint. Amy lifted her arm—but it was heavy, so heavy. Even her head was heavy; getting dizzy. This is it, she thought. It’s going to burn me. She angled her head away, keeping one tear-filled eye on the machine.
The drone again shifted from side to side—but playfully? The glowing red eyes faded to traffic-light yellow, and with the change her dismayed emotions settled like a feather falling.
“Get on,” it said in a soft, human-like voice. “Let’s go for a ride, anywhere you want—away from this dreadful place would be wise.”
But Amy wasn’t sure. Feeling heat on her back and neck, she looked about. There were more changes: burning buildings lined a dusty street beyond an empty fountain encircling a towering minotaur statue—the creature’s rack spanning at least twenty feet! And people were dirty and naked and thin, all enslaved, forced by plodding machines and drones—forced to work, to build, and to hurt one another. In the distance farther down a steep slope men and women were prodded by deformed beasts to cross a vast muddy field, like races. And she could make out more creatures farther beyond that, immense and ugly, and cheering from what looked to be grandstands. Upon looking back at the town all drones were gone, replaced by only the pain-inflicting beasts. Big horns, fifteen feet tall, red skin, some had scales, all different. Her eyes let the tears fall. A sweet smell like burnt hair and rat guts, harassed her nostrils—smoke from burning people! Incineration blasts abound. Punishments. Whips, lashes. She felt the heat on her face when she lowered her arm, squinting to see. And the mirror-like metallic drone before her amplified the heat, fanning smoke around into dust devils. Amy coughed. The successions of pounding, crescendoing horror increased: deaths were accompanied by a chorus of torturous screams, a howling, haunting song.
She turned back to face the drone. It leaned forward as if nodding. It could’ve killed me, Amy thought. I must be strong. This machine—a good machine? Her fear of it, now dwarfed by the horrors behind her, abated further and she became light again, able to move. She made up her mind then stood—this time as effortlessly as ascending the mountain home.
“Trust me,” it said and ejected a tiny attachment. A little hand, mechanical joints and all; flattening outward, it offered the metal appendage amiably, slowly. And its eyes dimmed, then relit as friendly green, almost to the point of being able to distinguish an expression beyond the glow. “I am here to help. Friends? I would like to be your friend,” it said, emphasizing each word of its last sentence. “I know you have been longing for a friend.”
Amy took a step then reached for it. She took the little mechanical hand, which was the same size as hers, and with her nub, she curiously touched the smooth, flawless metal, still agleam reflecting the horrors behind her. The drone bowed to her touch like an animal being petted. She remembered her pet, a rabbit Jerry had trapped, the one they eventually had to eat. A step ejected from the side, and the wind lessened. The drone barely moved as she put her weight onto it. The step lifted her until she was able to hop on top.
It was about the size of that old tractor tire at the farm, the one she could crawl inside of: another of her secret hiding places. Once she actually hid from a drone there, but it was nothing like this. Wow, she thought, too astounded to speak. Her mind was bedazzled. Knobs and controls, like the flyer when she fixed it up with her imagination! Everything was immaculate: flashing lights, levers, adjustment dials. There were handles and a place to sit, a colorful control screen with a flight path already programmed in; she glided her hand across the surface, feeling everything. Then it got pleasantly cool, a break from the hot wasteland she’d just
stepped out of, and quiet on top, hardly any buzzing. With a resolute smile she grabbed the handle and commanded the drone, “Okay, you said it then, Mister Drone. Let’s go, up, FLY!”
“You can call me Boron.” It rose slowly, then increased speed.
“Okay, Mister Boron. Higher then, as high as we can!” It was scary at first but soon exhilarating and she received a glimpse, a vision, a tiny flash—a memory? I know how to fly? It feels so familiar. She knew how, yes, she was sure of it—and she knew one thing: she loved to fly. But she didn’t think more about the glimpse and in a moment of pure exhilaration whooshed high into the sky; its blue intensified, deeper as they rose higher. The drone carried her up faster, then faster, just as she wanted. Her curls fluttered straight and rushing air rippled her tan cheeks. She looked down at the controls. A button flashed and she couldn’t help herself; she leaned forward and slapped it. A windshield rose up and Amy could see clearly behind it—her eyes no longer being blown from their sockets. A seat-back rose up too, and she was thrust into it. They shot straight up and far away from the burning city, past her mountain, and higher to 15,000 feet, and the sky once again possessed the sharpest, most dazzling blue, just as it had been when she saw the boys on the swings and the little girl with the tea party. They flew high into white cotton clouds, then far beyond. The wind was warm and her smile returned, highly magnified, almost all teeth showing. She erupted into joyous laughter. And she couldn’t seem to stop laughing. The sun shone differently than she remembered it, yellow and more beautiful than ever. Tears dried on her cheeks, becoming hard streaks. Amy felt pure elation through and through and a good chill fluttered through her bones, making her shiver.
They flew about the world for hours. The machine, Boron, was friendly and took her everywhere she wanted to go: away from the horrors—away from the cave. The cave. She thought of Daddy Jon, and Jerry. The beauty of the new green and blue world made her feel guilty. Wait. I don’t want it, not without my daddies. Daddy. A flash of a face—someone else. She thought hard, trying to pull it back. The more she tried the cloudier her thoughts became.
The drone started to descend—a feeling of falling. Goosebumps rose on her arm and she tingled at the chill, then shivered. The temperature dropped. Cold now. Boron tilted forward and Amy glimpsed a battlefield, in a desert surrounded by jagged mountains, all the land overshadowed by gloomy clouds. She buttoned her coat and lifted her shoulders, squinting in chilly confusion. White plastic robots were chasing drones—just like the one she was riding—pushing them away, and apparently winning the battle.
“I’m sorry, Amy, I cannot continue to fly with you. We must descend now.” Her newfound friend’s voice had become metallic. As they neared, Amy became horrified at the sight of all-out war. Now, the robotic soldiers were accompanied by men, and the battle took a turn with her arrival. Attacking drones rallied behind her, swarming like a billion bees. As if fresh orders had been given those already fighting redoubled and refocused their efforts, overwhelming the soldiers with sheer numbers. Drones of different types, sizes, and shapes—all with fierce red glowing eyes—pushed forward, assassinating the men and the robots. Lasers fired. Explosions popped. Incinerations. Amy yanked on the handle.
“Mister Boron, please!” She kept yanking, pulling, trying to get Boron to go back up but the big saucer kept falling—and now, none of the controls worked! She touched the screen, nothing. Looking down again, Amy noticed—there were children, women, and families all running for their lives, and her drone was leading the attack. It began firing at them.
“No. No. Please don’t. Don’t hurt them,” Amy screamed.
“I no longer have a choice,” the drone replied with a far different voice, more metallic, monotone and deep.
People ran for their lives, fumbling and tripping over bodies, making less and less progress, now hardly moving, unable to, climbing over piles of, mountains of, mutilated and burnt dead. For each human who fell, dozens of white plastic men stopped moving. They froze in position, many still clasping a weapon halted mid swing; Amy thought of the somber metal man in her book, holding his ax. And she sat atop the leader of the machines; her army was loud tornadoes roaring everywhere. She was helpless. It hurt her ears. It, it—
“STOP!” She yanked on the handle hard enough to make her knuckles white. She was cold and wet from tears—and her drone finally responded. The windshield and seat-back went down. It hovered devoid of motion and the others orchestrated to construct a grid. Thousands, no, millions of drones lined up kilometers wide and tall. The jungle gym of machines surrounded every human.
Breathing heavily, Amy sat still, frozen. Their faces! The last of all humanity facing imminent death. Some pleaded, others held defiant. They all saw Amy atop the drone leader.
“Save us!” someone said.
“Please, help us!” said a woman cradling a child.
Some reached out to her, pleading, while others dropped to their knees, shaking their heads. Many had a petrified expression of disbelief. But I do want to help! And Amy reached out to them. She felt responsible—something she had done, or couldn’t do—and their hundreds of eyes reflected the evil red glow of the drones. It stabbed her heart, ice in her veins. Everyone is going to die and I can’t do a single thing about it! She squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could and every drone framing the world-sized dome let out a punishing high-pitched whine. This was it. The dome constricted. And the noise of dying people, their screams, and the noise of the drones, merged onto one haunting roar. Then everything went black.
6. Goodbye Mister Frog
Gasp! She took in a quick sucking breath, while through the cracked front windshield, magnified sunlight superheated her cheeks. Amy was burning up, but also clammy with a chill; a feeling of death lingered like roaches departing when the light turns on. Apprehension on a new and chilling level left her in a cold sweat and her knuckles were bony hills, hands gripping the seat cushion tight enough to hang upside down. Then she heard it: a high-pitched squeal. Could it be…real? She gripped the seat even tighter. It took her a moment to realize it had been a dream. Just a dream, Amy. Her eyes opened alertly, pupils darting side to side, fearing what they might see. Tears softened crust at the edges of her lids, her long lashes clumped together, and she tried to pull herself together after the cruel nightmare. Finally, she sighed—it was only a dream. Then, she heard it again.
Her survival instincts animated. Pulse—a flash of blinding white light brought everything she’d been taught. Danger. Home. I need to get home! Her hands trembled. She put her book on the passenger seat and took one last reaching look at the open page, then crawled over it. To avoid making noise with the door latch, she slipped through the Bug’s passenger window and slipped to the ground as limber as a snake. After getting to her feet, she peered slowly, slowly, over the hood.
A searcher drone! She knew it well from Daddy Jon’s sketchbook. It had taken him years but he had drawn hundreds and labeled each. His notes were highly detailed, describing what to look out for and noting each machine’s particular method of stun. This type never traveled alone. And, it was making its way toward her, most likely looking for the living.
There was a zipping whistle, a meek shriek, then a clamorous snap like an arc of lightning hitting a tree. A larger, silent drone arrived behind the smaller one. The bunny; she spotted it: petrified black ash, posed as running with its mouth open larger than seemed possible.
Amy knew how it worked. She crouched low, sneaking around the car, then quietly tiptoed from the junkyard. She reached into her pocket and touched the device—click. A feeling of relief to know it was there. After a few car lengths she bolted, through and around the wreckage, around a mountain of cars, around the charred house and toward the front. Then a momentary pause while cleaving behind the overturned school bus; she took a moment to catch her breath. Looking around, tense no longer, becoming loose, agile like a cheetah. Everything was silent apart from her thumping heart. She knew it was qui
te a distance but employed faith and composed herself like she’d been taught. Weighing hardly anything did have its advantages; she could fly home if a strong gust of wind came along, and she instilled exactly that mindset. She hustled, hunched over. Cautious, doing the ninja-creep as Jerry had showed her. Then faster—faster. Darting and ducking, jumping over the logs, past the old frog statue—“Goodbye, Mister Frog,” she yelled louder than she probably should have—and through the barn. Go, Amy! Light on your feet, as fast as—space-ship fast! She all-out sprinted and her skinny legs took her up and away. Home was nearing. Up the mountain path, the straight-up shortcut, to hell with gravity, halfway there!
7. Jerry
With alert ears, she heard the noise of a snapping twig. Slowing, pushing forward cautiously, Amy worked her way through the brush that made up their second outer perimeter.
And her whole mood changed when she saw it. It looked undernourished but beautiful, and had magnificent antlers. She almost wanted to pinch herself. Another dream? It had been crossing her path but stopped curiously, twenty feet in front of her. Jerry will never believe me. The sight flooded her with hope and a warm feeling, purple velvet gliding through the noodles of her brain. And she forgot about the scary dream, the drones, the sneak-away. Silence. And unconsciously she smiled a half moon, sharing a special moment with the friendly fellow. Slowly, slowly, Amy brought her hand up to gesture a hello, then she saw another, then a small one—
POP! The family of three bolted from sight.
The sound of the shot arrested her spine like ice-cold handcuffs slapped around a wrist. Previous feelings of dread, images of her dream, all the bad returned. She attempted to recompose herself. Get a hold of yourself, Amy. The second POP solidified coordinates in her mind, and sounded hollow. It came from—inside The Lion’s Den. Home!
