by Travis Borne
Her daddies taught her well. Amy meant worlds to them from the first day they vowed to care for her. Their family, unfortunately smaller minus the women, was still a team and Jon and Jerry were math teachers, science professors, but most of all, survival coaches. It was relatively new for all of them, and they learned ever more each day they managed to remain alive against the odds. And Amy taught them: about reasons to continue on, she told them stories that seemed to blossom from the mind of a god, and they listened like boys relishing a bedtime story; she was for them, the last burning torch in a cold, hollow world. They struggled, sure, but together inseparably. Amy kept things upbeat and interesting, but mostly, kept warm a fresh and not-so-gloomy perspective of the world and their situation. Hope danced in their eyes when she was near; she had the power to uplift everyone around her.
Survival rule number one: Stay away from drones, no matter what. Repeat: NO MATTER WHAT, slowly and emphatically. Stay hidden, remain undetected, they’d taught her. Amy knew what to look for. She knew the detailed aspects of many types: buzzers, sonics, searchers, clippers, giants, minis, torchers—a whole encyclopedia’s worth—but especially, she knew to hide, silently.
There were no buzzing sounds; maybe it was just an animal or something. Please don’t let it be the new drones, she thought. The new ones were silent, twice as fast as the old buzzers, unpredictable and undetectable. Jon called them creepers; it was a creeper that killed that skinny young woman last year. And, it did it as if it enjoyed it. Luckily, we’ve only seen them a few times. We were well blocked every time. But, oh no, I have it—the only one, with me! Despair and slivers of guilt made her feel heavy. Approaching the hole, she crept around the rock to see what was happening before going down. CRASH! Then a loud scream of agony. Her thoughts shrieked. Daddy!
Peering in, she saw just what she feared the most. Both were bladeless and silent like ghosts. A creeper! The large one was flat black with a rounded saucer shape. It had a front that protruded to protect radiant eyes and small vertical wings in the rear housing a sort of bulky propulsion system. Four thin and useless-looking octopus-like arms sinuated, teasing Jerry.
The nets were down—they must’ve missed! Jerry lay grounded in the back, next to her bed. He was bathed in red light. Jon was near, balancing on a middle step and swinging a bat with one arm, the other hard-tucked into his gut. The scream, it didn’t sound like Jerry but she saw the black and red hole in his side.
Jerry reeled from the sting. Even his thick beard couldn’t hide the agony. He cringed, his hydraulic-strength jaw bit down hard and his teeth made an appearance through the beard, initiating his transformation. His agony, the anger, the weariness of always hiding from the damn machines—it all translated to fuel. He steeled himself—when Jerry steeled, earth bowed—and he stood as erect as stone; he took a resolute stance and jabbed with herculean power. And he easily kept it at bay. His face determined, his strength adrenalizing—if he could just get to the other gun, the big one!
They must’ve been caught utterly off guard.
Blood spatter striped her artwork, but Jerry was not bleeding—he was back in action. His wound had been cauterized by the laser. The edges were black and crispy and melted to his flannel. His willpower was the Titanic and he stabbed forcefully at the larger of the two drones as if he hadn’t taken a lick. He’d taken one down with that large club of a spear before, it was easier to do back then; that drone had moving parts and grooves, and no distracting tentacles; at least there’d been something to gouge, but this one…
The smaller one gave its attention to Jon, absorbing every second of his time. He swatted the nimble little nuisance with his aluminum bat—while standing in a pooling puddle of blood.
Oh, no, Amy thought. It got my Daddy!
This was definitely a new type of searcher, twice as speedy, one they hadn’t sketched yet, but still, just a searcher. Except for a stunner it probably didn't possess any deadly weapons. But it zipped around like a fly, nearly impossible to smack. Then, it neglected Jon and dove deep, swinging around Jerry, distracting him, then again back up to Jon. The creeper made use of the distraction as if it had been arranged. It rushed forward, slamming into Jerry.
Then it withdrew, observing. They’d not seen this.
Amy’s papers fluttered to the floor as he peeled himself off her bedroom wall. He’d gotten the wind knocked out but Jerry could take a hit better than a linebacker. He forced in a blimp’s worth of air while the drone just watched. Back again. Jerry lashed out with his ten-foot by five-inch-diameter spear—in vain. The spear slipped along the creeper’s smooth edge every time. He eyed the boom stick at the edge of the tunnel. Amy saw what he was attempting. He was trying to push it back, then blow it to bits inside the tunnel.
But the big one honed in on him, closer, closer, easily parrying his efforts. Its rounded shape provided no effective offense. Changing tactics, Jerry started started swinging, whirling the heavy makeshift weapon like a medieval flail. He whirled it up and down randomly, teasing the creeper, then brought it in for the hit—SMASH!
The creeper was knocked to the ground near the haunted-house’s entrance, but rushed up almost instantly, enraged. And oddly, it started having trouble dodging his follow-up—as if suddenly, it couldn’t see him anymore. Jerry thought of—oh no! He looked like he’d just devoured a ghost and became possessed. His eyes went wide and he turned his head to the entrance of the cave. Their eyes met: hers meek and scared, but fighting alongside him in her mind; his exploding with empowering fear.
He vowed to protect her. NO MATTER WHAT!
“No!” he yelled, so loud the drone tilted back. He swung the wood like a giant powered by nitrous oxide: around once, twice, HIT! Jon’s eyes went wide; they always did when Jerry activated. The drone fell back, frightened-like. Accompanied with a ROAR, Jerry managed the stumbling hit that could’ve stopped a city bus. Metal crumpled. The frontal housing of the drone was crushed.
A team. Amy remembered. We are a team, forever! The hit solidified her hope. My Daddy Jerry is going to destroy you! Doing her part, she tried to click it to mode three, but the power was low. Mode two worked. She nudged it as close as she could without being seen.
But, even if by indirect means, the drone knew his position. After the hit the drone became silent no longer—it sounded like the buzzers. Red eyes lit the cave like it’d just received a fresh coat of red paint while a strobe pulsed fast enough to become constant, turning the red fluorescent. Had it been holding back? Hesitating the kill, toying, trying to learn: how could any humans still be living?
Drone, meet Jerry. Jerry threw the stick aside and pounded his fists together.
He revamped his resolve with reborn magnitude, and stomped forward, ready to destroy the thing with his bare hands. But the hovering noise machine came forward swiftly. It slid low and slammed into him at the knees then retreated as if to revel in what it had accomplished. Jerry’s legs were bent backward at the knee. Spikes ejected around the circumference of the creeper, then it swooped in again, higher this time; one eighteen-inch spike stabbed Jerry in the left side of the neck. A symmetrical barb flung out like a switchblade and the machine pulled back, dragging Jerry and his distorted legs.
As if jacked up on adrenaline, Jerry portrayed zero pain and pounded with the hammers that were the bottoms of his fists, denting the rounded steel. Tentacles shocked him but the energy could not pierce his determination. His 240 pounds weighed on the drone but, the spikes were shockers. They’d seen this execrable method before.
No!
Jerry’s bite clenched hard and his eyes went back as the shocker powered up. It had enough heat to blacken his neck, shoulder, and the left half of his face. Then the barbs released. Onto a boulder, Jerry fell limp, right before Amy’s bed. And the machine followed up with—the scan. A flat, red laser moved up and down then stopped at his head, intensifying. He jolted straight-stiff except for his dangling broken legs and his body started to spasm. The drone’s scanner
paused and a weapon ejected from the nose. Jerry lay still. He’d been jolted back to consciousness. His one remaining eye turned, and with the last sliver of his once omnipotent energy, his head turned slowly. With a glint of fire red in his eye, he looked up toward the cave’s entrance—to the little girl he loved more than anyone or anything in the world. The eye flooded. Peeking around the rock, she witnessed everything. He blinked twice. Amy blinked in response. Both squished out a flood of tears.
The red laser pierced his smoldering eye and held burning for two seconds, and the flat scanning beam intensified. Exiting the back of his head, the beam melted a hole in the clay floor behind him. Jerry’s muscles went stiff one final time. The edges around his eye were carbonized instantly, and the skin on his face caught fire.
8. Jon
Amy had seen plenty of death but Daddy Jerry was her rock. Unfamiliar memories flashed: catching a fish at a beautiful lake, gooey earthworm juice squirting out when Jerry taught her how to bait the hook, and a cabin, other people. Then she saw herself in the cave, memories she recognized and cherished: laughing at Jerry’s bad cooking, and loving his tasty concoctions, being held by him—she saw him as indestructible. Good memories clashed with pain—the world she knew crumbled, and tears extinguished her spirit.
Somehow, she managed to contain an outburst. She wanted to explode but they’d taught her well, and sadly enough, had practiced for this very day.
Jerry’s executioner whooshed upward after the hit, looking, trying to—it couldn’t see and was most certainly trying to discern why. It floated back a few feet and spit out a fireball that lit the cave like a propane explosion; the flames torched what was left of Jerry as it wobbled, unloading more gas haphazardly. Only a black-ash figure remained, cemented to the boulder that had become as smooth as glass from years of Amy playing on it. The creeper rammed into the rock with fury, sending crumbling chunks falling off the boulder. Amy winced as Jerry’s parts, only somewhat cooked on the inside, scattered about the floor. Tentacles ripped at what little remained and flung the rest everywhere.
“No!” Jon yelled. He’d been battling the searcher near the entranceway when things got bright. The whole time he’d been trying to get deeper inside, but the searcher kept stunning him and he became more depleted with every shock. The smell of burnt air stung his nostrils and Jerry’s death turned him red.
Jon got in a hit, just one but managed to cripple the small drone he was fighting. Using his boot, he made it one with the earth. The gun, he thought, and dove up the stairs, away from the large creeper that was now, turning his way.
Amy gasped at the sight of Jon’s nub, realizing now why he’d had it tucked. The severed hand, a trail of blood leading outside; the drones must have found him outside the cave and shot it off!
He grabbed it, still warm and wet—then, he saw Amy. She was a mere two feet away, peeking around the large boulder at the entrance, shivering, in tears, doing her very best to remain quiet and invisible.
Jon’s eyes went round and time stopped. With a countenance she recognized and a small nod, he assured her—you’ll be okay, just stay hidden. Now, he had to fight, and succeed, for her, and the promise he made long ago. The body of his friend was ash and smoke clouded the air. A worst possible scenario. The creeper was emerging through it from below, swirling the air with a fury, toward him, slowly, angrily. With clearly perceived vengeance, the eyes were fireballs. Floating over the steps, its evil bright-reds searched, more so feeling the world, for likely, hopefully, it was unable to see directly.
Jon had no time to pry the clenched fingers of his right hand from the gun so he held it up, squeezing atop the trigger finger. The bullet ricocheted off then hit the cave’s ceiling, thickening the smoke cloud with falling dust. The drone swerved side to side, firing aimlessly, blindly, missing just the same.
Jon’s head rolled and fell downward. He was losing blood more quickly now without his arm hard-tucked, feeling faint, and weak, unable to make another shot. The world started to go dark.
He thought of Amy: reading to her and how she would derive new stories from the plot with alacrity—as if they shared a sort of TV family time, her stories were that expressive—and laughing or crying together at her vividly recalled dreams; she could describe them with immaculate detail every single morning; how she grew into the optimistic and cheery person she had become; regardless of their circumstances she always made the best of things and rarely complained. He pressed on and shook it off and the darkness abated, leaving him at least tunnel vision. He assumed he had two bullets left—he’d used one to kill the first of the trio that had spotted him outside the cave, and three others abominably in waste.
Amy stared in horror with one eye behind the rock. Tears left her eyes, blotching her dusty cheeks, dampening the dry ground beneath her. She knew there was nothing she could do, and regardless, her daddies had taught her: hide, do not move, be silent and still at all costs—NO MATTER WHAT! But nothing could prepare any child for this torment. Her discipline to be silent was breaking; a faint cry escaped her. And she knew—her eyes opened wide—the cost of her mistake. The rabbit at the junkyard, the skinny lady in town, I’m next! The drone did sense it—another person—and accelerated its pace. It discharged its laser again; now obvious, it was as blind as a bat.
Jon heard, but there was no way he could blame her. She’d done well, had been so controlled; she was—amazing! I must kill this machine. I won’t let it come to this! She needs me. I need her. “Leave her alone,” he yelled, each word emphasized loudly as he moved back and away from Amy. He stood with renewed power, adrenaline pumping through his veins like rocket fuel. His tunnel vision opened up and he could see everything as clear as if he was hopped up on drugs. Powered by the final will of a determined man, he took clear aim at the eyes. And he fired his gun.
The bullet ricocheted just the same. “Damn!” Jon cursed. He dropped the gun as the creeper sideswiped him hard. With Jon down, it stopped its barrage and went silent—it wanted, the other person.
Amy screamed a high-pitched note worthy of a sonic then let her pent-up emotions explode, “Daaaddeeee!”
The drone went full circle, veering about. It paused, rotating slightly left, then right, then hovered inches forward until it was almost touching her forehead. Amy was paralyzed by fear and held her breath. It was unable to see her directly, but knew she was right there. Its widespread eyes mesmerized her into a trance and she became petrified; the scanner charged.
Jon watched aghast. His determination rebooted his vigor and he rose. Limping her way, he wrapped his arm with his shirt to stop the bleeding. He felt the darkness returning and knew he had to save every drop. He was mad, red mad. He’d never fully activated before, not like Jerry—until now. He reached down and snatched the gun. His dead hand had released it and he was able to get a good solid grip on the weapon. He straightened his back with the last of his energy and lifted—then squeezed several times: click, click, click, nothing. Empty. “No, no, no!”
The creeper initiated the scan. It didn’t know her exact position so started from the ground up. Amy hugged her legs tight; the flat red beam touched her toes. She squeezed, compacting herself into a tight ball.
CRASH! The beam faced the sky instantly. Jon landed smack atop the drone. It wobbled and fought his weight as he did his best to hang on. It rose into the air, sideways away from the cave, tilting back, letting him dangle. Something gave him strength, the will to hold on. He worked his fingers into a deep groove near the edge of the bladeless turbine at its center. He had a plan. The machine kept jerking but Jon’s fingers were caught tight, not allowing him to fall, crunching, breaking. He didn’t feel pain—just used it. Shocking daggers ejected but they missed, allowing him to wedge tightly between them; he used the design flaw to his advantage. They were round, only deadly at the sharp tip. Impatiently, the creeper shifted like a rodeo bull, jerking Jon around but not losing him. It tried a flip and Jon landed on the top right above the turb
ine. He was able to position himself, lock himself into place, and time slowed. He looked to Amy—then forced it in.
The arm was numb so he didn’t feel much. The heat burned his skin, cauterizing the end of it. The drone couldn’t fly with something in the bladeless turbine and lost its ability to maintain lift. It crashed into the ground. The shockers popped in and out uselessly while the drone jerked on the ground like a subdued pig.
Desperation.
The incinerator ejected, turned on itself and fired. The flames blew Jon back, igniting him like a match; the creeper lit itself in the process too. The deadly goo was sticky and coated Jon like molten glass. He rolled frantically while the burning creeper rose up once again, turning face to him. This time without hesitation the incinerator rotated forward, and fired.
He flapped and rolled like a worm that’d been injected with adrenaline. Amy jerked her head to the side at the sight of Daddy Jon’s burning body. Her face was hot but she felt frozen inside, dead. She could bear to witness this no longer. And that’s when she saw them.
The silhouette of men rushing toward her against the descending sun, that’s all she could make out. They jumped over brush and ducked into their clearing. Robots! They were white plastic, just like the ones she’d seen fighting in her dream. They regarded her but passed by, running, prioritizing Jon and the creeper. The first lifted its weapon and fired a green ray. The creeper flew back like it had been hit with gravity and crashed into the roots of the big tree. It twitched. Electric sparks fizzed about its shell. A puff of black smoke whooshed out. And another robot came through the brush.
“We’re here to help, little girl,” it said in an authoritative but caring voice, kneeling down beside her. It sounded as if there was a real human inside, but the frame was too thin for that. After putting out the fire with a blast of white powder, the others quickly turned him over. Jon had gone still. The bot kneeling with Amy offered comfort, attempting to lure her with open arms—but she bolted.
