Apocalypse Weird: The Dark Knight

by Nick Cole

  Night was coming on. The winds were picking up outside. A camera showed a gray and white grainy image of fast moving thunderclouds out beyond the coastal hills. Bertram didn’t need color to know everything outside was gray and covered in blasting grit and ash from a thermonuclear holocaust twenty-five years gone.

  He moved closer to the space heater and thought a bit more of the stew might be nice for the evening. He looked forward to shutting down for the night. At midnight. Then he could crawl into his bunk with a Raymond Chandler and pretend Los Angeles still existed. The way it had been, back then. Long before he’d ever been born.

  In the last of the washed out daylight, they saw Cory appear on a grainy grey and white CCTV monitor. He climbed the embankment near the old transformer station below the library. Out of the dead swamp alongside the railroad tracks. Cory stood in the alleyway, dressed in a mask and cape. The cape flew away from his large body in the oncoming storm.

  “Look at this,” said Bertram.

  Cade sent himself in his rolling chair along the battery of monitors and crashed into Bertram’s chair. “Is it him?”

  Bertram shook his head slowly.

  “No, doesn’t look like the guy we’ve been seeing. Not at all.”

  “So if it isn’t him,” asked Cade. “Then who is it?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Cory had wandered through the fog as the buzzing of the insects grew louder and louder. At first it sounded tiny and close. Like another gnat. He’d even slapped at the air around him, waving the insect away as it came near and then flew off, or so he imagined. The fog grew thick and swirled about, so thick that Cory couldn’t even see the ground, while the buzzing grew and grew as if many, many insects were everywhere, hovering and dashing. And then there was a moment...

  ... as though a soap bubble had bent and then burst.

  ... as though a bell, deep and low, had been struck.

  ... as though that sound were so ingrained into the very fabric of the universe that once it sounded, it was as though it had sounded in many places all at once. Its echo seemed to reverberate through everything, even one’s mind.

  The air was much colder now. Less sweet. It tasted of ash and dust and iron, and even though there was fog, the air was dry and the fog was disappearing as Cory pushed through withered skeletal trees and dry, dead grass grown very tall. Cory approached a small slope covered in piles of ancient dead, brown, black and occasional crimson leaves.

  Cory followed a barely worn path to the embankment, turning once to look back for the strangers that must have followed him down into the swamp. The sky was dark, fading to black. Early evening and cold. Instinctively, Cory looked for the moon.

  If Daddy is in trouble, he thought, I’ll see the Bat Signal on the moon.

  But there was no moon and the clouds seemed to rush across the sky.

  Goosebumps rose along Cory’s exposed arms. The air was growing colder by the second. The sweat under his mask was freezing.

  Cory climbed the hill, came to a small crumbling set of stone steps guarded by rusty handrails, and pulled himself over and onto the cracked steps of the narrow stairway. Dead weeds pushed up through the cracks in the concrete. He followed the narrow stairs up to a rusting chain link fence and pushed through an old gate that swung open on a creaking note above the rising howl of the wind.

  A rectangular building with a roof like a flat hat, or that’s how it looked to Cory, waited, surrounded by a leaf-covered parking lot that bore great cracks and rents in it. Faded black and rusty brown leaves stirred and spun in sudden chaotic gusts.

  The building looked familiar to Cory, but somehow different. More worn out. Older than it should have been. It looked like the community library he and Daddy would sometimes go to on their “hikes”.

  Beyond the low flat square of the building, the shattered remains of a tall bell tower loomed against the night-dark storm. Neighborhoods, at once familiar and different to Cory, rose away on the low hills surrounding the place. All the houses were covered in ash and blackened as though by some great firestorm. Gaping dark holes and burned out structures sprawled beneath rotting black timbers that seemed to strike a gallows’ pose in the early evening. The black holes of windowless spaces reminded Cory of the depthless eye holes in the mask of the Scarecrow.

  Cory shivered.

  And then a dog came around the side of the familiar-not familiar flat-hat building.

  To Cory, the dog was like a police dog because it was a German Shepard, even though Cory didn’t known what a German Shepherd was. He only knew that Officer Wong, one of Daddy’s friends, had a dog that looked like this one.

  The dog stopped near some steps leading up to the building and watched Cory.

  Cory liked dogs. He walked forward, putting both hands out, and after a moment the German shepherd approached, sniffing Cory’s hands. First one, then the other. Then the dog heeled, looked over its shoulder and beat its tail against the crumbling parking lot as Cory rubbed its neck and stroked its sides in the rushing wind that seemed to rise and howl through the ruins all around.

  “Be careful with strange dogs, Cory,” he whispered to himself. Then, as he patted the friendly dog some more, “be careful,” he whispered again, repeating Daddy’s instructions.

  Now there was a man standing on the steps where the dog had first appeared. He was tall and rangy and thin. He wore a ratty old cowboy hat. He had a scraggly beard and long hair. He was dressed in a heavy coat and warm clothing. He raised a hand covered in a fingerless mitten and waved to Cory.

  “Howdy, stranger,” said Cade, holding the high explosive white phosphorus grenade behind his back and out of sight.

  Cory stood. The dog crossed back to the man in the cowboy hat, then turned back to Cory who remained standing and silent.

  The wind howled and roared all about them, sending more leaves off in sudden meaningless cyclones. The air felt dry and cold.

  “Whatcha doin’ out here,” asked Cade, adding, “Friend,” at the end.

  Cory shook his head only slightly, meaning to answer, but unsure if this man was a stranger also. Cory reviewed his understanding of strangers. From the initial explanation by Daddy, and then onto teachers, and finally the ones he’d met recently in the night and with the girl named Heather who’d gone off with the mean boys.

  And Mrs. Sheinman.

  Cade slipped his finger around the pin ring on the grenade. All he’d have to do is flick his finger and the pin would come loose. Hold it away from the grenade as he rolled it at the Terminator. The killing machine. The infiltration unit.

  He’s big enough to be one, Cade said to himself.

  “I’m looking for Daddy,” said Cory, calling out above the now blasting wind.

  Damn, thought Cade. Damn.

  The Cans were getting good. Better than they ever had been. There were rumors they even had infiltration units that could fool the dogs. Maybe this was one of ‘em.

  But Cade had to make sure.

  Wasting a human life was one thing. There were so few left to fight the Cans. Every loss was just more damage to the gene pool, a cup of spilled water, really. And then there was the grenade which was another thing. They had three of these. If it was a Can, the explosive would probably just slow it down. But that’s all Cade needed to do to get the rest of his tricks ready. Just slow it down. But if it was just some stray human, a wanderer, a transient, a survivor, another member of the small and increasingly exclusive club called humanity, then using the grenade was a waste.

  And...

  Wasting a human life was something also.

  Cade balanced all of this against the value of the building behind him. The last known database of all human knowledge. An old community library from the Before, turned server farm for the resistance of man against machine. They called the machines “SkyNet” because they had no name for it. Because it had never cared to identify itself to humanity. Instead, it was only interested in wiping them out. Someone said the name cam
e from an old movie.

  Cade had never seen a movie.

  “Last chance, kid,” muttered Cade. Then, “You resistance? What unit?”

  “Daddy didn’t come home last night,” wailed Cory above the rising nightly storm. “I need to find him now. I think...” and then the wind carried his voice away, but Cade thought he heard something about a scarecrow.

  And now, as the stranger talked more, Cade knew. Humanity had a lot like this stranger in the days after the bombs “SkyNet” had used to nuke humanity back into the Stone Age. Humanity had many, many slow children. The voice. The flat tone, and now as Cade covered his eyes from the skirling wind and scathing dust, he could see better.

  “Kid’s slow,” Cade muttered to himself.

  He slid the grenade back into the pocket of his long coat and walked forward. The closer he got, the more he could see. The mask, the cape. The backpack. Strange. But when he saw the eyes, he knew there was nothing vat-grown about the stranger. The kid.

  Machines like to fix things. They can’t help but try to make it perfect.

  Inside the eyes, Cade saw fear. Worry. Concern. Humanity stuff. And they, the eyes of the boy, they were searching for someone to help him find what or who was lost. That was something humans did, something machines didn’t understand how to imitate. Yet. The owner of those eyes knew that other people helped someone who was lost, or someone who was looking for someone who was lost. Helped when help was needed.

  That’s right, Cade said to himself. We help each other. That’s the difference between organized resistance humanity and the savage cattle crawling under ruins of all the great cities that once were, avoiding the HK’s and the Terminator squads.

  We still help each other.

  It was also the difference between them and the machines.

  “Have you seen my Daddy?” asked Cory. The voice rose just barely above flat in pitch. There was almost an emphasis in it somewhere. A plea. A waver. A broken heart. A question.

  “No, kid. I haven’t,” said Cade. “But night’s comin’ on and we got to get inside. Will you come in out of the storm and share food with us? We’ll see about finding your Daddy, okay?”

  Cory’s teeth were chattering now. He felt tired and weak and confused.

  And very hungry.

  Cade gently took Cory’s arm and led him up the gritty steps of the old library and in through the main door. The wind howled, screaming as it blasted through the night-dark skeletal trees and across the silent ruins of neighborhoods, shrieking low horror through old broken windows and blasting out from missing doors in the remains of long-gutted houses. Homes.

  The world turned from gray to black and surrendered completely to night.

  Cade had closed the main door to the library behind them, shutting it, and Cory felt the silence of the waiting books and the old warm carpet wrap around him like a comforting blanket. He heard distant computers tick and hum and there was a fire going in the makeshift chimney within the reading lounge. Cade led Cory over to the fire and set him down on old worn cloth cushions inside deep chairs that felt just right. Cade took a blanket and draped it over Cory’s shoulders and then went to find Bertram.

  Cory sat shivering and watched the fire. There was a low mumble between Cade and Bertram, somewhere, discussing Cory.

  Nearby, the German Shepherd turned circles and for a moment Cade watched her, wondering if the Terminator had fooled her long enough and now she’d let them know the kid was one. Now that it was inside the last castle. It would be too late. Much too late.

  But she just turned in a circle and finally lay down, facing away from them, watching the main door and the night beyond its barrier. Bertram came out with a bowl of stew and lumbered over to the chairs. He set the bowl in front of Cory, then heaved himself into a leather chair across from the fire. Shadows and firelight played across his bushy brows and jowly face. His tiny coal black eyes watched Cory.

  “Eat,” rumbled Bertram.

  Cory took off his mask and wiped a heavy hand across his forehead, itching furiously at some sudden irritation. Then Cory picked up the bowl and took the old bent spoon and began to eat, blowing three times on each bite as was his constant habit. His method for coping. Three short puffs.

  It was good, Cory liked it.

  The more he ate, the more Bertram and Cade relaxed, knowing this stranger was not an infiltration unit sent by the Cans. A Terminator. A nightmare killing machine here inside humanity’s most valuable resource.

  “You’ll stay here tonight,” rumbled Bertram in the silence between pops in the fireplace.

  Cory put down the bowl and wiped his mouth with his bare arm.

  “I have to find my Daddy,” he whispered. He was tired, the sudden cold had taken everything out of him. “I have to.”

  Silence. The fire popped again.

  Outside, the wind howled across the roof and thundered off through the night.

  “Well, that will have to wait until daylight. No one’s finding anyone out there on a night like this. The last of summer is always like this. Or at least, has been since the bombs. It’s far too cold now. You’ll die of exposure by midnight, especially with flimsy gear like that. Now eat and rest, boy. You can sleep here tonight, on that couch. We’ll get you another blanket and keep the fire going just for you, even though it’s not our normal protocol.”

  Bertram took off his coat and began rub his hands near the fire.

  “What’s your name, son?” he asked.

  Cory stared off, at nothing. At whatever Cory stared at.

  When he didn’t say anything, Bertram cleared his throat. “Batman, is it?”

  After a moment, Cory nodded once, slowly, then whispered, “I am the night. I am vengeance. I am Batman.”

  “Finish your stew... my lad,” sighed Bertram and added a groan as he stood. “Cade, we’ve got to talk a medic through removing an appendix. Seems Alpha Company’s XO has gone and had an attack over at the Huntington Beach Bunker. They’re going to do the surgery near midnight after their medic comes in from patrol. So it’ll be a long night and we’ll need a secure line.”

  Cade said nothing, merely picking up his coat as he stood. They left Cory to the warmth and the fire and the quiet of the library. Cory continued to eat, his eyes slowly closing between bites, getting heavier and heavier. When he finished, he put the bowl down and took off his cape and backpack. Then his utility belt. His shoes. He lay down on the couch and pulled the heavy blanket over himself once more. Then he got back up and went to pet the dog, which was his way of thanking her for coming to find him when he was scared. A way without words.

  She licked his hands and Cory, satisfied, returned to the couch, covered himself in the old blanket again and prayed.

  “Dear God Jesus, please take care of Daddy.” Then he closed his eyes and slept.

  Late in the night, long after the appendectomy was done, a success, Cade came and sat in the big leather chair after he’d quietly added a large chunk of dry wood to the fire. He sat for a while and just listened to the wind outside, far away and moaning softly. Out there, the temperature was now down in the low 30’s. Cade watched the boy until his eyes also closed and then he too was asleep.

  Deep in the night, long after everyone had turned in, long after Bertram had finished his nightly chapter of Raymond Chandler’s The High Window, the German Shepherd awoke. Her head darted up suddenly. Her pointy triangular ears flicked this way and that way. Searching. Listening to something that had woken her from her dog dreams. When she couldn’t find it, she lay her head back down on her paws and watched the main door until her eyes closed again after some time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  0558

  Mission Runtime 156 hours 28 min 30 sec.

  The Thinking Machine noted the time and continued its work on the articulating joint located in what remained of its leg assembly.

  44 degrees and rising.

  Infrared operating at 39.6 percent efficiency.

 
Mission Status: Incomplete.

  Message review at 0600, standby.

  The Thinking Machine removed the bullet fragment it had been chasing inside its internal chassis assembly. Synthetic blood, more viscous than actual blood, ran down the synthetic flesh of its shredded leg.

  There are still 5 bullet entry points and thirty-six unaccounted fragments located within the main combat chassis.

  Weapons Status:

  20mm Chain Gun, destroyed. Marked with GPS tag for recovery and reclamation.

  9mm sub-compact Pulse Rifle, operational. Ammunition Status: Critical. 46 Rounds, electric impact.

  Additional notes: Laser sight Inoperative.

  .50 AutoMag Pistol. 2 at full Cap Magazines. 20 rounds total. Laser Sight operational.

  The Thinking Machine activated the compact welding tool nearby and cauterized the synthetic flesh around the wound. Chemical symbols scrolled down the left side of its internal diagnostic display as the machine snapped off the analysis program, redirecting its processor to continue the data crawl it had been conducting on the last 24 hours of its operational runtime.

  After contact with the Virus Unit, it had been experiencing lag slip on its data gathering and acquisition assembly. There was every chance, it was 84.8 percent convinced, that it had somehow missed observable evidence of an infestation node located in the local area.

  06:00:00

  Message upload.

  Mission Status: Incomplete

  Contact with Virus Infestation at location LAT:33.68679902741575 LONG:-117.67460337790988

  29 units Terminated.

  This unit status upload in attached file.

  Mission continues.

  There was a message from SILAS.

  06:00:02

  Message Received.

  Mission Status: Incomplete.

  SILAS: All files relating to operational capacity of this unit complete. No maint required for mission continuance and completion. No weapons drop this unit. This unit must complete mission within timeframe parameters.