Apocalypse Weird: The Dark Knight

by Nick Cole

  “Run kid,” he whispered. It was innate. It was what any human would want of any other fellow survivor in the years after the bombs. In the years of the machines.

  But if the Terminator got the kid now...

  And Cade hated himself for not the first time in his short and very hard life.

  ... then the library would be safe.

  Targeting at 98.5...

  Systems Diag Running...

  Virus Tracking Algorithm Processes Running...

  The Thinking Machine had followed the Virus, tagged Target Alpha by its MicroFrame processor, along the broken trail of waist high weeds leading away from the destroyed learning facility. Already it had identified the shoe print of Target Alpha and cross-indexed it with a Virus-made brand from before Self Awareness.

  That Target Alpha could outrun the Thinking Machine was clear. The malfunctioning knee assembly within the combat chassis was slowing movement by half.

  Virus Termination Protocols in Effect.

  Terminate all Virus on sight.

  Targeting System fluctuation 98.1... Still within Acceptable Kill Parameters.

  But the Thinking Machine was reasoning.

  Because to think was to reason.

  There was still the Virus node SILAS had sent the Thinking Machine to search out and destroy. If the Virus node was hidden, probability indicated that most likely Target Alpha would assume the node to be a place of safety. Probability Logic Processes indicated Target Alpha would then attempt to return to the node.

  Virus Footwear Imprint Identified and Cataloged.

  Tracking multiple imprints within Visual Scanning Perimeter. Heading Southeast...

  The Machine tore through the ancient rust-rotten fence at the far end of the field and set its bundle of “rags” down in the ashy dirt. A moment later, its MicroFrame was interfacing with the Wifi signal of the PulseRifle.

  Cory’s footprints led down to the road below the slope and into the ruined Virus dwelling units.

  “Go where it’s safe, Cory,” was what Cory found himself repeating over and over again as his sobs faded. “Go where it’s safe now.”

  Daddy wasn’t home.

  Mrs. Sheinman had become a “stranger”.

  There were strangers all around his house.

  And then Cory remembered the good dog. The dog from the library who had been so nice to Cory and let him pet her as much as he liked to. Which was a lot.

  He remembered the good dog.

  He knew that the library was the library he and Daddy had gone to many times when Daddy had to study to become “Sergeant”. The library was different now, but Cory still knew it was the same place where all the books were and especially the one about pancakes, which was Cory’s favorite.

  “Nate the Great Pancake Eater,” he called it.

  Cory stood and wiped tears from his eyes with balled fists because you weren’t supposed to stick your fingers in your eyes. That’s what Daddy had said.

  Cory would go back to the good dog.

  He began to run through the ash and darkened sand, back to the library.

  Chapter Thirty

  That the Terminator was following Cory was obvious from the ruined houses along the ridgeline as Cade crouched and crawled and dashed to keep the Terminator in sight.

  The thing was carrying the 9mm PulseRifle, locked, loaded, and ready for bear. There would be no stopping the Killing Machine.

  In time he lost sight of Cory, but Cade could guess the kid was making a beeline straight for the library, the only place he would think it might be safe.

  “So stop...” whispered Cade in anger.

  It was that moment.

  That moment every soldier knew was coming. That moment Cade had been warned about by the oldster and the other soldiers who’d seemed so hard to him when he was just fourteen and carrying explosives to take out Can tanks for the Resistance in the frozen desert of Nevada. It was that moment for Cade, the survivor of battles no one cared to name anymore because battles were no longer for glory or victory. That moment every soldier knew he might face one day. Battles were for survival of the human race now.

  Battles were won by sacrifice.

  Cade had just the grenade to take out the Cans state of the art Killing Machine. No Barrett. No electromagnetic pulse rifle. No machine gun with armor piercing or explosive rounds. No portable railgun rocket launcher.

  Just a grenade.

  “Might as well...” he muttered as he crawled along an old drainage ditch upslope of the determined Terminator. Cade slithered as fast as the machine dragged its bad leg, its head swiveling side to side as it plowed farther and farther into the ruin.

  It was heading straight for the library.

  Cade saw the territory surrounding the library in his mind. They were north of it now. The last shreds of the old human neighborhoods fading and then the dead open space of the old rail lines. Then the library.

  The Terminator made a sudden sharp left turn, halted and scanned the houses, its head moving slowly across the waste and destruction, then it continued down a small street cluttered with cars and debris. Cade knew the street led to an access road that opened onto the open area and the rail lines.

  There would be no throwing of the grenade. Even if its small explosion of unquenchable white phosphorus somehow landed on the machine, it wouldn’t bother the thing. The Terminator would merely reach into its flaming flesh and dig the burning explosive out and remove it. The only reason the Resistance carried these type of grenades was to melt down the Terminator’s combat chassis so the Cans couldn’t reclaim it or even find it.

  That’s why Cade had brought the grenade in the first place.

  No, the grenade would have to be inserted, by hand, into the chassis, within the alloy limbs and servos, stuck where it couldn’t be removed, so it could do its work and melt the nightmare thing down.

  “Running outta time, man,” Cade cursed at himself as he watched the Terminator slowly disappearing down the small street. He knew it was worried about an ambush.

  Worried, Cade laughed bitterly. Then he remembered Cans don’t worry. They don’t feel. They’re just machines.

  “You know what you’ve gotta do,” he heard himself say as he picked up the pace and began to crouch-run along the ridgeline drainage ditch toward a shortcut that would put him above and in front of the machine. “You know what you’ve got to do.”

  Cory slid down the slope above the access road and landed at the bottom in a tumble. Even though the afternoon air was cold and brittle in his lungs, his mask was filled with sweat. In front of him, the train tracks ran away to the north and south. The wasteland on either side was also considered, by all the neighborhood kids Cory had played with throughout the years of his adolescence, as the “train tracks” in general. It was an area of small stands of wild trees the children called “forests” and built forts and hideouts within on weekends and after school. The area had been a maze of trails across low hills and wide patches of dry ground where weeds and sage mixed with wild cacti and red ferns. Farther down had been the run-off stream and then the swamp.

  Cory knew where he needed to go and started off through the wasteland, running along the trails that skirted the train tracks. A high hill rose off to his right and Cory recognized, remembered, the hill and all the “forts” they’d dug into its top on all those long lost weekends of childhood forever. Cory had loved the making of “forts” and was often allowed to carry away all the dirt while other children made the dirt clod “ammo” that would be used to hurl at trains or constructed the mounds around the hole or even the roof for cover.

  And even though all the lushness and greenery and multi-colored houses that watched from across the tracks were gone, Cory still recognized the face of the place as familiar.

  He could see the swamp ahead. He knew the good dog was on the other side of it. Waiting at the library.

  Scanning...

  Target Alpha Tracks Identified.

  Scanni
ng...

  Scanning for IEDs...

  Scanning for Virus...

  The Thinking Machine continued its progress, dragging its damaged leg as it followed the tracks through the fire-blasted sand and ash. Its only concern was that a Virus ambush unit might be waiting somewhere nearby. But the longer it followed the footprints, the more Probability Logic and the Reason Matrix Network kept coming to the same conclusion that there would be no ambush. The number against an ambush now stood at 78.2.

  Scanning...

  Mission Status: CRITICAL

  Scanning...

  Target Alpha Identified.

  Terminate.

  Mission Priority SILAS Override...

  Mission Redirect: Locate Virus Node.

  Scanning...

  Cory turned and saw the stranger far behind him. Down the train tracks and coming. The stranger and the big gun.

  Cory ran for the swamp.

  Cade came to the edge of the hill that had been cut in half long ago to make room for the rail line. Now it was just a cliff opening up into the empty spaces of the wasteland and the dead swamp. He could just make out the weathered slate gray shingles of the flat-roofed library poking through the dead trees of the old swamp. Cory was just below him, running as fast as he could.

  Cade flung himself down the crumbling cliff as chalk and dry dirt erupted in plumes around his feet.

  “Hey... Batman!” Cade shouted as his descent turned into a tumble and he went end over end toward the bottom and the rail line below. Ten feet before the bottom, there was a sheer drop and Cade went over that, landing in a pile of hard sand that drove the wind from his lungs. He felt something “snap” near his hip. He was still clutching the grenade.

  Cory stopped.

  “Batman...” gasped Cade.

  Cory remained standing, watching the chalk-covered man roll over onto his back and suck in a lungful of air. “... stop,” the man panted.

  Cade tilted his head to the right and saw the Terminator coming along the tracks toward them. The PulseRifle leveled and ready to fire in their direction. In that moment Cade knew that the library meant more than just the survival of the human race. Somehow it meant much, much more. And... his leg was probably broken.

  Cade motioned for Cory to come closer.

  The Terminator was less than a hundred yards away. Cade wondered why in the hell it wasn’t firing.

  But in his heart he knew why.

  Target Bravo Identified and Tagged.

  Scanning for ambush... Negative.

  Terminate Virus Protocols in effect...

  SILAS Override. Mission Status: Critical.

  Secure (1) Virus unit for Interrogation Mode re: Virus Node location...

  Targeting...

  Cory bent down to Cade.

  Cade looked into a child’s eyes in a man’s body. Yes, he was big, almost as big as Cade. Yes, he was a young man. But the eyes, the eyes told you Cory was just a child. That he would always be a child. Cade couldn’t remember ever being a child.

  He only remembered survival.

  And right then, at that moment, he knew he’d need to switch his plan. Cory had to go on living. It had been his intention to arm the grenade, give it the kid, and run. At least the kid would be destroyed and Cade knew if he were caught himself, he’d never tell the Cans where the library was.

  “Kid,” Cade huffed as he sucked at the dry cold air. His voice papery. “You can’t go back there. You can’t go back to the library.”

  “But it’s safe there... with the dog. Safe from Strangers.” There was almost a whine in Cory’s flat voice. Almost.

  “Can’t...”

  Cade knew the Terminator would fire at any moment. Knew he was about to take one for the Resistance. That had always been part of the deal.

  Always.

  Someone had once said to him, “Humanity’s gotta go on, kid, no matter what.”

  “You gotta go somewhere else. You gotta go someplace else that’s safe. You can’t let that... thing... follow you back there.” Then he grabbed Cory’s jacket and pulled him close. “You can’t, understand me? You have to be brave now, Batman. I... we... need your help.”

  Cory nodded his head.

  Cade was about to say, “Now, run,” when the Terminator fired.

  Cade took a 9mm electrically accelerated dumb slug right in the gut. He watched as his blood spattered out onto the dry chalk and sand alongside the old rusting rails. With complete control, he looked at Cory and nodded. Willing Cory to run. Now.

  Cory ran and a moment later, Cade armed the white phosphorus grenade and passed out.

  Cory ran for the swamp. Ran for the library. He didn’t care what the man said. He wanted someplace safe from strangers right now. He wanted the dog. He wanted Daddy.

  “Don’t go down in the swamp, Cory. There’re monsters in there!”

  He heard a small explosion.

  He followed the old trail down into the dry sand and the withered blackened trees. All around him, dead wood twisted and clutched at the gray sky. The air was cold and getting colder. He could see the library rising above the dead trees.

  “Sometimes little boys need to be brave.”

  Cory stopped and listened to his heart thundering inside his massive chest.

  “Sometimes little boys need to be brave.”

  And...

  “I don’t want to be brave anymore!” he shouted, his voice quivering with fear.

  And then he heard his Daddy... from that time, that time when something had seemed so frightening and Cory couldn’t take it one second longer. Was it a fair, or an airshow, or some free thing Colin Morris could take his son to so Cory could have memories even if Colin Morris wasn’t sure about that at all.

  Maybe the memories were for Colin.

  Maybe.

  On that day when the jets had ripped the sky and torn the air to shreds above Cory...

  Disturbing Cory.

  Scaring Cory.

  Cory crying and holding his ears as his Dad walked him away from the chaos of the air show and promised to take him home once they found the other people they’d come with...

  He’d said, “For just a few minutes more, Cory, be brave.” Close and gently. The smell of Daddy overwhelming the jets and the popcorn and all the other sounds and smells that had frightened Cory.

  The smell of safety.

  ... of trust.

  ... of someone who never stops... love is patient... is kind... always listens... makes things better... the world safer... Daddy.

  “For just a few minutes more, Cory, be brave.”

  He saw the stranger coming for him through the dead trees.

  Cory saw the big gun.

  Cory knew the stranger was a monster worse than the Scarecrow and the Joker and all the rest. Much, much worse.

  Cory ran off through the dead trees, away from the library. Running for some other unknown safe place. Someplace where he could find Daddy or someone who’d understand that Cory needed help. That his bravery was running out.

  And the insects, the invisible insects began to buzz and that strange fog seemed to come from nowhere and rise as Cory dove deeper and deeper into the dead swamp. It was dry and cold inside the clutching fog and Cory ran through the trees that were barely visible now. He turned once and saw the Stranger following. Dim, distant, but there inside the mist with Cory.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The fog came close, and for a moment Cory felt strangely light and peaceful.

  An unseen bell struck once with a distant dull gong and in that single sound, there were notes and chords that stretched away and seemed to never end. Cory closed his eyes and smelled flowers and cherry blossoms.

  Cherry blossoms were like the smell of the Slurpee he and Daddy got sometimes.

  And his mother.

  The air turned dry and warm, and when Cory took his next step forward, he heard the sound of grit being ground into a parking lot. That unique dry echoing sound one hears on a hot d
ay when the sun beats down and the air feels like a blast from an oven. The next steps that followed were just like that one and Cory opened his eyes.

  He was standing in front of a 7-11.

  The 7-11 Daddy took him to sometimes.

  “The Slurpee place.”

  That’s what he called it.

  Cory walked into the store as the doors parted for him. He felt the cool blast of air conditioning. There was no one in the store. No music either. Just the sound of a Slurpee machine ceaselessly whirling. Cory walked toward the machine and watched as the blue and the red Slurpee inside the machine turned over and over as though nothing were ever wrong with the world.

  Cory took a small cup and filled it with red Slurpee. He set it down, selected a small straw and put it into the red colored ice drink.

  And then he drank.

  There were no strangers here.

  He turned, expecting the door to slide open and to see the stranger with the big gun come in and shoot him. But the door remained closed and outside all was hot and lifeless.

  Cory took off his backpack and undid his cape. He laid it out on the ground beneath the slowly swirling Slurpee machine. Then he took off his mask. Pieces of black ash had somehow gotten inside. Cory brushed those away and they fell onto the clean linoleum floor and were blown away by the draft coming from the air conditioning.

  Cory sat down with his Slurpee and continued to suck its icy coolness.

  He would wait here for Daddy.

  Daddy would come here.

  This was a Daddy place.

  In time, Cory curled up on his cape and slept. He was very tired from his long and strange adventure.

  When he awoke, it was night outside the store. But inside the store, it was brightly lit and Cory wandered about and ate a few snacks. A Slim Jim. Some potato chips. A candy bar. He walked outside through the automatic sliding door and entered the night.

  It was quiet. The moon wasn’t up yet.