Program Erin

by Alex Fall

  "You know what I mean, *cu-"

  "Hey now, don't cuss."

  "Stop telling me that!" I commanded as I sat up. "I can cuss whenever! It makes me feel good!"

  With a suddenness that startled even me, he jumped up and grabbed my arms. "No! It doesn't! Good food, naps, warm showers, creating things, all of those make you feel good. All of this cussing and fighting and killing, that makes you feel terrible and angry! Erin!" He paused.

  "Erin..." He repeated, yet quieter. "You've got to stop. Please, PLEASE find another way. A new way that doesn't involve fighting and killing. This violence is destroying you. It's going to catch up and kill you. Please, don't die."

  The emotion in his words, the depth of his plea, the seriousness on his face; it was unprecedented. I've never seen him this serious about anything before. Those last few words, his voice sounded as if he might even cry. It took me aback.

  "I'm not going to die."

  His hands slipped up to where my neck and shoulders meet. He looked me straight in the eyes and took a controlled breath. "Yes, you will. Somehow, this fighting will kill you.

  You've-"

  "I said I won't die. Are you-"

  "No, don't interrupt! Not this time." The spike in volume and the heavy tone he used...scared me. What's going on? This Fake Arty, he makes me very uncomfortable. "Erin, do you have any idea how bad your nightmares would be if I disappeared from your dreams? Have you ever thought about how many people hate you for hurting them, for murdering their friends and their families? Haven't you noticed how scared Sharon is of you, and how you're crew is running out of patience with you? It's because of your violence."

  Even though I looked away, I could feel his words forcing their way into my head, imposing themselves on my thoughts. I didn't want them there. Somehow, Fake Arty found my conscience, awoke it, and punished it. He kept illustrating how all of the bad things that happen to me and all the things that irritate me are self induced. Occasionally he would reach his fingers up and flash a memory in my mind just to prove a point. I was so full of rage that he would point out how I failed, and that everything is somehow MY fault, but at the same moment, it touched my heart and made me feel guilty. Every time I wanted to lash out at him for talking, another part of my mind would condemn me, tell me how worthless I was, how weak I was, how I failed at everything. He was right. I'm a terrible being. I can only hurt those around me, and I'm very good at doing it. I don't deserve friends. I don't deserve crew members. I don't deserve a child. In a world ravaged by war and greed, I fit right in. I guess that means I'm no better than those I kill. That's why people want to kill me. I never overcame my programming, and being programmed isn't living. I don't deserve to be alive.

  The only reason I lived through programming was because of my DNA. In other words, it was sheer dumb luck. I wasn't special. My body was, but I wasn't. My personality was useless to them. THEY treated me worse than a lab rat. I was an object. Yet, I clung to the belief that I was more than that. That belief kept me alive until I broke out, and after I broke out, that belief drove me to shut down their sick experiments. I spent several years carving a new life out for myself. Years! And in a couple of moments in one dream, a figment of my imagination points out that I haven't improved at all. I'm still the same experimental object the real Arty found years ago. There is nothing special about me. My personality is blight to existence. And the icing on the cake? In a desperate attempt to find purpose, I adopt the one THEY forced on me. I have made my purpose in life to be a weapon.

  Other memories began to volunteer themselves at plaguing me. Arty's first girl, Dee. She would be alive if I had simply died. THEY gunned her down because she helped hide me. Buster, at the Dweller school. He got sniped. I'm pretty sure he bled out. That wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been there. And all the other Dwellers got taken to who knows where. How many more died because of me? And the people I killed...

  Soon, I began to tremble, and tears collected in my eyes. The figment finally stopped talking. My guess was because he saw one of my tears hit the grass I was staring at.

  "Thanks for the pep talk," I choked out, trying not to break down. This must be what it feels like to be eviscerated.

  "Erin, I'm showing you all of this for a reason," he replied gently.

  "Yeah, to make me feel like *cuss!*" I sputtered. I saw on his face the disappointment. I just cussed again, despite everything he told me. It hurt my insides to think about it. "Well it worked! Congratulations!"

  "I wasn't telling you to make you feel bad."

  "Stop touching me!" I screamed in an emotional rage. My mind was so broken, I felt sick. I stood and trotted off to a tree a ways off. If I did break down crying, I didn't want it be in front of him. I didn't want it to be in front of anyone. I reached and braced myself against the trunk. My head dropped and I squeezed my eyes shut to try to hold back my intense feelings. When I dared to take a breath, it was broken and uneven. The sounds of people screaming and yelling in pain echoed in the distance. The nightmares were coming back. I softened my stance and rested my forehead against my forearms. I kept my eyes shut and held my breath to calm myself. I don't want to be asleep anymore.

  I began to recite the list of medicines used in my experimental procedures as a sort of distraction, to help calm myself.

  "Adjustment session 21. DE-410. Forty units. Galenasthetesthene. Twelve units per hour. Local denatoxin. Forty-two units per hour, drip line infused. CCA-5, type A positive. Ten units per..."

  When I calmed enough to open my eyes, I was looking at a hand holding a lemon. It caused me to stop whispering to myself. I looked over at Fake Arty with tear filled eyes. He smiled warmly.

  "You left. Why'd you do that?"

  "What do you want?" My voice is still shaky.

  "I can't let you wake up without cheering you up. And seeing as how you're about to wake up, I don't have much time."

  I looked back at the ground and swallowed, holding a breath again to keep from sputtering when I talked or inhaled.

  Fake Arty moved around to the other side of the tree. A finger touched my on the underside of my chin and raised my head. The human contact tingled like faint electricity. I found myself looking eye to eye with him, as he was leaning to make his face the same level as mine.

  "Erin. You deserve to live. You deserve to have loving, caring friends, and you especially deserve..." Something yellow crept into my field of vision. "This lemon."

  My emotions swirled suddenly inside me, causing me to sputter. But along with it came...a chuckle? Did I just laugh?

  "I hate it when you do that," I said with a slight smile. I also grabbed the lemon.

  "Read you? I know."

  I looked down. Earlier, he implied he wasn't done talking. I was afraid to know what else he had to say. "Is that everything?" I asked.

  "No." I grimaced at his response. "Up till now, you've been leading your own life with your own ideas free of anyone else."

  Up till now? What's that supposed to mean? Where is he going with this?

  "It was a little rough, but I think I showed you what your current life course has done for you, yes?"

  I nodded when I realized that question wasn't rhetorical, still looking at the ground.

  "You know how I always say you're beautiful? You have potential to be much more so, but I think I need to guide you to show you how. So it's time for you to try things my way for a bit, OK?"

  The defiant side of me made me look up to meet his gaze. The regretful side of me told me to shut up and listen.

  "From now on, you don't ever fight for yourself, got it?"

  "What?!" I shouted.

  My figment held up a finger to shush me. "You will never fight out of anger, you will never retaliate, you will no longer seek revenge. It's time for you to be a hero. Think you can do that?"

  "No! Absolutely not!"

  "Do you think you are smart?" He asked.

  "Yes."

  "Do you think you are strong?"


  "I guess. Not particularly after your pep talk."

  "Well I think you are both. It's time to combine those forces. It's time to be a hero."

  "What does that even mean?" I asked, quite flustered.

  "No more acting out of anger. No more acting for yourself. No. More. Killing. I understand it's ingrained into your very essence to fight, so let's do it my way. You will fight to protect others. You will fight in behalf of those who can't. And when you fight, don't aim to kill. Aim to save."

  "You're asking a lot of me. I can't do all that," I warned as I took the first bite of the lemon. My god, this one tastes so good...

  "Yes you can. You're strong and smart. Even if it takes a little time, you can do it. I'll show you the way. I'll guide you every night, if that's what it takes. Plus naps."

  His goofy smile was coming back. And it was contagious.

  "So this is your first assignment! Step one! Every night, we open with cello practice."

  "Why is this so important all of the sudden?" I asked, trying to hold back a smile. His enthusiasm was entertaining.

  Fake Arty smiled, but did not answer. Instead, he grabbed my hand, raised it up and kissed me across my knuckles. "Have a good morning."

  Adrenaline surged through me. Why you little--

  My arm flinched under my pillow. It was the reflex meant to pop that figment across the cheek. Instead, it carried over to the real world and awoke my pain, which hit me like a hammer. My burns throbbed, my massive bruises ached, and my mind was a mess from the dream. I had teary eyes even in the real world. No killing? Stupid figment...

  I forced myself to roll over, avoiding the burn on my neck. The soft, yellowy light of dawn put a glow in the building, even though the room we slept in has no windows. Turns out, our "safe place" was a multi story bank, so we set up on the third story. I saw Sharon on the other side of the room. I could hear everyone else breathing, but someone's breathing was off. Someone was awake. Who's awake right now? Vick?

  "Vick..." I mumbled.

  The person stirred and drew a deep breath. Reggie stood and came into view.

  "Oh. I need pain medicine."

  "I bet. Those bruises on your back look terrible," he said as he began to dig in my pack.

  "When did you see my back?"

  "When you peeled what was left of your sweater off last night before collapsing."

  Oh, right. I guess that did happen. I must have been full of sleep meds. Reggie handed me two white pills and a cup of water. I swallowed them and drank, trying to ignore the heavy silence.

  "I won't be moving much today. And...Sorry about earlier," I mumbled.

  "What?"

  "I said sorry. For being...me...I guess..."

  "Heh, this is a rare opportunity."

  "I'm not repeating it," I said in dismissal. To show that it was my final statement, I rolled over and tried to get as comfortable as I was going to get.

  "Well, I guess I'll pass the message on." Based on the sound of Reggie's voice, I could tell he was smiling.

  I would never have said something like that a month ago. I could hear Fake Arty's voice rattling in my head as I attempted to fall back asleep. It was sweet and reassuring. I guess that means some part of me does not want me to give up on myself.

  Part 17

  The following days were blurry, in part because I was drugged up to stay well rested and pain free. My healing processes worked their wonders and in two days we were advancing further to the edge of the city, towards a cache that my crew had supposedly set up. Our second day came to rest at an old furniture depot. Turns out, not every building had been ransacked yet, so Wyatt powered up its system and hacked the heavy doors, allowing us entry. Though dusty, everything was in tact, and no pre war security systems either. Just to make sure we were safe, I decided that we should set up camp in the holding room once used to keep the packing and unloading equipment. That room was adequately secure. After dragging in some couches, sofas, and cushions, we made ourselves at home and soon drifted to sleep...except for me.

  The air's night chill was gradually turning into biting cold. It was one twenty-three in the morning, and I couldn't sleep. Yes, I was tired and needed to heal, but the bodily need for warmth trumped my bodily need for rest. Either I would have to lay here shivering until I passed out from exhaustion (which might take a full day) or I could expose myself further to the cold air in an attempt to find something warm. Surely there is at least more blankets. And if it really came down to it, there's always sleep medicine.

  The sound of distant haunting memories dissipated when I sat up in bed. My mind snapped to full alert the moment the air outside my blanket touched my skin. My shivering worsened. I kept expecting to see my breath, but perhaps it was too dark, or not humid enough. Yet when I sat up, someone else stirred. Vick, who had been lying on top of his bed, rolled over when he saw me. How did see me? It's so dark...ah yes, my eyes. Sometimes I forget.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Cold," I mumbled.

  A soft light from a device he kept by his bed lightened the path just enough for him, but now I could see clearly. Sure enough, there was my breath.

  "Do you need a heater?"

  I grunted in reply. I also squeezed my eyes shut and stiffened, trying to calm down my shivering. Moments later, a huge fleece blanket was draped across me and a small metal box placed within my reach. I wrapped up in the blanket, then turned on the heater. A gentle hum started up and Vick's light went dark. The room was still and quiet, and a thin window slit near the top of the room let a few twinkling stars shine through. However, my ears picked up something else. A sort of thumping noise. The sound of something outside the building.

  A creature let out a growl just outside the window, deep and clicky sounding, coupled with a shadow passing by the window slit. I kept my eyes shut to keep the room dark, but Vick sat up in bed.

  "What was that?" He asked in an unsettled whisper.

  "Leftover. Don't make any light."

  The thumping of the creature rummaging around the building carried on for almost a minute, but afterwards fell silent.

  "How can you be so calm?" Vick asked.

  "I don't know. Probably because of the Directorates."

  "Well it's quite a bit more frightening for us normal people."

  My eyes cracked open. "Thanks..."

  "Heh, I'm messing with you." After he noticed my eyes glaring at him, he added, "Am I not allowed to do that?"

  I rolled over. "I'm going to sleep."

  The morning brought a slight warmth with it, but it was the tapping of a keyboard that woke me up. Fake Arty's gentle nature and the sound of the cello calmed my waking process. Everyone was still asleep, except for Sharon, who was buried in blankets and pillows, typing on the laptop. I must have stirred when I awoke, because when I lifted my head, Sharon was looking at me.

  "What are you doing?" I asked after groaning.

  "Typing. I'm bored."

  "Sorry."

  "I'm hungry! I can't find anything to eat." Her voice was so loud compared to the level of noise I woke to.

  "Sh! Don't wake anyone up." I whispered harshly.

  "I'm already up," Wyatt commented.

  "No you weren't, you just woke up," I said.

  "Gar, I'm hungry!" Sharon said.

  "OK, give me a second," he said, sitting up and rubbing his face.

  "You're too slow," I grumbled. Still wrapped tight in my fleece blanket, I crawled out of bed and over to our pile of gear.

  Sharon crawled out of her plush pile on all fours. "Do we have any danishes?"

  I silently dug through my pack until I found some.

  "I'll have one and a protein bar!" Wyatt said. I looked over at him to signal that I was irritated at him for not getting up, but he simply smiled exaggeratedly big. I dug around for protein bars.

  "You know, you look like a proper woman, all bundled up like that," he chimed. He's so irritating. Upon finding a protein bar, I threw it
at his head.

  "Ow! What was that for?" He asked between Sharon's giggling.

  Lori jerked at Wyatt's sharp burst of volume. "God, you're so loud..."

  "Yep," Reggie agreed. Both Lori and Reggie sounded annoyed. Only Vick was still asleep.

  "Everyone be combat ready when we leave this room." My words seemed to dampen the crew's morning. Sharon developed a look of concern. "I heard leftovers last night."

  "Did it sound like a microwave?" Wyatt asked, cackling at his own joke.

  "Gar..." Lori sighed as though she were exasperated with his jokes.

  "What are leftovers?" Sharon asked timidly.

  "It's like a bogeyman," Wyatt answered. "They stalk at night and get you when you're least expecting. Or maybe like a werewolf!" I could tell those words didn't sit well on Sharon's imagination.

  "What's with you today?" Reggie asked.

  "Wyatt! Silence for the next half hour," I demanded. He looked up at me as if he were surprised I had lost my patience. Next, I turned to Sharon, of whom I now saw fear in her eyes. I kneeled down and sat next to her.

  "They're monsters, yes. But they are afraid of little girls. They won't bother you," I told her. She looked at me curiously and quietly, but I could tell the fear was leaving her, even if she didn't believe me. I also heard a noise from Reggie, signaling a sort of surprised approval.

  "OK everyone," I continued, "When we're all awake, eat and pack up. We need to keep moving."

  When we at last unsealed our shelter, there was nothing but crisp, noiseless air outside. There was little sign that a Leftover had been here, much less was currently still around. Even still, their presence was alarming. My crew gave off a tense feeling, and the air felt electrically charged. Fear returned to Sharon, so I alleviated the tension by leading the way. My pain was finally dulling some, and I didn't feel so...drained.

  Though the air of our group was anxious, we made it to the cache later that day without any events. There was next to no life this far out in the city, and certainly no people. Travel felt slow because the area was largely empty warehouses and small refineries. One of the buildings used to be powered by solar panels, and it was within the generator building that my crew wisely decided to stash their things. It was essentially one large room, with the electrical workings for collecting and storing power into batteries. Lori had rigged up the building enough to again receive power from the panels, and along with the power came heating. The room felt beautifully warm inside. Though the inside was awkwardly set up and partly cramped, it was quiet. There was little more than a hum from the mechanics and the background noise of air conditioning.