"There's no such thing."
She wiped the back of her sleeve across her mouth.
"You alone?" Gibson noticed that her hand hid something on the ground next to her. "Hey, I'm not going to hurt you."
"Go away," the girl said, picking up the thing beneath her hand and clutching it in front of her; a stainless steel butter knife. "Please?"
Gibson held up his hands. "Okay. Just passing through." He started to circle, giving her a wide berth.
The fear on the girl's face turned to a frown. "Wait." She stood, brushing dead grass and dirt off her clothes and reached into her shirt. She pulled out a small square and held it out.
Gibson stopped and regarded her carefully. Finally, he took the square - a photograph.
"Mom and Dad," the girl said. "You seen 'em?"
Gibson studied it. A thirty-something couple smiled at the camera, the sun glimmering off a small lake behind them.
"Nope," Gibson said. "Sorry."
"Probably dead," the girl said.
"Maybe. Maybe not." He handed her back the picture. "But probably."
She tucked the photo back into her shirt and put a hand on her belly.
Now Gibson saw how it protruded, despite the oversized clothes. "How far along?" he asked.
She looked to be only fourteen or fifteen. Sixteen at most. She didn't answer.
"There are shiners around here," Gibson said.
The girl said, "I saw the lights."
Gibson's own daughter would've been fourteen by now. "Why not tag along with me for a bit?" he said. "Just the two of us should be okay."
She patted her belly and smiled shyly. "There's three of us, though, aren't there?"
"What's your name?" Gibson asked.
"Julia."
"Like the Beatles' song."
Julia shrugged. "Mom said I was named after an aunt. Didn't mention any song."
"I'm Gibson. Named after the guitar."
"Why would someone name a kid after a guitar?"
Gibson chuckled. "I like the name."
"Better than my boyfriend's name; Tabor."
Gibson nodded at her belly. "The father?"
"No."
"What happened to him?"
"The first wave took him out."
"Sorry to hear."
She shrugged. "He wasn't all that great."
He led Julia through the fresh burn. They stepped carefully around the charred bones and tree stumps rising stubbornly from the smoldering ash. The frame of an old school bus, burned and twisted almost beyond recognition except for the letters ISTRI on a miraculously untouched orange spot of painted metal, smoked with heat. Maybe a year ago, Gibson would have avoided the area; protect the girl from the horror strewn about. But now he figured she should see this. Smell the burned flesh and bone, experience the dead silence within the rough ashen circle.
He asked again, "When are you due?"
She stopped. A gentle dusting of ash rose from the ground and danced around her. "It's not like I can see a doctor." She looked hopefully at Gibson. "You're not a doctor, are you?"
"An accountant," he said.
Julia looked down. "You go on," she said. "I shouldn't be with you." She put a hand to her chest and coughed. She dropped to her knees, retching, producing only a thin line of pink drool.
"Ouch," she moaned.
Gibson held out his hand. After a moment, she took it and stood, brushing the ash off her knees. She nodded at the ground. "It's still hot. But it'll make good soil someday."
"Come on," Gibson said.
"We shouldn't be together."
"Just the two of us. That's okay. They won't bother just the two of us."
"Promise you're not a shiner?"
"What kind of alien would name themselves after a guitar?" He winked. "We need to trust each other. At least for a while. Can you do that?"
She rubbed her hand lightly over her belly. "I'll try." Then she smiled. "She likes your voice. Whenever you talk, she kicks."
"You know it's a girl?"
"I just want a girl, that's all. Wishful thinking."
They walked. Gibson wanted to keep her moving, keep her mind and legs busy while the rest of her body prepared for the delivery. But on the second day, Gibson realized she was the one leading him somewhere - the way she nonchalantly walked slightly ahead, but with a definite purpose and in a definite direction.
"Wait a second," Gibson said. "Where, exactly, are we headed?"
She cleared her throat. "I know where there are some caves," she said. "They were on my parents' land." She turned away from him. "I was in one of the caves when the first attack came, in a small alcove about thirty feet in. I don't think anyone had been in there before me for a long time. I found pieces of flint, some broken arrowheads. I used to sit in there with a flashlight and journal. I was going to bring John in there - he was my boyfriend - but..." Her voice trailed off.
"How far away is it?" Gibson asked.
Julia looked up and brightened. "Another day or two and we should be there."
That night, Gibson and Julia slept on a small hill thick with pine trees, the fallen needles soft beneath their bodies. Occasionally, they saw flashes of lights in the distance, where the Hubal attacked more people gathered dangerously, plotting against them, perhaps, but more likely seeking simple companionship.
They walked slowly most of the next day, taking frequent breaks so that Julia could rest. At one point, Gibson caught a crippled rabbit, a small dirty stump where a forepaw had been, and roasted it on a coat hanger spit over hot coals. He boiled enough water for the rest of that day, letting it cool before they continued on. They arrived at Julia's farm, the place she'd grown up, shortly before sunset.
There was nothing left, save for misshapen hunks of metal that had once been tractors and pick-ups, and the jagged cement bases of a silo, house and barn.
Julia stepped carefully through the area. "There's nothing here," she said. "Nothing."
Gibson put his arm around her as she cried. When she was done, she looked up at him. "Something's happening," she said, beads of sweat springing to her forehead. "Something's going on with the baby." She wrapped her arms around her abdomen. "Jesus, it hurts."
Gibson looked around for something - anything - that might help. "Get up," he said, helping her to her feet. "We need to get out of this ash. Where's the cave you mentioned?"
She lifted her hand weakly and pointed to the rough limestone surface of a nearby bluff. Dusk threw long shadows across it. They took a few steps and Julia gasped, clutching her stomach. "Oh, geez."
"Just a little further," he said. He looked toward the rocky surface of the bluff, trying to figure out which of the shadows hid the cave's entrance. Something flickered within. Gibson froze. "Wait."
Julia looked up as a woman emerged from the rock, carrying a torch in one hand, a stone in the other.
"Stay away," the woman said.
"She needs a place to lie down," Gibson said. "She's giving birth."
The woman squinted, raising her torch. "Oh, my." She dropped the stone. "Beth! Get out here. Someone's about to have a baby right here in front of me."
Julie fell to her knees. The woman rushed toward her, shoving the end of the torch into the dirt. "Beth!"
She was older - fiftyish, Gibson thought. A younger woman appeared next to her, eyeing Gibson with fear.
The older one smiled as she carefully slid down Julia's too-large pants. "What's your name?"
"Julia," she gasped.
"I'm Nancy. This here's my daughter, Beth. I've delivered before, so don't you worry." She nodded at Gibson, eyes remaining on Julia. "He ain't a shiner, is he?"
Gibson stepped forward into the torchlight. "Gibson," he said. "Named after the guitar."
"Guitar?" Nancy said.
Julia said, "He's okay."
Nancy asked, "You the father?"
"No," Gibson said.
"Well, give us some privacy, then."
"Can'
t I help?"
"Help by getting out of my light."
While Nancy gave Beth instructions, Gibson backed away. Above, clouds darted back and forth across the moon. A black mass of them edged closer, obliterating the stars, sparks of light dancing within. Gibson rocked back and forth on his heels, watching. He felt Beth staring at him.
"You're one of them, aren't you?" she asked, slowly standing.
Nancy looked up at her daughter. "Get down here. I need you."
"He's one of them," Beth said, pointing at Gibson. "He's a shiner. Look at the sky!"
"No," Gibson said, stepping back.
"Beth, I need you. The baby's coming."
Julia screamed. Beth squatted next to her head, wiping the sweat away with her shirtsleeve.
"That's right," Nancy said. "Push, honey. Push."
"It hurts," Julia cried.
"Scream, then. Get it out," Nancy said. Then, "Push!" Then, "Here she comes!"
"A girl?" Julia panted.
"A beautiful girl," Nancy said.
Something sparked and flashed above.
Gibson took a step closer to the women.
"Stay away!" Beth shouted.
Gibson realized the baby wasn't crying.
Static played with the ends of his hair.
"Is the baby okay?" he asked.
"Is she?" Julia asked.
Beth's attention turned to the baby in Nancy's arm. Nancy rubbed the baby's skin with her thumb.
Gibson stepped closer.
"Let me see my baby," Julia said, her face flush, hair soaked with sweat.
"She needs attending to, first," Nancy said.
Gibson looked down at the baby. A beautiful girl.
But she was gulping at the air, fighting to inhale.
Nancy and Beth tended frantically to the child, Beth wiping away amniotic fluid and blood, Nancy swiping a finger into the child's mouth.
"What's happening?" Julia asked.
Gibson kneeled next to Julia's head, caressing her cheek. "Shhh. She's in good hands."
Then Nancy said, "Oh, dear God."
Beth screamed.
Julia struggled to push herself up on her elbows, tried to look between her upraised knees. "Jesus, what's happening?"
Gibson heard a cry. The baby.
"Run!" Nancy said. "Run, Beth!"
The baby cried again.
"Let me see her!" Julia demanded.
Nancy shook as she slowly rose with the baby. The torchlight flickered off the woman's face.
And another light, as well.
She bent over and carefully placed the baby in Julia's arms. "She's beautiful," she whispered. Then she rose. "I'm sorry." She turned and jogged toward the face of the bluff and disappeared within the dark folds.
Again, the baby cried. As the glow intensified within her and seeped from her widening mouth toward the waiting clouds, Gibson said, "She has your eyes."
Julia nodded, sobbing, holding her child tightly. "Stay with me," she said.
Gibson stayed and stroked Julia's forehead, even as the light within the baby intensified and shot skyward. Even as the clouds above answered with a light of their own, and the world around them turned explosively from night to blinding day.
New and Improved
by Daniel Pyle
Jack suspected something might be wrong with his chip when he felt the tingling in his scalp. He knew it for sure when he stepped into the bathroom, looked at himself in the mirror, and saw the sparks of electricity arcing out of his left ear.
“Christ!” He leaned closer to the mirror, eyes wide, mouth gaping stupidly.
A curl of hair over his ear caught fire, and he slapped at it. The sparks found his fingers, shot up his arm. He jerked his hand away. The muscles in his forearm contracted, and he couldn’t seem to make his fingers work, but he’d managed to put out the fire. A wisp of acrid smoke wafted up from the singed hair.
Jack stepped away from the mirror, away from the sink, which was still speckled with toothpaste from his morning brushing and damp. The last thing he wanted right then was to get anywhere near water.
His ear sparked for another few seconds; then the electricity died down, sputtered, and finally stopped altogether.
Breathing slowly, trying to move as carefully as possible, afraid any sudden motions might restart the sparking, he crept back to the mirror and turned his head to look at the damage.
His ear canal was dark and smoking. The artificial tissue inside had done its job—vented the electricity and insulated his brain from the voltage—and he guessed he should have been happy about that, but it was hard to think happy thoughts when you had a blackened crater in the side of your head.
He’d heard of malfunctions this serious (and even more so) but had never seen one in real life. He thought the defect rate in the newest line of chips was supposed to be something like one in a million. He tried to look up the exact figure but realized that, without his chip, he had no access to the net. Or his phone, his mail, his supplemental memory banks…hell, he couldn’t even tell what time it was. He felt suddenly small, scared, marooned in the middle of civilization.
He walked out of the bathroom and across his small apartment. Sunlight streamed through an uncurtained window and into the front hall, warming the floor. He followed his shadow to the door, bare feet slapping the hardwood, and stopped at the wall-mounted screen beside the entryway. He needed to call the front desk, but it had been years since he’d done it manually and he couldn’t remember how. He slid his fingers across the screen for a few seconds and then punched it in frustration.
The neighbors. Of course. Someone could make the call for him, schedule a repair at the nearest hospital. He stepped into a pair of slippers and out of the apartment.
In the hall, he saw nothing but closed doors, heard nothing but the whir of the elevator from somewhere below. He crossed the passageway and knocked on the nearest door. It was Saturday, which meant many of his neighbors might be out, shopping or day-tripping, but he figured someone was bound to be home. If not in this apartment, then the next, or the next. While he waited for someone, anyone, to come to the door, he tried to play some music, something to fill the silence. Except, of course, his music was gone. Or inaccessible anyway.
The door cracked open, and a single green eye peered out at him. Then the crack widened, revealing a second eye, a smiling mouth, a pretty face between wisps of long blonde hair.
“Hey,” the woman in the doorway said. She let the door swing open fully and leaned against the jamb. “Morning.”
Jack realized he didn’t know her name. He’d talked to her dozens of times, had once helped her move in a sofa that a pair of lazy deliverymen left in the lobby, had even drank a cup of thank-you coffee at her kitchen table. He was sure he’d added her name to his contacts list, but he didn’t actually know it.
He didn’t want to admit it, so he said only, “Morning. Do you think you could do me a huge favor?”
“Maybe. What’s up?” She wore pajama bottoms and a thin t-shirt. When she crossed her arms, the shirt pulled tight against her chest. She wasn’t wearing a bra.
Trying not to stare, Jack told her about the chip, recounted the incident in the bathroom and his inability to make any kind of contact with the outside world, asked if she’d mind calling in for him and scheduling a repair. As he spoke, her smile slipped away.
“You’re kidding,” she said when he stopped talking. “I thought they were supposed to have fixed that kind of stuff.”
He shrugged and showed her his ear.
She wrinkled her nose.
When she didn’t say anything for a second, he raised his eyebrows and said, “So…”
“Oh, yeah.” She laughed. “Of course. Come on in.” She motioned him through the doorway, and he stepped inside.
“Might take me a minute to get through to the hospital,” she said. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
He nodded and said, “Sure.”
It h
ad been months since he’d helped move the sofa, but the apartment looked pretty much as he remembered it: a row of framed photos on the wall to the right, a small, white table on the left. She led him to the kitchen and poured a cup of joe from a half-full pot. When she nodded toward the small dinette set on the other side of the room, he dropped into one of the two seats, leaned back, and took a sip of coffee. It was strong and hot.
“Hello,” she said.
She wasn’t talking to him. That was clear enough. Although her eyes flicked in his general direction, she never looked directly at him.
“Repairs please.”
A pause.
He wrapped his fingers around the mug. They almost circled the thing. His fingers were almost unnaturally dexterous. His aptitude tests had said he should be a machinist; his mother had thought he should play the piano.
“My neighbor’s having some…uh…trouble with his chip.”
She stared into space for a second and then said, “Yeah, I think so.” After another second, she looked at Jack. “Any pain?”
Jack shook his head. “Nope.”
She relayed the answer, waited, and said, “Jack Brennan.”
He swallowed another sip of coffee.
“Marian Gregg.”
Marian, Jack thought. Marian. Marian. Marian. Remember it. That’s the least you can do.
“As soon as possible, I guess,” Marian said. She looked at Jack, and he nodded.
“Really?” She looked away again. “That’s strange.”
Pause.
“Okay.”
Pause.
“Okay, thanks.”
She turned back to him. “They said to come in as soon as possible. I guess you’re not the first one to report a malfunction this morning.”
“Huh,” he said. “Weird.”
She nodded and poured herself a cup of coffee.
“I appreciate your help,” he said. “And the coffee.”
She waved the words away and sat down in the other chair. “No problem. I still owe you big for the couch.”
Something rumbled beneath them. Not directly beneath. Maybe a floor down. Maybe two. Jack thought it must be the elevator, but there was something strange about the sound. Instead of quieting or growing louder, the rumbling remained constant, as if the elevator were moving horizontally instead of up or down.
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