Rachel joined him, rubbing at a scuffed elbow, hoisting her machete in case the thing moved. “What is that?”
DeVontay gave it a tentative nudge with the toe of his boot. “Some kind of drone? Maybe some kind of military surveillance thing? That looks like a camera lens in the front.”
While the solar storms and the intense electromagnetic radiation had destroyed the power grid, computers, and electronic equipment, turning the technology of the early Twenty-First Century into useless clutter, some equipment had been protected via grounded and shielded Faraday cages. Her grandfather Franklin had salvaged a shortwave radio and a solar power system, and their own bunker contained an operating radio, gas-powered generators, and a solar array.
They’d witnessed occasional helicopters and other gear that suggested the U.S. government had foreseen the cataclysm and made large-scale preparations against electromagnetic pulses. But Rachel had never seen such an airborne entity as this, which appeared to be either a complex imitation of an animal or else some type of synthetic mutation.
As DeVontay bent down to retrieve it, Rachel grabbed his arm and pulled him back, struck by a sudden anxiety. “Don’t touch it.”
“What, you think it’s a bomb or something?”
“It’s alive.”
“No way,” DeVontay said. “Looks like some kind of weird metal or plastic. And I see some wires there where its neck is broken.”
Rachel scanned the sky. “Hope there’s not any more of these.”
“I was more worried about the crows plucking one of your eyes out.”
Rachel slid the tip of her machete under one crumpled wing and flipped the bird. Its two legs were bent like pipes, feet fanning out in tiny webs. “You hit it,” she said, pointing at a gash in the material of its underside where a turgid, milky fluid oozed out.
“Looks like circuits and stuff in there. Where did this come from?”
One of the legs twitched.
“I told you it was alive,” Rachel said.
“So birds are mutating into machines or something? That’s even crazier than Zaps.”
With a whirring sound, a small telescopic arm extended from a tiny orifice. A pliers-like appendage on the end reached into the gash and deftly plucked at the inner workings, moving almost too fast for them to see. In a few seconds, the bird’s “eye” blinked on and the object rolled onto its legs.
Rachel and DeVontay both jumped back in surprise. Rachel swung her machete at it, but it hopped away and the blade pinged off the asphalt.
“Get back,” DeVontay shouted as the bird rose into the air, hovering unsteadily before them, the telescopic arm flitting around, conducting repairs. Another small articulated wand protruded from its head and carved at the damaged material, raining little bits of the silver material as it worked.
“It’s rebuilding itself,” Rachel said.
DeVontay raised his weapon to fire at the object, but Rachel put out her hand to belay him. “Don’t,” she said. “What if it explodes?”
“I don’t care. It’s creeping me out.”
But he had no time to aim, for the bird suddenly soared brokenly toward the south as if migrating for the winter.
“What the hell just happened?” DeVontay said.
“I don’t know, but it’s getting dark fast.” Rachel hurried to her bicycle. “I don’t want to be out here with God knows what dropping from the sky.”
“Me, either.”
CHAPTER TWO
“We’re just supposed to listen. In case Franklin calls.”
“That’s the first broadcast we’ve gotten in two months,” Stephen Henderson said. “Spots must be down so there’s less interference.”
As he adjusted the gain and squelch on the radio, Stephen wasn’t sure if he’d actually heard anything besides white noise. He’d spent so many hours sitting in front of the receiver that he sometimes heard ghosts from the past—canned laughter from television sit-coms, verses of pop songs, political sound bites, and aviation chatter. Once he thought he’d heard his mother, which was impossible, because she’d died five years before and left her ten-year-old son trapped in a hotel full of Zaps.
But now he had an aural witness, someone to confirm the voices. Marina Jiminez gave him a skeptical look as the radio hissed again.
“Alpha One Niner, do you copy?”
Stephen noted the third repetition of the query in his logbook, and then marked the time: 7:49 p.m. None of them were sure of the exact time, but using calendars and moon phases, they’d made a decent guess of the date and then used sunrise and sunset to synchronize wind-up clocks and wristwatches. It wasn’t Greenwich Mean Time but it was close enough. Stephen didn’t think accuracy mattered, but crotchety old Franklin Wheeler made synchronicity sound like the linchpin on which the return of civilization depended.
The radio hissed and crackled, filling the closet space that served as the telecommunications room. The unit had been busted by a gunshot, but they’d managed to patch it together enough to get a weak signal.
“I guess we’re Alpha One Nine,” Marina said. She was a year younger than Stephen and wasn’t lucky enough to lose her parents in the Big Zap. No, they had been killed by the freaks almost before her eyes.
Dang it. Can’t really call them “freaks” anymore, since they’re part of the family.
Stephen glanced at the almond-skinned infant that dangled from Marina’s shoulders in a sling. Kokona’s exotic, slanted eyes sparked as she grinned toothlessly at him.
“That’s what Franklin says,” Stephen said. “Alpha One Nine is just one of the bunkers in their chain.”
“That’s why we have to maintain radio silence,” Marina said. “If they figure out anyone’s here, they’ll want their bunker back.”
Stephen touched the handset mic that lay on the desk. The mic was connected by a coiled, duct-taped cable. “Would that be so awful? We’re out of C-Rats and MRE’s, and the batteries for our solar array are on their last legs. It won’t be long until we’re boiling our mattresses for stew.”
Marina shook her head. “Rachel and DeVontay will score something good. They always do.”
“Slim Jims,” Kokona said, patting her chubby little hands together with delight.
Even after all these years, Stephen was still slightly startled whenever the infant spoke. Like other infant Zaps, Kokona was highly intelligent and perceptive. Nobody knew if the old rules still held true, but the youngest Zaps were tribal leaders and the quickest to evolve and adapt. Even creepier, Zaps didn’t age, so unless some weird new radiation emerged, Kokona would remain fourteen pounds of strangeness.
Luckily, Kokona was distant enough from the rest of her kind to avoid telepathic influence. Stephen didn’t know what they would do if Kokona asserted her dominance. Hopefully Rachel could serve as an early-warning system, given that the woman was half-Zap herself.
Marina frowned at him, narrowing her dark eyes. Man, why did I get stuck with the weirdest family ever? And why does she sort of have to be my sister?
The radio squawked again: “Copy, Alpha One Niner.”
“Let me,” Stephen said.
“Franklin told us not to.”
Stephen flashed a devilish grin. “I don’t see Franklin, do you? He’s holed up in his compound with his books and goats and buried gold. Nobody will ever know.”
“We’ll know,” Kokona said. The baby looked up at Marina. “Si, chiquita?”
“Si, niña.”
Stephen was annoyed whenever they spoke Spanish, because he couldn’t keep up. Kokona was teaching Japanese to Marina and Rachel, and that was even harder. If the Zaps someday invented their own language, Stephen was sure the English language would die as fast as everything else from the old days did.
“Nobody will know if you don’t tell,” Stephen said. How could such smart people be so dumb sometimes?
“Our instructions were very clear,” Marina said. “Keep the door locked, monitor the cams, and don’t talk on the radio
.”
Stephen tapped anxiously at the mic. “But what if it’s important? Like life or death?”
“Everything’s life or death, Stephen. That’s just how it is now.”
Stephen hated this stupid bunker. Being a teenager was hard enough without TV, sports, and friends. And it wasn’t like he could get his diploma and head off to college, either. Worst of all, he found himself thinking more and more of Marina as something besides a sister. They weren’t related. They weren’t even from the same country. They just happened to have been raised by the same people.
Hard to believe they’d bunked in the same cell their first year here, but then Stephen had started feeling really awkward about the whole thing. He pretended like he just wanted a room to himself so he could plaster comic-book covers all over his walls, but he forced himself to sleep as far away from Marina as he could.
Her presence didn’t bother him when Rachel and DeVontay were around, because they were usually all so busy doing chores he didn’t have time to think. But when they were alone and taking care of Kokona, it was almost like they were the grown-ups and Kokona was their baby, and…
I’m going to go nuts if I don’t talk to a real human being.
The radio interrupted his thoughts.
“Alpha One Niner, do you copy, over?”
He snatched the handset the way he’d seen Franklin do it and depressed the mic key. “Hello,” he said, as Marina shot him a horrified look.
“Alpha One Niner, can you confirm, over?”
“I don’t know,” Stephen said into the mic. “I’m just Stephen.”
“Stephen? What’s your unit?”
“I don’t have a unit. It’s just me.”
When Stephen released the mic key, Marina said, “Are you crazy?”
“Yeah,” Stephen said to her, before the person on the other end of the broadcast could reply. Kokona added, “Franklin’s not going to like this.”
“Stephen, this is Bravo Victor Romeo, copy. We’re on a sweep of the Blue Ridge Mountains and looking for survivors. What’s your location?”
Stephen didn’t need to know the codes to understand the speaker was military. And he was crafty enough to avoid using any sort of language that might give away their position. He would play it as a dumb kid, see what information they would share.
“I’m not sure,” Stephen replied. “Somewhere in the mountains, I think. I don’t know if it’s North Carolina or Virginia.”
Marina scooted into the room and rested Kokona on the little metal desk that held the radio, then sat on the edge of it and glowered down at Stephen. She smelled like Ivory soap. Even her dark green T-shirt cast a clean scent. Stephen didn’t know how she did it. No matter how many times he scrubbed, he always smelled like armpits and dirty socks.
The soldier’s voice grew more informal. “Are you alone, Stephen?”
“Yeah, just me.”
Marina elbowed him in the arm. Kokona said, “Ask him if there are any Sun People out there?”
“You’re lucky to have made it this long. How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” Stephen lied.
“Let’s see if we can pinpoint your position and arrange a rescue mission. Sound good?”
“Sure,” Stephen said. “Are you the Army?”
“U.S. Marines. Got some units up and running but we’re still putting the pieces together. As soon as we get organized, we’re going to kick some Zap ass and blow them mutant bastards back to the Stone Age.”
Kokona pursed her lips and frowned at the violent boast. Stephen couldn’t believe the Army hadn’t figured out that the Zaps only fought if you attacked them. And when Zaps fought, they went all the way.
“We see the helicopters once in a while,” Stephen said, then realized he’d screwed up.
“‘We’? Sounds like you’re not alone there, Stephen.”
“I meant the ‘we’ before everybody else died,” Stephen said, realizing how lame that sounded even as he spoke. Marina ruefully shook her head.
“Don’t be afraid, son. As long as you’re human, we’re all friends here. And you sound human to me.”
Stephen pushed the mic away to consider his next move. “Good job,” Marina said, haughty and sarcastic. Kokona said, “Maybe you should let me talk to him.”
Not a good idea. That’s like letting the fox talk to the hen.
“I need to find out where they are,” Stephen said to them.
“You better have a Plan B, because so far you’re not doing so hot,” Marina said.
“Tell them you’re in Newton,” Kokona said in her high, thin voice. “That’s an hour away on foot, so you can find out how long it will take them to get there. That will give you a general idea of where they are.”
“Not bad,” Stephen said. “Assuming they even know where Newton is. It’s not a real city like Charlotte or something.”
“They’re the military,” Marina said. “They have maps.”
“Stephen this is Bravo Victor Romeo, you still there?”
“Copy,” Stephen said, winking at Marina and Kokona.
“Verifying location, over.”
“I’m in a little town near a river. Saw a sign that said ‘Newton.’”
“Any Zap activity in the area?”
Kokona shook her head. Stephen depressed the mic key and said, “Not for a long time. I don’t know where they went. I hope they’re all dead.”
Kokona’s eyes sparked fiercely as the reply came: “Oh, they will be, my friend. Soon.”
After a pause, the voice spoke again: “Let me do some checking. In the meantime, here’s my CO. That’s ‘commanding officer’ to you civilians.”
“Copy,” Stephen said. Soldier language was as hard as Japanese.
A new voice came on, this one older and scratchier. “Stephen, this is Capt. Antonelli, Third Battalion, Eighth Marines, do you copy?”
“Yes, sir.” Stephen thought the show of respect would relax the captain and maybe cause him to slip up. He even managed to whimper a little, as if he was about to cry. “Can you guys come get me?”
“Hold tight, soldier, no humans left behind on my watch. Got that?”
“Yes, sir. How soon can you be here?”
“That depends. First, you need to tell me where you requisitioned a radio, since the solar storms burned them all out.”
Stephen released the mic as if it was made of molten metal. “Smooth move,” Marina said. “He knows it’s a military radio.”
“Ask him where the Zaps are,” Kokona said. “We don’t call ourselves that, but if you say anything but ‘Zaps,’ he’ll suspect something’s wrong.”
“He already knows something’s wrong,” Stephen said. But he could just act confused and scared, which wouldn’t really be much of a stretch.
He activated the mic. “I…I found this radio in a building. There were some dead soldiers there, but the Zaps must have carried them away. They do that, you know.”
“Copy that. We had a unit in the area. Alpha One Nine. We’re still looking for them, or what’s left of them. Do you know anything about that?”
“No, sir. I haven’t seen anybody since summer, and I was scared to do anything. I just hid and waited until I didn’t hear anybody anymore.”
“You sure they weren’t Zaps?”
“Pretty sure. They didn’t move like Zaps. Unless the Zaps have changed so much you can’t tell the difference anymore.”
Kokona giggled at that. Stephen shook his head at her, and she smiled with bright, wide-eyed innocence. The surreal sparks in her pupils faded a little, dimming the room.
“You run into one, you can sure tell the difference, all right.”
They sat in silence for a few seconds, Stephen thinking of what else to say.
“One other big problem with your story, Stephen. Newton’s gone. Burned to the ground.”
“Wonderful,” Marina said to Stephen. “I had to get stuck in a Doomsday bunker with the world’s worst liar.”
/> The captain came on air again. “So tell me where you really are. Every little bit of information helps Team Human, but I can’t help you if you don’t help me.”
“How about naming a large city that’s far away?” Kokona suggested.
“We don’t know the range of his signal,” Stephen said. “If I lie again and he knows it, then this is just a waste of time.”
“It is anyway,” Marina said. “Maybe you should obey the grownups once in a while. They’ve lived longer than you for a reason.” She glanced at Kokona. “Nothing personal.”
“If you want to know his real location, you need to give him something close to where we really are,” Kokona said. “That way we can find out if he’s a threat.”
He’s only a threat to YOU, not us. But Stephen couldn’t let that attitude show. For all he knew, Kokona could summon her tribe at any time. Plus Rachel would be endangered, and she’d saved his life more than once.
“Stephen, you there?”
“Yeah.”
“So where are you?”
“The Blue Ridge Parkway.” Stephen ignored Marina’s frantic waves. “Sleeping in the back of an SUV. I remember seeing a concrete marker for Milepost 330.”
“That’s North Carolina, all right. One more question: Where are you getting your power from?”
Crap. There’s not supposed to be any electricity.
Kokona said, “Batteries. If the radio was stored in a shielded enclosure, there would be batteries with it.”
“Batteries that last for five years?”
“You got anything better?” Marina asked.
“Maybe I should just stop talking,” Stephen said.
“Getting you to shut up?” Marina said. “Then we better bring him on board, because his captain is a miracle worker.”
“Hilarious,” Stephen said, and then triggered the mic again. “It has a big battery on it,” he said to the captain. “I don’t know anything about it. I just turned the knob and it worked.”
After a ten-second pause, Capt. Antonelli replied, “You just sit tight and keep an eye out for us. We’ll be back in touch in a day or two. We’re doing some recon, but we’re headed your way.”
Afterburn: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 1) Page 2
