by J B Cantwell
We had finally won enough ground in Quebec to tap Lac Saint Jean for fresh water. It had been our mission to take out the army of Fighters that had tried to guard access to the lake. And once we had, the United States tanks and drones had come in to protect our claim on that precious resource. Once the beginnings of the pipeline were established, the soldiers there, myself included, were reassigned.
Water was one thing, oil, another. The ability to power vehicles so easily wasn’t something we needed exactly, but something we coveted, something we demanded Canada share with us. Our own methane fuel was not enough to keep our country live with electricity. And the emissions from the burning plants cut through the atmosphere, turning blue sky to gray, air to poison.
So, Edmonton.
We had won a fair amount of the city already, fighting our way through, block by block. It might’ve been easier if we had simply bombed the city, but jet fuel was scarce in our part of the world. This time, hundreds of our troops had descended, trying to take over enough of the city to access the pipelines of oil that the country still produced. We had spread out, moving through the streets like a virus, trying to take control.
The Fighters, of course, were unwilling to bomb their own city. They might have retaliated. They might have taken their jets south to take over New York or Washington D.C. But the threat of a conflict going nuclear was one everyone seemed to take seriously. Nobody needed a nuclear winter. Things were bad enough.
Night was falling as I took a swig from my water pouch, then cracked open a pack of nutrition squares. We had lived on nothing but the squares for the three weeks we had been stationed there, and the lack of warm food, even the barely palatable mash we would find in the chow halls, was sorely missed. My crunching was oddly echoed in the lobby of the building we were hiding in.
I was the one to lead the charge, a group of seven soldiers under my command. My upgraded chip had given me the rank to lead, though it felt very strange to be leading anyone anywhere. Among my team, I was the only one who could tell the difference between enemy and friendly drones. It was these advanced monsters that flew through the city, setting bombs atop the tallest buildings. The Fighters had drones, too, nearly indistinguishable from our own. But my chip was different from everyone else’s now. United States drones glowed in my lens, a ring of green surrounding the black, insect-like frames. To me, the enemy’s drones showed a red halo, and only I knew when to fire to take them down.
A crackling sound came into my earpiece. It was Prime Harris, one of many Primes who had hung back and let us do the work of taking over the city. Every word I heard from them made me angry. Harris curtly directed me to take our team farther in, to push harder.
“You are to head northeast,” he snarled. “Take the building on the north side of Jasper, on the corner of 105th street.”
I looked around at my team of exhausted soldiers. Everyone was in need of rest and food, but I had no choice: I couldn’t ignore a direct order.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, automatically keeping the irritation out of my voice.
With the earpiece installed, I had realized that all this time the sergeants had been unable to hear the secret whispers that had been uttered in the dark of night. For months I had cut off my conversations, worried that my words were being monitored, catalogued. Now I knew the truth. To them my world was silent.
Still, I was tracked. We all were. The only time in my life that I had been free of surveillance was the forty eight hours in the hands of the Fighters back in Quebec. They had ripped out my chip, then, and while the pain was excruciating, the Primes had no way of knowing what had really transpired while I was in their custody.
I had been invisible.
But that was in the past, something that could never be discovered by anyone wanting to hack into my brain. And that wasn’t possible. At least as far as I knew.
We had been traveling through the city, hiding behind the rubble where our drones had infiltrated before our arrival. The hum of the flying, automated soldiers was constant; they seemed to have their own war going on up in the sky. When I saw red, I shot, and those with me would follow the barrel of my gun up into the sky where the victim flew, automatically training their own guns and firing until the robot was overwhelmed, crashing to the ground in a heap of metal and wires. Each impact set off the bombs within, so we had to be careful to take them down once they were well past our stronghold. This distance kept us from having success every time, but I was happy for the challenge. It felt good to shoot at something that wasn’t human.
I had used Sam, the Fighter who had tied me to a tree, immobilizing me. I had begged for him to turn away, to let me escape. And when he released me, I had run as far and fast as I could, just in case he changed his mind about letting me live. Once it was discovered that I was loose, every other soldier on my team had been shot, and a hail of bullets had followed me into the woods. It was a crippling loss for our side.
And for my conscience.
“Let’s go,” I said, my voice quiet.
Seven sets of tired eyes looked up at me, but I had no choice but to give the command. With no Prime to guide us out in the field, I was the one they had to follow.
My heart thudded as I crouched below a blown out window, trying to see in the coming darkness if there was anyone watching us. I couldn’t see anyone, but my lens flashed red as it took in the faint infrared signal from live humans behind a wall across the street.
Were they armed? Would they shoot?
It was then that I saw a flash of gray, a brown-haired head bobbing along the ground, heading toward the entrance to our makeshift shelter. It was a child, a young child, maybe five-years-old. He was carrying something in his hand, but I couldn’t see what. Then, the telltale click of a key being released, and the unmistakable sound of a hand grenade rolling along the polished floor.
“Move!” I yelled, running for the back of the lobby.
Hannah was alongside me in a flash, but some of the others were slow to understand.
The bomb exploded, and with it cries of pain and fear rang out.
There could be more. We had to keep going. I dared to take a glance behind.
Two of our numbers were on the ground, Cynthia and Jonathan both screamed in pain. Josh had evaded the main part of the blast, and he aimed his gun at the child.
“No!” I shouted.
He didn’t listen, his automatic rifle blowing through the building across the street.
“Let’s go!” I yelled.
Just four people followed me deeper into the building. My heart ached at leaving Cynthia and Jonathan behind, but I had caught glimpses of their injuries, and I knew we would be unable to help them. If it had been just a bullet in the shoulder, or even a calf, we might have tried to clean them up, no matter what the orders from above were. But I had seen muscle exposed, and part of Jonathan’s leg had been completely blown off. He would be dead in a matter of minutes. And with Cynthia not yet back on her feet, I imagined she would face the same fate.
The four of us ran deeper into the building, more grenades and the firing of Josh’s gun driving us forward.
“Josh!” I yelled, knowing that he couldn’t hear me. “Everybody stop!”
Each of us dropped to the ground, our guns trained on the doorway we had run through. Smoke and flame billowed out of it, pouring into the lobby.
Then, as if emerging from a dream, Josh walked into the lobby, his face coated in blood and the sleeves of his fatigues burned off by the explosions. Already his skin was bubbling from the exposure to the blasts, but he seemed unaware of it.
My heart sank.
“What did you do?” I asked as he approached.
“I killed him,” he said softly. “I killed them all.”
Chapter Two
The attack was over, at least for the moment. I stood up and moved toward him, the rest of the group staying on the floor. Josh’s eyes were wide, shocked by his actions, in shock by his injuries. The smell of b
urning flesh accosted my nose, and I was glad for the darkness as I reached out and released his fingers from his gun.
He sunk to the floor, and in that terrible moment I knew that he wouldn’t die. He would suffer instead. We had to leave him behind, and he would understand that. But it would be days or even weeks before he would finally succumb to his injuries.
My emotions conflicted. Horror that Josh had killed not just a person, but a child. Terror that our numbers had been nearly halved in a matter of moments. And anger at the very Service that had promised me my prize at the end of my three year tour.
He didn’t seem to be in any pain, and yet his muscles twitched beneath what was left of his skin.
I pointed my gun at his head, ready, knowing that as the leader of the group it was my job to put him down, to forgive his actions and release him from his misery.
Bile threatened as I aimed the gun, realizing that there were two more in the next room that I needed to check on. I prayed to no god, but to whomever might be listening, knowing that maybe I was just talking to myself.
Let them be dead already.
I cocked my weapon, but I couldn’t pull the trigger as Josh’s eyes met mine. Slowly, he nodded his head. He knew as well as I that there was no hope for him. He had begun to squirm from the fire that had melted his skin, the pain finally starting to reach him.
And still I could not do it. My arms shook as I removed the barrel from his forehead. Josh shook from head to toe now, teeth chattering.
I didn’t hear her come up from behind me, but when I looked up I saw Lydia, her features hard with determination.
And then she did what I could not do. She aimed her rifle at Josh’s chest, and he closed his eyes.
I didn’t hear the blast, though I watched her action. It was my job to at least watch. I looked over to Hannah, but she refused to meet my gaze.
A slow-moving pool of blood spread out on the floor beneath his body, his eyes still wide as if life still ran through him.
It was then that I noticed Lydia’s injury.
“You got hit?” I asked.
“It’s nothing,” she said.
I tried to grab her arm to inspect it, but she jerked it away. Her fatigues were bloody, and I knew she needed help. But when the firing began again, there was nothing for us to do but hide.
Harris would be furious, but I figured that all eight of us dead might make him angrier than a delay in our crossing over to the next building.
We were hiding behind the staircase as grenade after grenade exploded around us. I noticed that the lights of the elevator were still bright, a surprise; much of the city had gone dark after the onslaught had begun.
The light tugged at me. It could be the death of us all if they ran out of power. But there seemed nowhere else to go in that moment. I hit the button with the edge of Josh’s gun. Immediately, the doors opened.
We piled in, our weapons and packs making it difficult for everyone to fit. I hit the number thirty-four, the highest floor in the building. Odd music played softly from hidden speakers as the doors closed and we began our ascent.
I had rarely been in an elevator before, and even the small jolt as it began to move made my stomach queasy. The gravity from the speed of the elevator seemed too strong, moving too fast as it pressed our bodies downward with the force. I began to think irrationally that we would burst through the ceiling at the top of the building. How would it ever slow down enough for us to get out?
The lights in the elevator were brighter than in the darkening lobby, and I saw for the first time how much blood soaked Lydia’s fatigues. What had been a small spot minutes ago had become large and dripping. I noticed her looking at me, scowling. I raised my eyebrows. She would have to have her injuries tended whether she wanted to or not.
The elevator made a small jolt as it came to rest on the thirty-fifth floor. As I cautiously moved out of the terrible box, I marveled that the ride hadn’t killed us all. And then I saw it.
We were in the penthouse.
Even in the dark it was clear that we were surrounded by luxury. I lost myself for a moment, running my dirty hands over the plush, velvet couch. The windows reached from floor to ceiling for the entire length of the room. Wine rested in racks alongside the dining table, a wooden slab showing the rings of the tree it was cut from.
I forgot where I was or what I was doing. I wandered around the space, lost. This was the home of a rich person, someone so flush with money that they were able to afford the magnificent view of the city beyond.
It could be me.
It could’ve all been mine. Just two years and change left for me in the Service. And then …
“We need to move something in front of the doors,” Hannah said, snapping her fingers across my blank eyes. She dragged a dining room chair across the room and placed it into the elevator doorway. The doors tried to close on it several times, bashing up against it before automatically opening again. Thankfully, Hannah found a button on the inside to keep the doors held open without the noise of banging on the chair. I watched her in a daze.
“There,” she said, slightly out of breath. “The only way they’ll make it up here is to climb the thirty-five floors.”
She crossed her arms across her chest, clearly satisfied with her work.
“Thanks,” I said, trying hard to bring myself back to reality.
The floor was quickly darkening with the setting of the sun. Soon it would only be the faint glow from the elevator to light the apartment. I could see no heat signatures through my lens, though. We were alone.
I wondered if Hannah’s assessment about the Fighters was right. The team I had met in the woods had been hardy, in shape and willing to fight to the death. There was no prize for them at the end of our battles, except maybe the good luck of surviving them. They were fighting for their homes. We were fighting for the promise of treasure.
And Josh. And that little kid.
I tried to slow my breathing, to keep the stinging tears in my eyes from falling.
Just five of us left now.
“We’d better barricade the stairway door, too,” I said, trying to keep my mind on what needed to be done.
We found it a few moments after starting the hunt, and Hannah and Mark took hold of a heavy bookcase and slid it over to cover the doorway.
We were locked in. They were locked out.
I dropped my pack to the floor. I knew there would be nothing inside intended for first aid. It was the rule of the Service to not go back for the injured, to let the weak or unlucky succumb to their wounds. Helping those who could not walk on their own was a waste of time to the Primes and the sergeants.
Lydia removed her pack, showing more pain than she wanted to as it hit the ground. I leaned over and dug through my materials. Water. Ammunition. Nutrition squares. Socks. A clean t-shirt.
I looked around, trying to think of where someone who lived in a place like this might keep their supplies. Mark was rummaging through the cupboards and gave a whoop when he found several cans of food.
“Hey, shut up!” I hissed. I walked over to him. “Do you see any medical supplies?”
He shook his head, still clearly excited about the promise of real food. He tossed me a can, the label reading “Chicken Chili.” I’d never heard the word “Chili” before, but my mouth watered at the memory of what meat tasted like. I put it down, though, and continued searching for materials. Mark continued to rummage through the cabinets, taking all the canned goods he could and then stocking each of our packs with them. The weight would be unbearable, but starvation seemed worse. Once the nutrition squares ran out, we would be on our own for food.
I walked room to room in the expansive space. Sitting rooms. Television rooms. Dining rooms. Bedrooms.
It was there that I paused, letting my hand run over the soft white sheets, jealousy filling me.
I’ll live in a place like this.
My pride told me lies when I let it. And would it be so di
fferent, where I would end up? Either dead or rich.
My skin crawled as I thought of the three downstairs who would never see their prize.
I turned back to the bed and stripped the top sheet from the mattress. I took the sheet back to the kitchen, searching for scissors, but settling for a knife. I inserted the blade at the top corner of the sheet and dragged it down through the fabric. Then I set down the knife and split the rest with my bare hands.
It seemed like luxury bedding would be the perfect match for Lydia’s wounds.
As I approached her, she backed away automatically, her hand trying to cover her wound.
“You know you need this,” I said, grabbing her other arm.
Silent tears rolled down her cheeks.
“It’s ok,” I said softly.
She shook her head.
“It’s not,” she said. “They’ll send me home for this.”
“Not if we get you patched up before they find out,” I said. “Besides, you’re still up and moving. Not like …”
I couldn’t bring myself to finish that sentence. We had done right by the Service, abandoning Cynthia and Jonathan, but we had no idea if they were dead now. Maybe they were. Or maybe they were down there suffering. We would have to check, if we were lucky enough to make it out of this building alive.
I felt trapped, and very much like we should have made a run for it and tried to get to the building across the way on Harris’ instructions. But it was too late now. We were treed, high up above the fight.
“Take your shirt off,” I told Lydia.
She glared.
I raised my eyebrows.
“Do I need to order you?”
And there, in that unlikely moment, her face cracked into a smile, and she laughed.
I tried to keep my expression serious, grave. But now the tears falling from her eyes were from her laughter, not her pain. Soon I found myself laughing, too.
“What are you idiots on about?” asked Hannah.
