Incarnate- Essence

by Thomas Harper

  “I understand it means you can’t be trusted,” I said, climbing back to my feet, “you’ll pull us all down in flames if you think it’ll get you what you want.”

  “But we won’t let that happen,” Evita said, moving closer to being in view.

  “You people’re the real danger here,” Terry said. “None’uh this woulda happened if it weren’t for all ya’ll comin’ in here like you belong.”

  “You’ve been everywhere on this planet,” Evita said, “you belong here, not them.”

  “A non-believer damages his soul more than he who follows false prophets,” Isaac said.

  “All prophets are false,” Evita said.

  “All prophets are false,” I said, reaching down and grabbing an arm from each of them.

  Terry looked up at me in surprise, but Isaac remained unperturbed. I pulled their hands forward toward the fire, Terry now shouting out and struggling against me, but not strong enough to resist my exoskeleton. I thrust each of their hands into the coals, Terry letting out a shrill scream, Isaac doing nothing more than clenching his teeth and trembling. I looked down into the flames, seeing their skin blacken and bubble up, the blisters bursting with melted fat and boiling blood.

  I looked up above the flames, seeing Evita staring at me with a wicked grin, her skin wrinkled and covered in boils, hair gray and stringy – she reflected her true age.

  Something pulled me back. I released the prisoner’s wrists as I was dragged to the ground and pulled away through the deep snow. When I looked up, I saw Sachi standing over me, brows furrowed, looking down through her open visor. Terry was still screaming, people gathering around to see what was going on.

  “What the hell happened?” Major Ellison asked, walking up to Sachi.

  “Just a little enhanced interrogation,” Sachi said without taking her eyes off from me, “did you find out anything useful?”

  “They’re going to betray us,” I said, “they’re just looking for their moment. Nothing we say or do will stop them.”

  Chapter 62

  Everyone slept much better with fires. Even I was able to catch a couple hours of restless sleep. The next morning everyone was awakened early at the sound of more screaming – this time it was agent Sullivan of LoC Security.

  Doctor Taylor tried to give him something to calm down, but the mixture of Shift withdrawal and the stress of the situation was driving him mad. Colonel Riviera and Major Ellison had to tackle him to the ground while Corporal Roman pulled off his exoskeleton suit. As soon as he did the smell started wafting through camp – rancid fat and feces from shitting himself.

  He was eventually given enough sedative to stop screaming, but he continued babbling incoherently as people rekindled the fires. It was only six in the morning, and the comfort of the fires was going to make it difficult to get people moving again. A light snow was coming down and the wind had let up a bit, but the temperature was at minus thirty-three degrees Fahrenheit.

  “Did you know he was a shithead?” I asked Colonel Riviera as she stood over the sedated junky.

  She looked to me for a moment before turning back to him, “I didn’t. He was always pretty straight edge. Used to bother the Colonel, er, Colonel Reynolds about his drinking.”

  I nodded slowly. “I saw Sullivan looking for Shift when he was with us going through the wreckage.”

  “And you said nothing?” she asked, turning her whole body to look at me.

  “I didn’t think it was going to become as big of an issue,” I said, “he said he was only hooked for about a month. I think he was dosed by a prostitute.”

  “What’s gotten into you?” Colonel Riviera asked, “you used to be the good guy. Now you’re sticking people’s hands into fires and suggesting we kill my people. You sound more and more like Sachi.”

  “You’re sounding more and more rational,” Evita said, once again out of view, “you’re not letting ideology or petty moral qualms get in the way of what must be done. What you know you need to do.”

  “I’m doing what needs to be done,” I said, “whether it’s pretty or not.”

  “I don’t like what you’re becoming,” she said, “when we first met, you…still kind of reminded me of my aunt. But now…”

  “What you saw in your aunt was an act,” I said, “a mask thrown on a mannequin so people wouldn’t see the ugliness beneath.”

  “None of this means anything to you, does it?” Riviera asked.

  “Meaning is a luxury I’ve long since shrugged off,” I said, “you’re still allowed to die with a clean conscience, but I’ll live forever with the things I do.” I turned back to agent Sullivan and said, “you ought to let someone else use his suit,” and then walked away.

  It was almost ten o’clock in the morning by the time we got people to move. The wind began to pick up again, temperature dropping down to minus thirty-five Fahrenheit. Colonel Riviera had given agent Sullivan’s exoskeleton to Ellen Malloy. This had resulted in an argument with Major Ellison, who said he should have been consulted on this, but I could tell – Evita told me – that this had more to do with Ellison not wanting someone else in Colonel Riviera’s camp to have an exo suit.

  The cold seemed to probe its twisted fingers into every pore and joint as we marched. Memories of warmth felt like an absurd fiction dreamt up in one of my delirious migraine dreams. Strong gusts of wind laughed maniacally through the forest, amused by our vain attempts to keep it at bay. The waist deep snow and hilly terrain made the march slow and laborious, each step taken a triumph of its own. Dark clouds loomed over us, polluting the sun’s light with ashen gray, turning the landscape the color of a waterlogged corpse. The air was pregnant with thick silence, only the sound of feet crunching through the snow to keep us company.

  There was a feeling of lunacy that came with the monotonous, monochrome scenery. If it weren’t for the trail we left in the snow behind us, it almost felt like we weren’t moving at all. At one point around noon we heard what might have been an airplane flying low, and despite the potential danger it posed, the refugees almost seemed delighted to have something to talk about for half an hour afterwards before falling back into the quiet, drudging march.

  Cycles of snowfall repeated throughout the afternoon. Sometimes it would clear up enough to see a hundred feet ahead. Other times it would fall so hard that we had to stop and find people who strayed too far off by shouting their name. It became a white dungeon for our minds, keeping us away from everything, unable to determine how much time passed.

  At two in the afternoon, a mother and her twelve-year-old son stopped walking with us, saying they just needed to stop to have something to eat and that they would catch up in a few minutes. By three thirty in the afternoon it was clear they weren’t going to catch up. An argument broke out between Major Ellison and Sachi about going back and getting them, but nobody wanted to lose that hard-earned progress, so the matter was quickly forgotten.

  By the time it started getting dark, people began talking about stopping to start fires again. Sachi asked them for one more hour, and I could tell by the tone in her voice that she somewhat regretted allowing the fires the night before – it gave people less incentive to keep moving. At six o’clock we halted the march, cleared out some snow and built fires again. This raised spirits enough that quiet conversations started up. The low chatter faded as I slipped into painful sleep.

  When I awoke from my delirious dreams, the headache felt as if it had spread to my entire body. Everything ached. The cold had driven itself into my flesh like spikes. My joints resisted every movement as I turned over onto my stomach, feeling sticky ejaculate oozing over my inner thighs, lending assistance to the penetrating cold.

  On my hands and knees, I looked up, seeing Evita standing before me smirking, as if asking if it was as good for me as it was for her. She was completely naked, the howling wind blowing wisps of her thin, gray hair around her sagging, boil-ridden skin, ribs bulging out above loose, fleshy stomach as if trying t
o escape. Her pallid skin gave her a similar color to the gray and white landscape, as if she was born of it. But there she stood, as solid and clear as anyone else.

  I ignored her, climbing painfully to my feet, a wave of dizziness tumbling over me. Snowfall had let up considerably, but the wind whipped it up off the ground, washing everything out with ghostly white.

  Evita tilted her head back and cackled as I walked past, tipsy with vertigo. I stopped, opening my visor as I bent over, dry heaved once, spit, closed my visor and kept going. But Evita now walked beside me within view, an ugly smirk plastered to her ancient visage.

  “Are you doing alright?” someone asked.

  I looked over, half expecting to see Evita, but finding Sachi there.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said.

  “You were moaning and sobbing in your sleep last night,” she said.

  “I’m fine,” I said, “when are we taking off?”

  “Soon,” she said, “you know that if you’re not fine, it’s not just you who’ll be affected. I need everyone sharp.”

  “Whatever,” I said, turning away from her and walking away.

  “You’ve never been sharper in all your lives,” Evita said, walking beside me again, “she should be asking you to lead.”

  I stopped walking, looking over to Evita, seeing her hideous smirk. All I could do for over a minute was stand there on the packed down snow staring, slowly realizing I didn’t even know where I was walking to. The refugees were all getting up around me, murmuring to each other and throwing the last of the wood on the fires.

  “How am I supposed to lead others if I don’t know where I’m going,” I said quietly.

  Evita only continued smirking at me, but my eyes focused behind her. I spotted Aveena, being held upright by the exo, pulling raisins out of a small bag and feeding them to Yukiko, who chewed lethargically as she sat in Aveena’s arms.

  Standing next to her was Akira, a placid look on her gaunt face. She was starving, her body now breaking down the components of her cells for energy, unable to transport nutrients to them without a heartbeat. But her brain was working on too low of a level for it to make a difference.

  Aveena caught me watching her, glancing at Akira and then looking back to me with a worried look on her face. I focused back on Evita, who slid a finger across her throat to signal that Akira was as good as dead. I started walking again, past Evita toward Aveena.

  “Doctor Taylor gives her three days,” Aveena said, “Four max. How much longer till Grand Junction?”

  “Probably about three days,” I said, “at the pace we’re going.”

  Yukiko looked to her mother with glazed eyes, but I could tell there was an understanding in them. She knew her mother was very sick, and in the way a three-year-old can, she understood that her mother wasn’t going to be around much longer. But she was too exhausted to cry.

  “Do you think we’ll be attacked again?” Aveena asked.

  “How the hell would I know?” I said.

  “You don’t have to be such a-”

  “Get off him!” a woman screamed.

  I turned and saw a woman chasing after someone. It was Marlina, and she was chasing after agent Sullivan. The group of refugees had stopped walking, watching as Sullivan ran off through the waist deep snow, being dragged down by carrying Enrique, Marlina grasping pitifully at him as he ran.

  A blur streaked toward Sullivan. Rosy’s XDS-032. She quickly caught up to Sullivan, grabbing the back of his jacket and pulling him to a stop. A gunshot went off. Rosy dropped him into the snow. He stumbled, falling to his knees, but I could see him holding a pistol up to Enrique.

  “I fucking need it!” he hissed through gritted teeth, “I know you got some, you stupid bitch. You’re holding out on me! I fucking need it! Give it to me or I’ll fucking kill him!”

  Sachi and Savita started spreading out to either direction of the desperate addict. The hand holding the 3D printed pistol trembled, Enrique grimacing as the barrel dug into his temple. Sullivan’s eyes widened, seeing Sachi and Savita trying to surround him.

  “Don’t you fucking move or I’ll shoot the little shit!” he called to them in a shrill voice, scrambling to his feet, stumbling and falling back to his knees.

  He took the pistol from Enrique’s temple for a moment to use his arm for balance as he tried to get up again. Rosy immediately capitalized on the opportunity, her hand bolting to his arm, grabbing his wrist. Sullivan called out in surprise as Rosy flicked the wrist of her exo suit, snapping Sullivan’s forearm, the bones cracking and piercing through his flesh, pistol falling to the snow. He dropped Enrique face first into the deep snow.

  Rosy threw her free arm at Sullivan’s face, the exo glove smashing into his jaw, turning his scream into a wet gargle. She struck him again, more bones cracking. And then again, his gargling choked into silence. And then again. When she pulled her hand away, his face was an unrecognizable bloody pulp. But she struck him again, his head flopping back, entire face caved in. And then she hit him again, strands of soft flesh stringing between her hand and the slushy cavern where his face used to be.

  Sachi and Savita grabbed Rosy, pulling her arms away. She let out a demonic scream, letting Sullivan’s body drop into the snow, blood turning it pink. Marlina ran forward, grabbed Enrique, and hustled back, putting his face into her chest so he didn’t have to look at the gore.

  “Jesus Christ…” Aveena whispered, holding Yukiko against her shoulder and rocking back and forth to comfort her, “oh, my God.”

  The smell of rancid fat started drifting about. Sachi called for everyone to keep moving, and nobody raised any objections.

  The snow held off from falling until just after noon when it picked up again with renewed vigor. Small flakes filled the air, whipping around us as we trudged on, bringing visibility down to about five feet. Temperature hovered around thirty below zero, giving the wind a sharp bite that went all the way to the bone.

  The incident with agent Sullivan left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth. Colonel Riviera fell behind the crowd by several paces, walking alone. Nobody else talked about it, but I could see Marlina and Zackary occasionally look over their shoulder back toward Rosy. Marlina and Zackary took turns carrying Camille, who was so sick she was almost as pale as the snow, two blankets wrapped around her. Enrique walked beside them in the trails made by the exos walking out front, the snow around him piled up to his chest. He had a neutral look on his face, remaining stoic after what happened.

  “He’s probably been through worse in all his years being held as a slave,” Evita said. “I bet he’s not losing any sleep tonight over that dead Shithead. Besides, as far as you’re concerned, the more people we lose, the better off we’ll be.”

  “As far as I’m concerned?”

  “Just because you won’t admit it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

  That’s not who I am, am I?

  I stopped and turned around, letting Rosy catch up to me. She had her visor down and I didn’t see any indication that she was acknowledging my gesture as I fell in stride beside her. Both of us walked for some time without saying anything. Finally, I lifted my visor and spoke.

  “Do you remember when your grandmother died?” I asked.

  Rosy kept walking for some time without response. Just when I was about to give up, she finally opened her visor, eyes damp with tears.

  “I remember you were there,” Rosy said, “you two whispered something to each other. I asked my mom what you said, but she didn’t tell me.”

  “She knew there was something…off, about me,” I said, “she apologized for not being able to be the mother I needed.”

  Rosy shook her head slowly, “I think grandma dying and then you leaving during those riots…my mom was never the same after that. And then after dad stopped coming around, it was just her and me, and she became…well, she became what she was.”

  “She was worried about you,” I said, “she was doing what she thought was best.�
��

  Rosy said nothing.

  “Just like you did back there,” I said, “in extreme situations, sometimes people do extreme things.”

  “Like putting people’s hands in a fire?” she said.

  “You did what Enrique needed at that moment,” I said.

  “Those kids never needed me,” Rosy said, “Marlina is ten times the mother I could ever be.”

  “Keme’s dead,” I said, “and Camille is…well, they don’t need to lose you, too.”

  Rosy stayed quiet for a while. She closed her visor. I could take the hint. I sped up to get ahead, but she reached an arm out and grabbed my shoulder. I looked back, seeing her pointing to the side of her helmet. I nodded, closed my visor, and went to her frequency.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “My face was getting cold.”

  I could tell by her voice that she was inches from crying. “Right.”

  “I don’t know what to say to ‘em,” she said, “my agents. My family. They all must think I’m…”

  “I think you’d be surprised,” I said, “you were the kind of mother your son needed then. Sullivan was out of his mind. There’s no telling what he might have done to Enrique…or to someone else, if he was still alive.”

  Rosy stayed silent, but I could sense that she understood this on some level.

  “She’s finally seeing why some people need to die,” Evita said, “I told you she would come around.”

  “I’m not like you,” Rosy said, “or Sachi. I don’t…I don’t think I can do what needs to be done all the time.”

  “All that needs to be done right now is for you to go talk to them,” I said, “they’ll understand what you’ve done, but if you’re not there and something happens to Camille…”

  Rosy nodded slowly, but said nothing as she started forward, moving toward her family. I stayed back for a while, watching as she caught up to them. Even through the thick snow in the air, I could tell that Marlina and Zackary were happy to see her finally walking with them.