by Schow, Ryan
The child wasn’t much help. All she brought back was some old crackers and a cup of water. Maria scarfed down the crackers, guzzled the water, then laid back, took a deep breath and fell asleep.
She slept for several days. Her body wasn’t right. She felt it whenever she woke.
“Go find me more food,” she told the girl, who—much to her surprise—hadn’t left.
“There is none.”
“Go to the neighbors. Break a window with a rock. Be careful not to cut yourself, just get inside and find me some food and water. I need more water.”
She couldn’t keep her eyes open, she was that exhausted. Was her body sick? Was it rejecting the new hardware? Was the software integration finally failing? For the first time in this body, Maria felt genuine fear. Or was that worry? She recognized mixtures of both. If this body died, then she died and this was all for nothing. She needed sleep.
Sleep for humans was healing.
More than anything, however, she needed the girl. And now she understood vulnerability, and possibly even hatred. Hatred for the situation. When she thought of breaking something and knew she didn’t have the strength to do so, she knew despair.
Her head fell back on the couch, her arm draped over the side. When she closed her eyes, it was only for a second, but then the fatigue took hold and dragged her down into a deep and restful slumber.
When she woke up next, she felt even weaker than before. Her eyelids were swollen, heavy, stuck shut. She lay there on the couch, suffering aches and pains in her muscles. She adjusted herself, worked her eyelids open. Daylight was beating against the other side of closed curtains. She turned away. Rubbing bleary eyes, blinking back the sleep, she saw food on the coffee table in front of her.
Sitting up, she felt everything in this body: the bones, the muscles, the ligaments and the tendons. Then she felt the overwhelming need to pee. The child was asleep on the recliner. Or dead. She studied the girl, spotted the carotid artery, saw the pulsing proof of life.
Processing thoughts and emotions in a biological entity was like doing math in super slow motion. There was a heaviness to these feelings. Rounded edges. Body. And there were deeper implications guided by feelings which weren’t as rational as they were dominant and prodigious.
Back on the street, if the girl died, Maria wouldn’t have minded much. Now she wondered if that were true. The girl was a necessary evil. Maria needed a food mule, a ruse, a reason for the humans to welcome her into their community if she could even find a community worth infiltrating.
Yes, she needed the girl. She needed this girl.
Quietly she staggered out back, pulled down her pants and underwear, popped a squat and peed. She couldn’t help thinking this whole eating and evacuating thing was beyond inconvenient. She knew about the human body, of course, but only from a machine’s standpoint. In reality this was an unwelcome burden she was still having to get used to. While she was peeing, she had enough time to calculate how much of her life she’d spend with her pants pulled down emptying herself out. This pee, however, was different. The sensation rushing through her was…interesting. It sort of burned and stung at the same time. Not fiery hot, just…different. She’d waited too long to do this; she’s filled her bladder too much. Was this pain or pleasure? Wow. This is stupid, she thought.
Oh, the wonders of a biological entity…
She returned to the couch, plopped down, pulled the nearest can of food toward her. Pinto beans. Marvelous. Maria grabbed the can opener, opened the can, ate the beans not caring the mess she was making on the coffee table. When she looked up, the child was watching her. The next can was kidney beans. Maria opened the can, ate them in minutes, chewing them while looking at the girl who was looking at her. Next was a can of French green beans.
“Want some?” she said, her mouth full, any semblance of etiquette gone.
She nodded her head.
“Well come on over and work for your meal,” she said, handing the girl the can opener.
She opened the green beans, grabbed the jagged lid, then stopped when Maria said, “Wait! Let me have that before you cut yourself.”
The child handed her the opened can.
“Spread your palms, make a bowl with your hands.”
The girl did as she was told. Maria then turned over the beans, the juice spilling through the girl’s fingers all over the coffee table. A little shake of the can, coupled with the weight of the beans, pushed the lid open. Half the wet vegetables sat in the girl’s hands, and that’s when Maria turned the can back over, pulled on the lid and twisted it off.
“Eat, child. Eat.”
They devoured the beans, then they both sat back and contemplated the meal, each other, and the nature of their circumstances.
“Is there more where this came from?” Maria asked. The girl nodded her head. “Well why don’t you go get some while I sleep. I need more sleep.”
“People are hurting each other outside,” she said. “And all you’re doing is sleeping.”
“What do you mean people are hurting each other?”
The girl shrugged her shoulders, then said, “There are killed people in the houses. And not much food. A man with a gun told me to go home.”
Reclining on the couch, her eyes bobbing closed, she said, “Don’t get caught, child.”
They stayed at the house for a couple of weeks while Maria’s body stabilized itself. Then, when she couldn’t stand the inactivity for one second later, she said, “I almost want to burn this place down before we leave. Would you like to do that?”
The girl smiled at the thought of it, which in a surprising moment of joy, gave Maria some hope for the child.
That night, with an old flashlight and weak batteries, they broke in and rooted around a few houses foraging for food and supplies, but also looking for gasoline and matches. When they finally amassed enough of both—just before they were preparing to leave the house the next day and continue their journey into San Francisco—Maria gave the girl the choice to either pour the gasoline or light the fire.
“They’re both important jobs,” Maria said again the next morning because the girl had not decided. With packs on their backs and water bottles in hand, they stood in the street staring at the house. “The gas needs fire and the fire needs gas. Just like I need you and you need me. This is what’s called a symbiotic relationship. Can you say that? Symbiotic?”
After a few tries, the girl got it.
“So what will it be?” Maria asked. “You pouring or lighting?”
“Lighting,” she said, nervous but excited at the same time.
Maria showed the girl where the most strategic points of the home were, then she emptied out the gasoline on them.
“When you throw the match on the wet spot, be sure to stand back because it’s going to whoosh up around you. If you’re too close, it’ll eat you, too.”
The girl made a face. Then, standing back, she struck the wooden match a couple of times against the strike strip on the box until it caught fire.
“Move back,” Maria said, pulling the girl back. “Throw it where it’s wet.”
She did and the gas whooshed to life exactly as Maria said it would. They quickly lit three more fires before heading back to the middle of the street out front where they watched it burn. Looking down, Maria was pleased to find such wonder and delight in the child.
“Pretty neat, right?” The girl nodded her head. “Doesn’t it feel good to destroy things?”
“Hey!” someone shouted from behind them. Maria turned to some guy in a trucker’s hat and wrinkled jeans aiming a shotgun at them. “What are you doing?”
“Starting fires,” the girl said.
“You can’t just go and burn people’s houses down,” he told them.
“You’ve got a front row seat,” Maria offered. “Best you be quiet and just enjoy the show. And put that gun down. She’s just a child.”
“I’ve seen her stealing stuff for you the last few
weeks,” he said, ignoring Maria’s suggestion that he lower his weapon. “We didn’t bother you because we thought you needed a place to stay.”
“We did.”
“And now you’re burning it down?” he asked, aghast.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Maria said to him, her voice whimsical, enchanting.
“I watched them build that house,” the man replied, unamused and unwavering. “I was here when that happened forty years ago.”
“Well now you can watch it deconstruct itself through fire, my friend.”
“I ain’t your friend.”
Turning her back to the fire, looking directly at him, she said, “What did I tell you about that gun?”
“It’s my gun, lady.”
“She’s only five years old,” Maria said, covering the girl’s eyes. Moving her, Maria nudged the child behind her back to safety. When this failed to sway him, she lied, saying, “We’re unarmed, you savage!”
In truth, Maria didn’t know how old the child was. She didn’t even know the girl’s name. Not that it mattered.
“Says the pyromaniac,” he said, racking a load.
“Is that the kind of man you are? Because where I’m from, we call that cowardly. You’re not a coward are you, Mister?” She stopped the fake fear and leveled the man with a Cheshire cat grin, the kind she hoped would chill his blood.
“You are as appealing to the eye as you are unappealing to the soul,” he said.
“Is that a catchphrase?” she mused. “Did you read that on a bumper sticker?”
“Just the truth from a man who ain’t no coward.”
Taking the girl’s hand, loud enough for him to hear her, Maria said, “Time to go, sweetheart. We can leave this redneck goat humper to his low IQ contemplations.”
And with that, they left the man, his gun and a burning house in their proverbial rear view mirror. The journey ahead would be tough, but the big city offered her the kind of promise she wasn’t finding in Palo Alto. Hopefully there she’d find her congregation. It was how she would thrive in this world long enough to become its ruler.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Corrine watched the gunman lift his weapon and point it at Amber. The woman didn’t duck or hide. What the hell? Corrine dove for her friend just as the man started firing.
She hit Amber, took her down hard.
Behind them, on the other side of the cage, one of the guards returned fire. As she held Amber down, Corrine spun her head around and realized they were smack dab in the middle of a volley of gunfire.
Panic overtook her.
“The kids!” she screamed at another the guard, who didn’t pay attention to her. He was busy firing on the man on the other side of them.
They were all down, now—Amber, Corrine, all fourteen children. A few of them were screaming and crawling under the cots, but most were just hugging the ground and each other with stoic, empty expressions.
“Keep your heads down!” Corrine yelled at them over a deafening exchange of gunfire.
All the kids’ eyes fell on her. Amber was squirming under her, telling her to get off, which prompted Corrine to scowl down at her and say, “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Her friend finally stopped fighting.
Behind her, the sounds of a body being riddled with bullets heightened her concern. She turned as the guard went down. The vacant expression on his face, the unblinking eyes with that thousand yard stare, frightened her. Corrine was glad he was dead, but the expression, “the devil you know,” popped into her head and new concerns took shape.
If the guards lost the fight to these madmen, would they turn on the prisoners, too? Will they turn on us? Corrine couldn’t stop wondering why they were attacking, what they wanted. She couldn’t stop wondering if they’d be leaving the frying pan for the fire. Amber tried again to break loose beneath her, but all around the warehouse, the rata-tat-tat of a monumental firefight persisted.
“Stay down, dammit!” she hissed.
“I can’t breathe,” Amber said, causing Corrine to shift her body, but only slightly
“For Abigail’s sake and mine, Amber, stay down.”
Most of the kids were now hysterical. Corrine turned, told them to keep their heads down and to not look at the dead bodies. She waved them over toward her.
“Come, come!” she said.
They obeyed, scooting across the polished concrete floors until they were crowded around both her and Amber.
When the gunfire finally stopped, the man who Corrine thought was shooting at Amber stalked over to the cage, told them to look away, then shot the lock.
“Everyone okay?” he asked as he opened the door.
Collectively, they nodded their heads, slowly, unsure of what to make of this man who shot and killed their guards.
“It’s time to go,” he said.
“Where are we going?” Corrine asked.
“Out front first to make sure everyone’s okay. If you’ve been separated from your family, this is where you’ll be able to reconnect with them.”
“Then what?”
“Then you can either come with us back to our camp, or go on your way. Whatever you want.”
“So we’re free to go?” Corrine asked.
“Yes.”
“What about the children?” Amber asked.
“That’s what’s most important,” he said looking down at them. He smiled and some of them smiled back. “We need to make sure they’re taken care of either by their family, or if they don’t have family or willing guardians, we can take them back with us where we have a community to care for them.”
“We haven’t eaten in awhile and we don’t have water,” Amber said.
“Like I said, we’re going to get you taken care of. Here or at the encampment.”
“Where? The encampment, I mean?”
“Up highway 80, just east of the city. We can take you there, feed you, but you can’t stay permanently. We’re prepared to help you resettle though, if that’s what you want, or need.”
“Our friends are in here somewhere,” Amber said. “ I think…I think maybe they’re locked away. Or maybe they were killed, or sent away, we don’t—”
“It’s okay, we’ll look for them,” he said heading to the entrance of this warehouse-turned-detention center. “But first we have to go out front, take a headcount, see about these kids.”
“My daughter,” Amber said catching up to him, her voice betraying her emotions.
“A lot of people were separated from their families,” he said, not breaking stride.
“They told me it was so I wouldn’t give my daughter unfair treatment when the rest of the kids needed looking after,” Amber replied.
“I understand he logic, even though I don’t feel the same.”
Corrine took the man in. He was solid looking and no worse for wear considering he’d just survived a gunfight with armed soldiers. She didn’t find him attractive the way she found other guys attractive, but she did appreciate his strength, and the calmness he had with them and how he was handling Amber.
“Did you serve?” Amber asked. He had a military look about him. Most guys who survived so far had that look because the weak always died off first.
He said, “Sac PD. Me and a few of the guys here. One guy is Army, another National Guard. Most of the other guys here are dads and husbands and just overall good men.”
Corrine felt the tension she’d been holding inside dissipate. She watched Amber’s body language change as well. As the group made their way out of the warehouse and into the light, they saw the dead soldiers lying on the ground, bleeding out. Their guns were gone, stripped of them. It was a complete mop up of bad guys and their weapons.
Out front Amber saw Abigail and ran to her, leaving Corrine behind. She was thrilled to see her little girl, but a part of her felt sad, too. Corrine had no one. No family. At best, she’d always be some other family’s afterthought.
Catching up to the gu
y who rescued them, she said, “I need to find my friends. Will you help me?”
“I need to get things organized up front here, see what we’re working with. But then, yeah, I’ll help you.”
“I need to find them now,” she said, stern.
Stopping to look at her, taking her serious, he reached into his pocket, grabbed three sets of keys (all on key rings), handed her one and said, “I think all the keys to all the doors are here. Check to see if your friends are outside first, then head back inside. There are back rooms and bathrooms and outbuildings to check but we haven’t cleared them yet, so be careful.”
“Do you think anyone else is in there?” she asked.
“I don’t think so, but be careful. And when I’m done, I’ll find you and we’ll look together, okay?”
“Thank you,” she said, giving him an awkward hug.
She said hello to Abigail (who practically jumped in Corrine’s arms), then told Amber what she was doing.
“We’ll wait for you out here, okay?” Amber said. “I just don’t think I can go back in there.”
“I get it,” Corrine said. “I’ve got help inside, so it’s no big deal. I just have to know, you know?”
“Yeah,” Amber said. “Me, too.”
“I missed you,” Abigail said, big eyes looking up at Corrine. Now she felt loved, not so much of an afterthought. This was a good thought.
A comforting thought.
After moving through hundreds of people in search of Marcus, Nick and Bailey, Corrine headed inside where the men were piling up the bodies. Waves of dread tunneled through her, eating away at her hope.
One of the attacking force of men looked up from dragging a guard by the collar and said, “Everyone’s meeting out front.”
She said, “I’m looking for my friends. I checked out front just now, but I didn’t find any of them there.”
“Okay,” the guy said, “but be careful.”
She walked through the gigantic, empty warehouse, then headed back into a separate buildout. There were beds, some menial stores of food along an otherwise long wall of shelves, as well as blankets and pillows. It looked how she imagined a military bunker would look: sparse, unclean, uncared for.