The Lumis War

by Lisa Jade

  I land feet first, knocking the bot back with my legs, feeling its metallic surface crumple under my weight. The others hesitate as they see me, measuring this new risk, and I take the chance to drag the girl to her feet. She’s petrified; her eyes roll in her head, and as I stand her up she sinks back against the gate, her breathing heavy.

  “Oh god, oh god…”

  She lets out a small yelp and ducks behind me, and as I turn I realise that the other bots have started to approach us. I do a quick headcount. Six. Can I take out six? Maybe with a gun. Maybe even with a knife. I pat myself down desperately. Nothing. I only have my fists.

  The bot closest to me withdraws its arms, and in its place are long, thin bars, with what looks to be a blade spinning at the end. Some kind of manufacturing bot, deadly to face. I push the girl further behind me and bend a little, panic flitting through me. What do I do now?

  It swings down at me and I lift one leg, kicking at the bar before it hits me. It’s enough to knock it off course – the blade collides with the bars of the gate, sending sparks flying. I take the chance to lower my head and barrel into it, burying my weight into its core. It knocks it back, and once it’s on its back I reach for the tracks on its wheels and pull. They don’t come off but something seems to break, and as I back up again I can see the wheel turning helplessly, unevenly, and the bot’s seeming frustration at not being able to right itself.

  Something loops around my waist and I’m thrown, suddenly, at the gate. I hit it hard, pain clanging through my skull, and fall to the floor. The girl yelps, and despite the ringing in my ears I force myself to my feet. I blink the dots from my eyes and whip around, kicking a limb away from her face. She sinks to the floor behind me, still screaming, like she knows that I can’t do it.

  And as the remaining five bots round on us, I fear she might be right.

  I ready myself, my fists raised, my legs tensed to fight. This is so far beyond me, beyond anyone – and some small part of me knows that I can’t do this alone. But as I lift my fists to my face and prepare to attack, two figures drop down beside me.

  Adam and Sparrow.

  They’re unarmed too, and like me seem to have run in without a moment’s hesitation. They flank me and we form a semi-circle, holding the crying girl between us.

  “It’s alright, we’re here.”

  Sparrow’s voice is hard and self-assured, and there’s something in it that calms my panic. I’m with the Scouts now, and Scouts always win out.

  Adam raises a fist and brings it down on the core of the nearest bot, sending it spinning off course. It veers towards me, its blade held aloft and I dart forward, ducking underneath it and throwing my shoulder into it. It stumbles back and this time I kick it, pushing it back again and again, giving us more room to manouver.

  Around me, the others fight. I can hear Adam’s grunting as he struggles to force one away, and as I glance back Sparrow is standing over the girl. In her hand is a long metal bar, perhaps ripped from one of the bots, and in her eyes I can finally see something different. Pleasure. Absolute, unquestioned pleasure at the fight she’s in.

  The bot grabs at me and catches my foot, sending me sprawling to the ground. I kick out, pushing it back, but there’s another behind me and it clutches at my shoulders, my neck, my chest. I pull away desperately, managing to break free of most of its hold – and something comes down behind me, breaking the remaining limbs with sheer force. A hand finds me and pulls me up, and I smile gratefully at Sparrow.

  “Take this,” she says, and presses the bar into my hands. Normally I’d refuse, but we don’t have time to argue. The bar is thin and light, but I can tell it’s stronger than it looks. I whip round to the nearest bot and lunge at it, somehow dodging the blade and embedding the bar deep within it. It kicks out, pushing me off, but I hold tight and yank, pulling the bar out of its body. The reaction is instantaneous; it crashes to the floor motionless.

  The girl screams again and I find myself in front of her, backing her up into the gate to give myself room to move. I can feel the fear coming from her in waves, hear the pent-up terror as she bites back the tears. Something about it reminds me of when I was lost in the city, alone and scared and certain that I was going to die. I never want anyone to feel that way again.

  A bot launches itself at me and though I pull away, the blade hits my arm. Luckily it’s only in passing, a minor wound, but it sends shivers of pain through me. I knock it aside and clutch at the cut, shuddering at the sight of my own blood. There’s more than I thought there would be.

  “Damn, there’s so many!” Adam cries, and I can see he’s trying to push two away at once. His muscles strain with the effort of holding them back and I run towards him, taking a flying leap off a fallen bot and aiming a foot at one of the ones holding him. It crashes down, giving him a chance to spear the other one with a piece of scrap metal. It shudders to a stop, and I do a mental count. Four down. Three left. We’re getting there.

  Two bots round on us, and Adam and I act seemingly out of instinct. We back into each other, each raising our makeshift weapons, our shoulder blades linking together. He gives a small nod and we both kick into motion, each ripping and tearing at the bots until there’s nothing else to fight.

  But then, I hear a scream. It’s not the girl this time; and it’s not a noise born of fear. No. This is a blood-curdling scream, a screech of agony. I whip around and the world stops.

  Sparrow is frozen, and the fight is frozen, and the spurt of blood coming from her is frozen, too. My eyes snap open as I see the blade deep in her chest, the pain in her eyes. No. Please, no.

  She hits the floor and the world speeds up again. Adam cries out and suddenly I’m racing toward her, my legs aching with the effort of running, my mind desperate. Fear flits through me, fear so much deeper and more horrible than anything I’ve ever known.

  Adam runs in front of me and kicks the bot away, but I don’t care for the fight. I collapse to my knees beside Sparrow, tears building in my eyes, a sob in my chest.

  The wound is horrific. There’s so much blood – too much – and as I lean over her, desperate for some kind of sign, she looks at me. It’s just a look. There’s little emotion there. I don’t even know if she can see me. But somehow, somehow, she fixes her gaze on me. Her mouth twitches, and suddenly her eyes are dark.

  The shock hits me like a punch to the gut. Her chest isn’t moving, her eyes no longer glowing with signs of life. My mind begins to shut down, but my movements are automatic, involuntary. I cross my hands over her chest and begin to pump, hoping against hope that I can keep her alive long enough for Dr Newton to arrive. I lean down and press my mouth to hers, breathing out, long and slow like he taught me. I can taste her blood. It’s metallic and warm and makes me feel sick, but I keep going.

  Adam kicks the bot away and turns to us. He cries out for Sparrow, and in his voice I can feel all the pain he’s ever felt, all the loss and fear and agony. He rushes over to us and I ignore him, continuing to press down on her chest. I feel her ribs creaking under my touch, perhaps even breaking, but I find I don’t care.

  I don’t know how long I sit there, pumping and breathing and trying to keep Sparrow alive. She moves every time I touch her, and I feel like maybe it’s a sign, but I know it’s not. I work for what seems like days, but could realistically be minutes. My mind is blank, my heart empty, and though my hands shudder against her chest I can’t bring myself to feel emotion. If I dare to think about it, dare to accept it, then I’ll break. I won’t be able to help her at all then.

  Beside me, Adam is a mess. He sits in the mud, his face crumpled, his hand desperately clutching at hers. He shakes her every so often, as though he believes she’s simply sleeping and can be woken with just the right trick. I don’t have the heart to push him away or demand more space; I know somewhere deep inside of me that it doesn’t matter what I do.

  No matter how long I go, her heart isn’t going to start working again. She’s lost too much
blood, far too much, and I can’t… I just can’t…

  Suddenly my hands stop, and I pause with my mouth hovering over hers. I can’t. I can’t.

  Adam sees me stop and cries out.

  “Why are you stopping? Keep going!”

  I stare into Sparrow’s eyes, and I tremble, and suddenly it’s over. The last dreg of hope I had fades away. There’s nothing I can do now. There’s nothing anyone can do.

  She's out of my reach.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It’s not long before people gather round, drawn by the sound of the bells. I can hear them talking, muttering, gasping in shock at the sight of the two of us, collected around our fallen comrade. The gates squeak open, and Dr Newton comes. He checks her, demands to know what happened, but neither of us respond.

  Adam is in floods of tears, and after only a moment he begins to yell. He screeches, stands, punches the gate with his fist. He turns, blames me, screams that it’s all my fault and what was I thinking and how could I be so stupid. Look what you’ve done, he cries, look what you caused.

  I don’t respond. I can’t. I sit motionless on the ground, my hands folded in my lap, staring at Sparrow’s motionless form. My whole body quakes with emotions I don’t quite understand. Dr Newton looks at me, meets my eyes, and his mouth moves but I don’t hear him. The world is silent to me now, the quiet deafening, pressing in on my ears. I can barely breathe as my mind begins to shut down.

  Someone leads me away. I don't know who it is. They speak to me, their voice muffled, their face blurred, and I wonder why they're bothering. Isn't it obvious that I can't hear them, that I'm barely conscious?

  I'm sat down somewhere and sit in silence for what feels like hours. My hands quake, my fingers shivering against each other, but I can't feel anything. There's a strange pressure in my head, both painful and numb at the same time. My breath is slow and steady, oddly enough, and I fight to keep my mind blank. I don't want to think about what just happened. I don't think I can do it.

  Eventually, Dr Newton comes to me. He looks at me, his eyes focussed on mine, and mutters something. Initially his tone is curious, demanding, but when I don't react it changes. His hands find my shoulders and he pulls me a little, giving me a small shake, as though he's trying to snap me out of it. I don't have the heart to tell him that it's voluntary, that I'm choosing to be like this rather than break down altogether. His voice softens then, becomes kinder, more reassuring, and concern flickers in his eyes. I know what he's thinking. Shock. But that's not it; it can't be. I feel so careful, so fragile, and it takes every bit of effort I have to keep my thoughts from creeping in.

  Eventually he sighs, perhaps resigned to my silence, and starts to clean the wound on my arm. It hurts, but I barely register it. He cleans the blood from my face and puts me into the bed at the back of the infirmary. When I walk my steps are slow and send strikes of pain through my core.

  But my body is exhausted, and as I lie down on the mattress I welcome the silence that comes with sleep.

  I wake in the early hours in a state of panic. I can see it; the bot nearing us, Sparrow defenseless in front of me. The blade swinging down. I pull towards it but I can't save her, because I'm not there, I'm not with her. I sit up, flailing, and something crashes.

  The door to the room flies open and Dr Newton is there, staring at me. I realise that the crash was the oil lamp next to the bed, which I sent flying in my panic. I sit upright, the blanket pulled up to my throat, something hot streaming down my face.

  I had been so careful, so calm and measured. But the moment I fell asleep, the nightmares started. I witnessed it, again and again, like a video on a loop. And now that I'm awake, now that I've snapped out of it, the pain is so intense it's almost physical.

  He sits down at the edge of the bed, and looks at me, but he doesn't reach out for me. I can understand why; he doesn't know what's going through my head. I could be hallucinating, having a breakdown. I wouldn’t be the first. He knows better than to reach out to touch me.

  “Ash.”

  I breathe heavily, and manage to bring myself back to consciousness long enough to wipe my eyes with my sleeve. He seems to relax at that, a sign that I'm at least somewhat aware.

  “It was just a dream.”

  He says it softly, and I know he's talking about my nightmares, but I find myself wishing he was talking about Sparrow. I'd give anything for that to have been a dream – I don't care if I have to be branded insane for imagining it.

  He reaches for me now, his hand finding mine, and suddenly I'm reminded of why he's always been such an excellent doctor. He strikes me as someone who demands respect, but he's also kind and understanding. I feel a little shame welling in my chest. He's so nice to me. How could I ever hope to fill his shoes? I don't know if I could be so kind to someone who's just killed someone else.

  The thought hurts like a knife to the chest. I killed her? That's what Adam said. I can remember him, his face purple with anger, his cheeks stained with tears. What were you thinking, he'd cried. Look what you've done.

  My head bows and I turn away, lying back down. As much as it would comfort me to receive his kindness right now, I can't do it. I've done too much, been too reckless, and it's ended in disaster. I don't deserve his kindness.

  “Alright,” he says, his voice low, “I’ll leave you to it.”

  He gets up to leave, his hand dragging on my shoulder, a last ditch attempt to comfort me. I bury my face in the pillow, misery overwhelming me, my body aching.

  The next week goes by in silence. I drift without purpose. Nobody tries to speak to me; occasionally they look at me and their eyes change like they might try, but then they see my expression and draw back. Like they’re afraid of me.

  I feel fragile. The cut on my arm stops hurting and despite being checked over by Dr Newton, I feel myself growing weaker. I don’t eat – I can’t bring myself to. I can’t sleep either, because every night I’m plagued with nightmares. I wake in a state and Dr Newton checks on me. The first couple of times he tries his best to reassure me, somehow, but once my responses die out he gives up. I can feel it now, the way he looks at me, like something’s changed between us and he doesn’t know if it will ever go back.

  The Scouts don’t try to speak to me. Adam seems to vanish off the face of the earth, choosing to remain locked inside their base, refusing to speak to anyone. I sometimes see Brick or Kicker out, walking through Fairground, but I can’t face them. If I see them I take off sprinting in the other direction, so frightened of what they might say. I don’t think that I can bring myself to look into their eyes. This has got to be hard on them, likely harder than it is on me. I don’t think that I can look at the grief and loss on their faces.

  I become a shadow of myself. Even when Max buzzes through on the HT I offer minimal response, choosing to pass it off to Dr Newton to explain things. I find myself missing it there, but also feeling like I don’t deserve to miss it. Missing something is like saying that you think you should have it, that you have the right to do so. And I don’t.

  Once or twice I see Bree, helping John. She carries boxes and files and follows him joyfully, like a puppy. I feel a pang of something pleasant – she reminds me of when I first started to train in medicine, how I would try so hard to get Dr Newton to notice me, so hard to prove to him that I could learn and that I could help. But she doesn’t try to talk to me either, and I suspect John’s told her not to. I don’t blame him.

  I wouldn’t want to be around me, either.

  My feet bounce off the pavement as I race through the ruins. My breath is short and I can barely see, but the panic in my chest forces me to keep moving. Behind me, I can hear them. The bots, their insides murmuring, their feet hitting the ground so hard it echoes. Mechanical breathing fills my ears and I throw myself forward, but my legs hurt and everything sways around me.

  I pull to a stop and push my back against a broken wall, lifting the Pulse Launcher to my shoulder and aiming it arou
nd wildly. I'm being chased, I just know it. I can feel the tiny hairs on the back of my neck standing up on end, shock prickling down my spine. I gulp hard and fast, peering behind me to wait for the bots to come. The sounds are getting louder and louder as they get nearer, and it sets me on edge.

  My free hand sinks down to my waist and I thread my fingers through the loops, sliding a small knife from my belt. I grip it tightly and look around again, but I can't see anything approaching. I try to calm my breath, and after a few seconds, I carry on walking.

  My strides are steady and full of purpose, but I'm still wary. I clutch both the Launcher and the knife, holding them both up ready to launch an attack if I need to. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy a tiny bot, no larger than my thumb with a dozen legs, like a little spider. It pauses when it sees me, but when I take a step towards it, it scurries away.

  Then, I feel it. The ground beneath me starts to quake, so slightly that I perhaps wouldn't have noticed if not for the puddles of oil on the ground around me. I steady my grip on my weapons, tuck myself behind a wrecked car and wait, hoping it'll go away. But the sound only grows nearer, and as I stare at the ground I try to pretend it's not there, so it doesn't sense the heat from my body, the racing of my heart.

  It doesn't work.

  The car that I'm leaning against shifts, suddenly picked up and thrown over my head. I gasp and scramble to get out of the way, throwing myself aside to try and avoid the car as it comes crashing down behind me. I pull myself upright and start running, barely glancing back to see the bot behind me. But I don't need to see it to know I need to run - I can see its hulking shadow, looming behind me. I can hear the deafening buzz of its inner workings.