by Lisa Jade
A sigh bursts from my chest and I lean back against a wall. A moment later I turn and stare at it, surprised that it’s not crumbling. Most of the structures around here are weak, broken through by mechas and ‘controlled’ explosions during the first wave of attacks. But this wall is holding firm, and an idea occurs to me. I throw my pack over both shoulders and grab at the wall with both hands, lifting myself up onto it. I expect it to break under my weight, but to my surprise it doesn’t so much as creak.
I climb it up, as high as it will go, until I emerge from the remains of rooftops around me. I’m not exactly high, but from here I can see into the city. Behind me I can see the ferris wheel, once so big but suddenly seeming so very far. In the other direction I can see the skyscrapers. They’re closer than they’ve ever been and they seem bigger, much bigger than I had imagined. Even at Street they were still in the distance, a shadow in the night sky. But here they seem to consume the world around them, looming over it, drawing my eyes to the tiny flickering light at the top of the tower.
Something shudders beneath me – something so massive and heavy that it’s shaking the foundations of the wall. I glance down. There’s something coming, something big, and I have nowhere to go. I back up, lock my shoulders against the exposed brick of the wall, close my eyes and wait.
Please don’t notice me. Please.
I know that sound, that steady, deafening thump that could only belong to a mecha. Massive wheels like tanks, bodies so armoured that my knife would bend against it and leave barely a scratch. Inner workings so strong that even if I pulled and pulled, I’d likely never break it.
The fear flits through me, and I remember something that Dr Newton told me, a long time ago. That bots are intelligent, and though they’ve been reduced to animal-like instinct, that intelligence remains. A mecha, being an attack bot, can track human body heat. It can sense heartbeat and sweat. In short, it can smell fear.
I close my eyes even tighter, pressing myself further back into the brick, and fight to control my fear.
I’m in the courtyard at Fairground, sitting in front of the infirmary with my legs crossed underneath me. Near the gate stand a group of four, three men and a woman, and they each carry weapons. Long, slim, powerful guns that both terrify and excite me. They turn, noticing me, and I feel my admiration building…
Something roars below me. Not calm enough.
I remember Minni kicking me awake and then greeting me with a smile, like it was perfectly okay to do so since we’re friends. I focus on the times sitting around the campfire, forcing down that vile tasting drink and pretending it wasn’t so bad. I lock onto a hazy memory of standing with Max on the roof, my feet above him, only inches away from falling, staring at Fairground with a sense of sadness and nostalgia.
The noise seems to quieten and after a few moments, I can hear the sound of those tracks as they move away from me. Somehow – somehow – it worked. I heave a small sigh of relief and resolve to try and stay calmer in future.
I give it a while before clambering back down to continue on my way. Something flutters in my chest; the pleasure, perhaps, at having somehow avoided a mecha. Adam always told us, always warned us that if we saw one, our only chance was to hope it hadn’t noticed you and run. It always seemed so terrible. When I was younger they would plague my dreams – a seemingly pleasant scene suddenly ruined when one crashed in. I still remember the childish nightmare of being rooted to the ground, my feet tied to concrete blocks, pulling and pulling but unable to get away from the monster. And somehow I just managed to escape one.
Something about it makes me smirk.
I walk for what seems like hours, and only seem to run into small bots along the way. I tell myself I’m lucky, but I know the real reason. I’m venturing nearer and nearer to the Network Tower.
The Tower was the life blood of the city. It provided electricity to the bots and helped control them, giving us both our most vital means of survival and the ability to choose what to do with it. Bots used to be a valuable commodity, vital to the city. If I strain my mind, I can just about remember a time when everything was run by bots. The cashier at the checkout was a bot – far cheaper, more efficient and just as friendly as a human. The bank teller was a bot, and the waiter. Bots swept our streets and pumped our petrol and collected our rubbish. They took all of those jobs that nobody else felt the desire to do, and as a result, we were allowed to wallow in a strange void.
What do you do when there are no menial tasks left? You try to find a thrill, or you try to do something unique. Something a bot can’t do. We seemed to have a surplus of artists, novelists, musicians. People who were desperate to prove that they still had worth in a city led by technology.
It became a segregated society - or at least that’s what Nicholas told me in his stories. Those who believed in a world led by humans remained on the edge of the city, trying to get by with the basics and attempting to prove that they didn’t need luxury to be happy. But those who wanted the luxury lived in the city’s heart. That’s why there are so many ruined bots out here, and that’s why there are still so many in the area. Twelve years later and those bots still roam the richer areas of the city, waiting for an order that will never come. It would be sad if it wasn’t so sick.
So I find myself becoming more cautious as I head further into the city, my knife held aloft, my nerves on edge. Any minute now, it’ll happen. I’ll turn a corner and be faced with more bots than I’ve ever seen in my life.
My body lowers almost instinctively, and despite the ache in the small of my back I go with it, sneaking behind debris and ruined cars, lifting the corpses of broken bots to hide myself under them. I’m not moving as fast as I need to – but this way I’m safe.
I pull a fallen bot towards me, and suddenly something turns the corner. It stares at me, and there’s a glint of something there. Something akin to recognition. It’s a tall bot, taller than a human, with a small round head and long, metallic limbs that seem to hold it off balance somehow. It sways as it looks at me, weighing me up. It looks just like the one that pinned me before, the one that nearly killed me before Max and the others came to my aid.
It tilts its head, still unsure of me, but my decision is made. I tense and launch myself at it, throwing it to the ground and pinning it with my knees. I flick my knife out and bring it up high over my head, eyes finding the perfect spot to attack.
It tilts back its tiny, misshapen head, and some form of mouth opens up, full of chain and wire. The sight unnerves me – but as it emits a scream, so high and loud that it sends shockwaves of pain through my head, I don’t care. I bring the blade down hard, severing the thin coil that seems to act as its neck. The sound dies in its throat but I can still hear it, still loud, echoing in my head like the ringing of the Fairground bells.
Something deep in the back of my head registers the noise and warns me that it’s a cry for help, but the pain is more distracting. I stand upright, stumbling a little, the screech ringing in my head and making my eyes water. I bring my hands to my ears and push, trying to suffocate the sound, force it back into my head where I can ignore it.
Something shifts behind me; but I’m so distracted by the pain that it’s on me before I can even ready my knife. Something pins me to the ground, a heavy, metallic weight resting on my ribs. I kick out, my feet colliding with something solid, but I can’t pull it off me. My vision clears for a moment – the bot pinning me is large and round, with a body like a ball and a number of thin, spidery legs sticking out of it. The weight is immense and I push my hands and legs against it, trying to give myself enough room to breathe, but it’s too big. I can feel my breathing speeding up, the panic in my chest as I realise I’m going to suffocate.
I bring up my knee and kick out again, more desperately this time. Somehow, my leg connects with one of its legs and I feel the joint buckle under the force of the blow. Its balance shifts, and seeing my chance I lash out again, with both legs this time, kicking its legs
out from under it and sending it veering off to one side.
The second I’m free I roll aside, stand up and throw my weight at the bot. I push it down and its limbs seem to snap, only one or two still waving as it attempts to stand up. I step back, breathless, my chest aching, and turn away.
I take a moment to catch my breath; but it doesn’t last. I can hear them, all around me, behind and in front and overhead… countless bots heading my way, their legs clunking against the concrete, their innards humming in unison. My hands find my knees and I bend down a little, trying to gulp down enough oxygen to keep going. I feel like I should stop and rest – but I don’t have time for that.
A sound comes again, this time closer, and I’m running. The bots seem to be everywhere now; drawn by the sound of the last one’s dying screams, they swarm around me. I run blindly, pushing past everything that steps into my path. For some reason none of them follow me, perhaps so assured that the ones ahead will stop me that it’s simply not worth it. I hear thumping in the distance, the sound of a mecha, and as I run I cross the fingers on my left hand. Please don’t find me.
It’s a while before I burst into a clearing, a small, empty area that seems free of bots. I glance up – the Network Tower is close now. So close I can reach it in a few minutes. It towers over me, and for the first time I can see the detail on the building, the way it starts off wide and tapers off at the top, with a wide ring at the tip and a small bulge that I assume is the control room. I can see, as well, that the outside is more intricate than I’d thought. The length of the tower is full of poles, long, thin pieces of what seems to be glass sticking straight out. It looks odd, in direct contrast with the detailed stonework just above, and I find myself momentarily marveling at the oddities of modern architecture.
But then something shifts behind me and I’m forced to move on. I seem to have made it out of range – the bots that were drawn by the sound have dispersed now, ignoring me. But the whole thing has jarred my nerves and I can feel myself starting to panic.
I flatten myself against a wall, pull a bottle of water from my bag and take a long, drawn-out drink. It seems to calm me somehow, relaxing my muscles a little and drawing me out of panic mode.
It’s been a while since I’ve been chased through the city like that. I close my eyes and try to ignore it, but the memories come flooding back. The sound of my feet against the concrete, the fear thumping through me. The sound of countless bots, running, climbing, skittering after me. The sense of loss I had felt at thinking I would never get home again, and that I would die out here.
I open my eyes, and somehow the fear is gone. It isn’t like last time. Last time, I was some helpless little brat who didn’t know how to fight and thought I would be left out here to die. This time, I’m stronger. I came out here with a choice, made the decision to risk it all. I have something to fight for now. Dr Newton’s voice echoes in my head. All the times through the years when he’d touched my shoulders, trying to cheer me up after yet another rejection. You’re stronger than you think.
Something flairs in my gut – inspiration, maybe, or just a desire to get this over with. I know I should be feeling guilty for abandoning Fairground and for turning my back on everyone, but I can’t think about that now. I turn to the Network Tower and fix my gaze on it.
Time to go.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The area around the base of the tower is oddly quiet. I hide behind a pile of rubble and pull a broken bot up next to me for cover. From here, I can see through the large glass doors. Inside I can see things moving, shifting endlessly, like the whole place is a hive of bees. If I draw the attention of the bots inside, I don’t stand a chance.
The tower stands on a small island with what looks like a dried-up moat around it. A long, glass bridge joins the city and the island, and the rest is surrounded by a deep, bone dry ditch. Running through the ditch is a number of pipes, worming their way from beneath the city, through the moat and into the side of the building. I examine them closely, trying to remember Minni’s plan.
I remember those pipes from her sketches – they’re various supply lines, taking fresh oxygen, water, gas and electricity up into the building. Minni’s plan had included a detailed plan for getting in, that meant sneaking through the security bots. Supposedly the bots who deal with security inside the building are on a different system, and can be reasoned with to some degree or sent away with use of an ID card. Unfortunately, it seems that the bots are mixed up now, those from the outside having worked their way in and blended with the less harmful ones. I can’t just walk in through the front door.
But then my eyes are drawn again to the pipes, and particularly one close to me. It has a tear in it; a large hole that looks like I might just be able to squeeze in. A new plan works itself out in my head. I could walk up through the pipe, follow it into the building and then break out. The problem with that is that I don’t know where it could lead me. I don’t even know if I could break out once I get there. I glance back at the doors and wince a little at the sheer number of bots lurking just inside the building. I sigh. There’s no choice.
The climb down into the moat is difficult. I can smell gas down here, perhaps the result of a leak from one of the pipes. I hope it’s not the one I’m about to go into; but as I near it, I can hear the reassuring sound of running water. Good.
I slip into the pipe and fall into the water, which easily reaches my knees. I cough a little, spitting it out, grateful that this is the pipe with the clean water going in. Wading through it isn’t easy either – the water is strong, much stronger than I had expected and it makes it difficult to stay on my feet. More than once I slip and find myself fighting the current – but after a while, I finally see the pipe break up, leading off into several directions. I hesitate for a moment, unsure of where to go. Perhaps it would have helped to look over the water plans that Minni had back at Street. But then that emotion flairs up again, that odd motivation, and I decide. I pick a route to the left and follow it.
The pipe leads on for a while, then breaks into two. One leads off and down, perhaps to the basement, but the other leads straight up. I touch the side of the pipe, my fingertips gliding over the slightly slimy metal. There are tiny ridges in the side of the pipe, and every few feet is a thick bar that holds the pieces together. If I try, I could probably climb it. But as I stare up, stuffing the knife back into my belt, I realise that the pipe is narrower and seems to go quite high. I can’t even see the top.
Still. It’s the best plan I’ve got.
My hands slip as I grasp at the ridges and pull myself up. I don’t know how old these pipes are, or how long it’s been since they were cleaned. Twelve years is bad enough – algae grows on the walls, covering my hands, making my grip unsteady. Luckily, since the pipe is so much smaller I can rest my back on the other side and push out, holding myself firm.
I don’t know how long or high I climb for, but with every slip of my fingers on the metal I can feel my heart thumping a little harder. A drop from a few feet is bracing, but it can be shaken off. By now, I must be a few stories up. A fall from this height would be fatal.
I pause. Ahead of me is a pipe leading off, into the building. I hesitate, not sure if I should risk it. There are a lot of bots in there; perhaps it would be safer to climb the pipe to the top first. But then my grip fails me and I skid down the pipe a little, only holding myself in place by pushing back against the other side of it. My head spins. The air in here is thin and it’s only getting worse. I reach out and pull myself up onto the level part before following the offshoot.
It isn’t long before I spy something ahead of me. A light, pale and glowing, somewhere around the corner. I pause, pulling out my knife, and follow it.
From here the pipe seems to lead in several directions – but it’s broken, and I manage to force my way out. I emerge into what seems to be a water treatment room, but despite my initial sense of panic I quickly realise there’s nothing around. The ro
om is quiet, only a low hum ringing out from the stationary machinery around me. On one side of the room is a door, wooden and old, so mismatched with the Tower’s exterior.
I sidle out of the door and step into a wide corridor. It’s white – the walls, floor, ceiling. Even the rest of the doors are white, though also somewhat metallic. The whole area looks crisp and clean and nearly untouched; not even the dust has settled here.
Pressing my back to the wall, I glance around a corner. Nothing. But from here, I can see a sign that says Stairwell. It seems to make sense to me that if the ring around the top of the building is what sends out the messages to the bots, then the room to control them must be at the top of the building, too.
I pull open the door to the stairwell and it lets out a creak. I wince back, making sure to pull it closed again straight away, and crossing my fingers and hoping that none of the bots heard it. I turn into the stairwell and freeze.
I was so young when the city was taken over, and I used to tell myself that it didn’t concern me. The people who died were strangers, and in time I forgot even my own parents. It’s so easy to become detached from a past event when it seems so distant. But right now, I feel closer to it than ever.
The stairwell is full of skeletons. Indistinguishable from one another, they lie in heaps, some broken and crushed by the comings and goings of bots. They’re surprisingly white, but seem faded and yellow against the white walls. Ancient bloodstains decorate the walls, and I can see the remains of clothing on the people around me. I step back a little, unable to put my foot down without stepping on something, and imagine what it must have been like.
When the bots went mad, this must have been one of the first places to break into a panic. There are a lot of bots here, and each one had turned. Perhaps they tried to evacuate, but found themselves unable to use the bot-controlled elevators. I can imagine the crowds, the fear as hundreds, maybe thousands of people forced their way into the stairwell, desperate to break out somehow. I can imagine the pressure, the crush, the way people would climb over one another for a chance to escape with their lives.