by David Meyer
“You’re sleeping?” The woman strode out of the inky blackness. Her hands went to her hips and she looked at him with disgust. “What’s wrong with you?”
“No, I’m … wait …” A splitting ache erupted in Titus Foster’s skull as he picked his head up off of a metal grating. “Is that you, Sanza?”
“Of course. Who else would it be?”
Rubbing his temples, he rocked his body into a sitting position. He hurt all over. Worse, he was completely parched. How long had he lain there, anyway? An hour? A day? A week? “Where …?” He trailed off, his brain drowning in a sea of confusion.
“Get it together, will you?”
She appeared kind of fuzzy around the edges, almost as if she were melting into the blackness.
“Where’s the tablet?” she asked.
What was she talking about? And where were they, anyway?
He got to his knees. Peeling back his sleeve, he used his hand to wipe sweat from his russet-colored visage. A slight shiver ran through his body. It was a bit chilly, a far cry from the terrible heat he usually endured.
Glancing about, he saw a catwalk beneath him. An access panel lay nearby.
I’m underground, he realized. In Station Four.
Memories flooded his brain. He recalled the invasion of Natica. Racing to the reservoir. Running for his life. Being chased through the aqueduct by her.
Cormella Dodge.
Cormella was an artificial intelligence who despised humanity and wished to end it, once and for all. Leaving the digital city of Luminosity, she’d uploaded herself to a sandswarm, a pack of water-dissolving nanobots. Joining forces with the Banished, led by Titus’ brother, Dargon Foster, she’d wreaked havoc upon the physical world.
“Where’s the tablet?” Sanza asked again.
He furrowed his brow. The tablet in question held Kayden Kell and four other geniuses. Their essences had been digitized centuries ago so that they could continue to benefit mankind with their inventions and ideas.
Until recently, they’d resided in Luminosity. But when Cormella vacated the city, she’d left a virus in her wake. It had deleted everything and everyone, save for Kayden and her friends.
“I gave it to you,” he replied at last. “Remember?”
“No. Because that never happened.” She frowned at him. “You lost it, didn’t you? Can’t you do anything right?”
What was she talking about? Of course, he’d given it to her. He was sure of it.
He crawled to the access panel. Beneath it, lay the hatch atop Aqueduct Four. Unfortunately, the splash of light that surrounded him didn’t reach quite that far.
“If you’re looking for water, don’t bother.” Sanza watched him closely. “It’s gone.”
His eyes widened. Earth had once hosted an astonishing abundance of water. Oceans, seas, rivers, and lakes had covered much of the planet. But now, all of the surface water was gone, dried up long ago by the Broken. Earth’s last known water reserves were located in underground pools of unknown size. Cormella had desiccated Pool Four before his eyes, turning it into auburn sand. Had she desiccated Natica’s other pools as well?
He twisted toward Sanza, Natica’s Chief of Reverse-Engineering. She was tall and lanky with curly red hair that blazed brighter than the sun. Truly, she was gorgeous, a work of art, a statue breathed to life by the Creator.
When they’d last parted, he’d kissed her and she’d kissed him back. But now, he sensed anger in her tone. Was she mad at him? At the situation?
“I’ve still got some water.” He reached under his cloak, feeling for the five canteens he’d taken with him. “It won’t last long, but you’re welcome to it.”
She sneered at him. “I don’t want your water.”
“Neither do I.” Podey Kreeze, Chief of Reservoir Operations, strolled out of the inky blackness.
“Podey?” He frowned. “You’re here, too?”
“She’s not the only one.” The inky blackness parted for Private Lunit Stanner. He stepped confidently onto the catwalk, with few traces of his normal, rigid demeanor.
“Good to see you, Private,” Titus said.
“Oh, I doubt that. If you really cared, you wouldn’t have sent me off to die by myself.“
Stanner was a soldier, through and through. So, his failure to use the moniker, ‘Sir,’ when addressing Titus, was unprecedented.
“We had to separate,” Titus replied. “It was our best shot at escaping Natica.”
“You could’ve found another way,” Podey said.
He frowned.
“You messed up,” Sanza said.
“Big time,” Stanner added.
His head felt so weird, so heavy. He wanted to respond, but didn’t know what to say.
“Pool Four’s definitely gone. Our other pools are probably sand now, too.” Podey shook her head. “And it’s all your fault.”
He stared at her.
“Don’t you remember? We were at the reservoir. I’d just opened the last of the hatches. I asked for a little more time at my console. But you refused.”
Come to think of it, he did remember that.
“Well, I was going to close the dams,” she continued. “That would’ve saved our water.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Dargon would’ve just opened them up again. I …” The ache in his skull intensified. Gritting his teeth, he tried to think. But he felt sluggish, like his brain was only working at half-strength.
“Natica lies in ruins. Our people are dead. Even our water’s gone.” Sanza sneered. “And all because of you.”
“Just … I didn’t …”
“You failed your people,” said a new speaker. “Those you knew and those who died long before you were born.”
The voice was familiar, deep-throated. Just hearing it was enough to hollow Titus out.
He turned toward the speaker, but saw only blackness. Rooting around on the catwalk, he searched for his torch. But he couldn’t find it. In fact, he didn’t see any sources of light. So, how was he able to see in this inky blackness anyway?
Sandals clicked against the metal grating. Sweat beaded up under Titus’ eyes as he watched a man emerge from the darkness.
“Father?” he whispered.
Jayter Foster, the former king of Natica, stood before him. The man’s eyes were dark and swirling. His dense beard, which covered the lower half of his face, blended in with the inky blackness that surrounded him.
“I knew you weren’t fit to be king,” he said.
Titus flinched. And yet, something was off. Something was wrong. And he was pretty sure he knew what it was.
His headache turned piercing. It felt like bolts were being driven into his forehead.
Fighting off the pain, he looked at Jayter, saw the man staring back at him with pure derision. Despite this, a big part of him wanted the moment to last forever. But that wasn’t possible.
“You’re not real,” Titus said. “You died six months ago.”
The man frowned.
The inky blackness opened yet again. This time, two new figures came slinking out into the odd light.
One was tall and thin with a lean, muscular body. He sported salt-and-pepper hair, which was shoulder-length and shaggy. His cheeks, meanwhile, were drawn tight and featured ultra-deep lines.
“Hello, Brother,” Dargon said.
Years ago, Dargon had been banished from Natica. He and other banished people had ventured into the surrounding hinterlands. But rather than succumb to the scorching heat, they’d managed to eke out lives amongst the ruins of the old world.
Dargon believed humanity had gone off the rails, that it had forfeited its right to existence. And so, he wished to end the species, once and for all. To do so, he’d trained his people into a mighty force, the Banished.
The other person, if one could call her that, was Cormella. She had curly hair and a cool glint in her eye. Despite being an A.I., she looked very much like a human being, albeit one made of sw
irling, vibrating gold sand.
“Thank you,” she purred.
“For what?” he asked.
Her smile widened to absurd lengths. “For leading me to Pool Four.”
Dargon stepped forward. “Time to die, Brother.”
Rearing backward, Titus fell onto the catwalk. Reaching into his cloak, he felt around for his sword. But the sheath was empty.
Dargon produced his blade. A smirk filled his face.
Titus stared up at him, fighting the headache, fighting to say what he knew to be true. “You’re not real.” His eyes flicked from Dargon to Cormella, then across to his father, Sanza, Podey, and Stanner. “None of you are real.”
Cormella shrieked and exploded into a whirling, spinning sandswarm. She swirled wider and wider, quickly engulfing the others. Uttering horrible moans, they began to stretch. Their bodies, now impossibly long and getting longer by the second, started to twist in weird, vomit-inducing circles.
And then the inky blackness swallowed all of them up.
“No!” With a strangled cry, Titus reared up off of a metal grating. His back went ramrod straight and he stared, blinking, at the tiny, flickering light of his torch.
He twisted around, looking everywhere. He saw nothing but darkness. There was no sign of his friends, his father, Dargon, or Cormella.
Indeed, it had been a dream. A nightmare, really.
He exhaled. How long had he been unconscious? There was no way to tell. Not down here, far removed from the sun or any timepiece.
He picked up the torch, waved it to his left, then to his right. Was it his imagination or was the flame not shining so brightly anymore?
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the access panel. Memories of his nightmare, of what had inspired it, surged through him.
He scrambled to the panel, aimed the torch through the grating. Below, he spotted the top of Aqueduct Four. Its hatch was still in place, sealed tight. Evidently, Cormella hadn’t been able to get through it. Well, that was good.
And yet, it was just one good thing in a sea of badness. Natica was indeed finished. Its residents were dead or gone, scattered to the far corners of the hinterlands. Pool Four was likely empty now. Soon, the other pools would be empty, too.
And his position wasn’t much better. Sure, he was safe. But he was also alone. Alone and trapped.
Six months earlier, Dargon had used a refurbished tank from ancient times to attack the station. Down there, far beneath the surface, the building still maintained some structural integrity. Farther up, it was just a huge pile of rubble.
But it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. After all, retracing his steps to the reservoir would mean certain death. So, he lifted his torch high above his head. It cast a dim light on some of the surrounding area.
He noticed two ladders rising skyward. They led to massive hatches, which allowed one to access the rest of the station.
Well, this is it, he thought. Rock-bottom. Can’t get any worse than this.
The flickering torchlight went out. A cloak of icy darkness fell over the catwalk.
Drat.
Chapter 2
A thundering creak rang out far overhead. Frozen in darkness, Titus tilted his chin skyward. He couldn’t see anything. But it felt like the ruins of Station Four were about to come crashing down on top of his skull.
Tension cropped up in his neck and shoulders. His legs began to cramp. And still, he remained perfectly still, his eyes staring into total blackness.
Finally, he lowered his face. Slowly, he brought the torch up in front of him. He looked for red coals, embers, anything. Unfortunately, it was completely dark. Frustrated, he nearly flung it away. But he lowered it to his side instead.
Slowly, silently, he counted to sixty. But his eyes didn’t adjust to the lack of light. And so, he counted to sixty for a second time. Then for a third time.
His vision still didn’t improve.
More minutes ticked by and all he saw was darkness. His chest began to tighten, slowly squeezing into knots. His breath quickened to the point of hyperventilation. His imagination began to play tricks on him. He thought he heard footsteps, thought he smelled blood, thought he felt the sting of a whirling sandswarm.
His knees grew weak and wobbly. His whole body felt like it was gaining weight, becoming unfathomably heavy. His head swooned and he thought he might faint. He had to blindly grab a railing to keep from falling.
“Get a grip,” he told himself. “It’s not over yet.”
He took a few deep breaths. A couple knots in his chest loosened. His breathing didn’t normalize, but it slowed enough to be manageable.
He pulled his brain out of its freefall and put it to work. First, he felt around inside of his cloak, doing a quick inventory of his possessions. Despite what his dream had told him, his sword was still in its sheath. All five of his canteens were in place.
On a whim, he took out the sword and scraped it against the catwalk. It emitted a soft ding, but failed to produce a spark. He was disappointed, but not surprised. What he really needed were a couple of those black rocks they used to find all over Natica.
As he returned the sword to its sheath, his fingers brushed up against one of the canteens. His throat ached and his lips were parched. He wanted a drink. Badly. But this was all the water he had left. So, he had to make it last.
If he conserved his energy, the canteens would last him upward of five days. If he didn’t—which he wouldn’t—that time would be cut in half.
“A few days, then,” he told himself. “You’ve got a few days to get to the Shell.”
A great mountain lay to the northeast. A fort—the Shell—resided at its peak. Before parting with his friends, he’d asked them to meet him there. And with good reason. For the Shell, although it had yet to be fully explored, was believed to host its own pool of water.
The plan was to hole up there for as long as possible. Meanwhile, Kayden and her friends—still on the tablet—would continue their quest to stop Cormella and end the Broken.
He took his torch, fit it into his cloak. Then he pictured the ladder in his mind, recalling where he’d last seen it. Tentatively, he took a step in that direction.
The catwalk clattered noisily under his sandaled foot and he froze solid. Perking his ears, he listened carefully. He didn’t really expect to hear anything. It was just this place, this darkness, preying on his fears.
Gripping the railing, he took another step. Then another one. His footsteps got a bit quieter. The darkness gradually lost its hold on his fears.
He loosened his hold on the railing. Sliding his fingers along the smooth, curving metal, he made his way across more of the catwalk. Eventually, his hand bumped into a new rail, a vertical one.
Halting, he felt the rail. It was a siderail and he quickly discovered its match. Between the siderails were plenty of rungs, which he used to hoist himself off of the catwalk.
Rung over rung he climbed, blindly ascending the ladder. He tried to judge the distance to the hatch. And so, he was quite surprised when he reached up and his right hand waved at thin air.
Returning his hand to the ladder, he hauled himself up a few more steps. Then he lifted his hand once again. This time, his fingers brushed up against cool metal.
He felt around, fumbling for the latch. He soon found it, only to discover it was locked in place.
Oh, that’s right, he recalled. The keys.
Reaching into his cloak, he fished out a large keyring. Podey had given it to him right before they’d separated. He felt around again, locating the lock. Picking a key, he tried to insert it into the slot. But it didn’t fit.
Cursing silently, he tried another key. Then another one. He finally found a match with the fourth key. It slid easily into the slot and clicked when he turned it.
Returning the keyring to his cloak, he gave the hatch a shove. A soft metallic squeal rang out as it yawned open.
He climbed up the rest of the ladder, then rolle
d out onto the floor. Twisting around, he located the hatch in the dark. Closing it over, he locked it tight.
Stepping away, his foot landed on something soft, yet hard. A terrible stench roiled his nostrils.
Reaching into the darkness, he felt around his feet. His fingers brushed up against soft fabric. Pushing it gently, he felt a pulpy object.
A terrible realization flooded his brain and he lurched backward. His heels bumped into another fabric-covered object and he fell over it. Feeling sick, he tried to get back up again, only to bump into another such object.
He stilled himself for a few seconds, breathing only through his mouth. Trying not use his nose. Trying to do whatever it took to avoid breathing in the foul stench that pervaded the room.
They’re people, he thought, right before emptying the contents of his stomach all over the floor. My people.
Chapter 3
Titus wiped his mouth, feeling weak. Feeling gross and raw on the inside. How could he have forgotten this was here? How could he have forgotten the horrors that had taken place at the station?
Six months ago, he’d led an expedition to Station Four. He and his people had ventured into its bowels, expecting to find a broken aqueduct. Instead, they’d walked into a trap.
Dargon and the Banished had attacked them, slaughtering many of his friends and neighbors in cold blood. The very people that surrounded him now. Titus and the others had barely escaped.
Afterward, the battle had receded into his brain, blending in with all of the other battles he’d fought that day. But now, he was faced with it head-on. The stench of death invaded his nostrils. The taste of stale blood stung his lips. Fleshy corpses were everywhere he tried to step.
His nostrils opened for a split-second. His stomach roiled yet again. He went through the motions of throwing up, but his body had nothing left to give.
Weakly, he collapsed on the floor, his rear pushed up against a corpse. It made him feel icky, but he was too exhausted to move.
He shut his nostrils down. Staring ahead, he peered into the darkness. So many people had died that day. Friends, neighbors, soldiers. He recalled some of their names, but his mind couldn’t conjure up even a single face. They’d only perished some six months ago. And yet, they were already forgotten, even by him.