After the drive she settled down with a story; she knew it would be her last because they were leaving. She liked to collect books and looked for them everywhere she went. And she’d collected a quite a few. The house near the junkyard must’ve had kids and luckily some were hidden well enough to survive the torching. She stashed many in the flyer: her own personal library which she was going to bring back to the cave later in the day.
The day progressed and she fell asleep. She’d been reading a new one, and although it was badly burned she used her imagination to fill in the blanks. It lay open on her lap.
3. Battle Flight
From the outside she slid the flyer’s window up then ran with her books, pencils, and drawings. The day was warm and the sky, unusually, shown more as blue. She stopped. Home? Not today. She decided to venture further, feeling careless and free, and ran and ran, past the burnt houses, down the crumbing weed littered road. Squinting, she saw: a park ahead, green grass, people! Two boys playing on the swings synchronized their motions, higher, higher then flung loose shouting WOOOO! They crashed into soft white sand laughing. There were other kids too, a little girl threw a tea party and sat on the grass tapping cups with her baby brother. A few adults chatted leisurely, legs crossed, sitting on a short rock wall watching, smiling. Beyond them was a city and it looked to be in good condition and bustling. The sun felt warm on her face as she glanced up. Yellow sun! Things are gonna be fine, she thought. And the whole time we were just living in that stinky old cave. Daddy Jon is gonna be so happy when I tell him.
Clouds floated by. They resembled various animals: a fat elephant, and a mouse that chased it away a few minutes later. Amy found herself mesmerized by the changing shapes—and the rare presence of clouds. Tired from the run, sleepy even, she lay on in the moist bright-green grass and watched them pass. What a perfect day, she thought with a delighted smile, one hand behind her head. My Daddies. They are not gonna believe this! A relaxing sigh escaped her and she pictured herself telling them about the place she found. But she also pictured them not believing her, as usual, just like with the rabbits.
The clouds started to flow a little faster as a slight breeze gave them a push and her a chill. She grabbed the edges of her wool coat and closed it hiding her old patchy brown clothes.
The clouds formed and reformed, expanding inward and outward, and became grey. Shadows began to clearly define the shapes, and then dark lines detailed them further. Puffs exploded, only to be devoured by larger puffs. All imploded inward, only to reform again, fast and faster. She noticed the more she focused the more detailed they would become. The shapes began to resemble people in various poses, some in a fighting stance, and then one resembling a drone drifted by. I don’t like that one. The mood changed and she sat up quickly to look around. The park was empty. She looked up again and the sky was no longer a beautiful brilliant blue; its usual orange had returned then evanesced. A bright red filter replaced it, burgundy on the horizons, with streaks of grey and black smoke rising in the distance. Turning her head swiftly, the city was no longer the same either. Now its edges were burning, and it contained thousands of people—no children anywhere. Many were black ash, statues frozen with expressions aghast.
“Oh,” she gasped. Her carelessness, the freedom she had felt earlier, fear dissolved it. Her relaxation morphed into anxiety. There was a twinkle above and beyond the clouds. Looking up she saw it weaving its way through and she squinted to distinguish what it could be; a tiny flickering light, like a star. She focused on the dot and it grew bigger then swerved downward, closer and closer, side to side, narrowing in. It mirrored the red fireball that was the afternoon sun and the flickering turned into hot flashes. A drone! It descended toward her before she could stand.
She tried and tried but felt heavy and weak. It was hard to move. She pushed to get up and a sticker pierced her hand. The grass was dry and brown and full of them now. “Ouch,” she cried, and sat back down feeling helplessly trapped. The machine stopped abruptly in front of her with a curious wobble. A disc-shaped craft, polished chrome, it buzzed unpleasantly, equipped with the old-style noisy blades. Sucking air from its black grill of a surrounding band, blowing it through the fans under its bottom disc, it blasted hot air onto the weeds she lay in. Stickers flew past her. Some landed in her short curly hair, some stuck to her clothes. Its bright red eyes blinded her. She lifted her arm, but it was heavy, so heavy. She bowed her head to meet it halfway, keeping one tear-filled eye on the machine.
The red glowing eyes faded to a calm yellow, and with the change, her dismayed emotions settled, slightly. “Get on,” it said in a soft human-like voice. “I’ll take you for a ride; anywhere you want to go—out of here would be a wise choice.”
Amy wasn’t quite sure. She looked about. More changes: burning buildings, people sick and dirty and naked and thin, men, women, and children, all enslaved, forced by large plodding machines and drones—forced to work, to build, and to kill one another. Her eyes let the tears escape. The smell harassed her nostrils, smoke and burnt death. Incineration blasts abound, and punishments. Whips, lashes. She could feel heat on her face when she lowered her arm, squinting to see. And the gleaming metal drone affront her amplified the heat, fanning it and the smoke her way. She coughed. The successions increased. The deaths were accompanied by a chorus of screams that were becoming constant and torturous. She turned once again to the hovering drone, and it leaned forward in a manner such as a nod. It could have killed me, she thought. I have to be strong. This machine—a good machine? The fear faded and she became strong, and light. She made up her mind, and stood—this time effortlessly.
The drone ejected a small attachment and made a welcoming gesture. A little hand, mechanical joints and all; it flattened outward and offered itself amiably, slowly. Its eyes dimmed again then re-lit as a friendly green, almost to the point of being able to distinguish an expression beyond the glow. “I’m here to help. Trust me. I can be your friend,” it said, emphasizing each word of its last sentence. Amy took a step then reached with her hand and took the mechanical hand of the drone. With her nub she grazed the smooth flawless metal, agleam reflecting the horrors around her. The drone bowed slightly with her touch—like an animal being petted. She remembered her pet, a rabbit, the one Jerry had caught and let her hold, the one, they eventually had to eat. A step ejected from the side. The drone hardly moved as she put her weight onto it. The step lifted her until she was easily able to hop onto the top.
It was about the size of that old tractor tire at the farm, the one she could crawl inside of; another of her many secret hiding places. Once she’d actually hid from a drone there, but it was nothing like this. Wow, she thought, too astounded to speak. She marveled at it all, everything on top of it, so detailed. There were handles and a place to sit, and controls, and a colorful control screen; she glided her hand about its cool surface feeling everything. And, it was quieter on top, hardly any buzzing. With a serious smile she grabbed a handle and commanded the drone, “Okay you said it. Let’s go, up, FLY!” It rose slowly, then increased speed. Her excitement got the best of her. “Higher, as high as we can!” It was scary at first but soon exhilarating and she had a glimpse, a vision, something, a tiny flash—a memory? I know how to fly? It feels so familiar. She knew how, yes, she was sure of it—and she knew one thing: she loved to fly. But she didn’t think more about the feeling, the idea, or whatever it was; and in a moment of pure exhilaration whooshed high into the sky. The higher they rose into the air, the bluer it became. The drone carried her up faster and faster. Her curls fluttered straight and the wind rippled her cheeks. She looked down at the controls. A button flashed in front of her and she couldn’t help herself; she leaned forward to push it. A windshield rose and she could see clearly behind it—her eyes no longer being blown from their sockets. A seat-back came up too, and she was thrust into it hard. They shot straight up and away from the burning city, and higher, and higher, and the sky once again became on the sha
rpest possible dazzling-blue. Together Amy and the drone flew high into the white cotton clouds, then far above. The wind was warm and her smile returned, highly magnified. She erupted into joyous laughter. And she couldn’t seem to stop laughing. The sun shone bright, differently than she ever remembered, yellow and more beautiful than ever. Tears dried on her cheek becoming hard streaks. She felt pure elation through and through.
They flew about the world for hours. The machine was friendly and took her everywhere she wanted to go; away from the horrors—and the cave. She thought of Daddy Jon, Jerry. The beauty of the new green and blue world below made her feel bad, maybe guilty. Wait. I don’t want it, not without my daddies. Daddy. A flash of a face—someone else. She thought hard, trying to pull it back. The more she tried the cloudier her mind became. The drone started to descend—a feeling of falling. Goosebumps rose on her arm and she tingled at the chill, then shivered; the temperature dropped suddenly. Her drone tilted forward and Amy glimpsed what looked like a battlefield, straight ahead in a desert surrounded by tall mountains, shadowed by dark clouds. She buttoned her coat once again and lifted her shoulders squinting in chilly confusion. White plastic robots were chasing drones—just like the one she was riding—pushing them away, and apparently winning the battle.
“I’m sorry Amy I cannot continue to fly with you. We have to go down now.” Her newfound friend’s voice had changed; it sounded metallic. As they neared the battlefield Amy was horrified at the sight of all-out war. Now, the robotic soldiers were accompanied by men, and the battle took a turn with her arrival. The attacking drones rallied around her, swarming—halting the retreat. Like fresh orders had been given they returned to fight overwhelming the soldiers with sheer numbers. Drones of different types, sizes, and shapes—all with fierce red glowing eyes—pushed forward assassinating the men and the robots. Lasers fired. Explosions blasted. Incinerations. Amy yanked on a handle. She kept yanking, pulling, trying to get her friend the drone to go back up but it kept falling—none of the controls worked. She touched the screen, nothing. Looking down again she noticed yet another change. There were children, women, and families all running for their lives. Her drone led the attack, and also began firing at them.
“No. No. Please don’t. Don’t hurt them,” Amy screamed.
“I no longer have a choice,” the drone replied with a far different voice, even more metallic, monotone and deep. The people ran, fumbling and tripping over bodies that were everywhere, making less and less progress, now hardly moving, unable to, climbing over piles of, mountains of, mutilated and burnt dead. For each human that fell, dozens of white plastic men stopped moving. They froze in position, some with a weapon held stiff in the air; Amy thought of the metal man with the ax in her new book.
And she sat atop the leader of the machines, the army loudly buzzing around her; she was along for the ride, helpless. It hurt her ears. She cried out, “Stop!” Again yanking on the handle, now harder, her hand wet from falling tears and cold sweat; and her drone did just that. The windshield and seat-back went down. It hovered devoid of motion and the others orchestrated, moving to create a dome grid. Thousands lined up kilometers wide and tall surrounding the humans.
Breathing heavily, she sat still, arms limp. Their faces! The last of the humans faced their pending death. Some pleaded, others held defiant. They all saw Amy, atop the drone, head of the charge. Some of them reached out to her while others dropped to their knees shaking their heads. Others had a petrified expression of disbelief, shaking their heads slowly. But I want to help! And she reached out to them. She felt responsible—something she’d done, or couldn’t do—and their eyes, hundreds, reflected the evil red glow of the drones. It stabbed her heart. Everyone here is going to die and I can’t do anything about it. She squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could and every drone making the dome let out a punishing high-pitched whine. This was it. The dome constricted. And the noise of the dying people, their screams, and the noise of the drones merged onto one haunting roar. Then everything went black. Quiet.
She gasped, breathing deep, waking with the hot magnified sun burning her through the windshield. She was hot, but clammy at the same time. The feeling of death lingered leaving her in a cold sweat, and terrified. She tightly gripped the seat cushion, then heard it: a high-pitched wail. Is it real? No, she thought. It took her a moment to realize that it was only a dream. Her eyes opened alertly—her pupils moved side to side looking—tears crusting the edges, her dirty long lashes clumping together, and she tried to pull herself together after the horrible nightmare, then, heard it again.
Her survival instincts activated. Everything she’d been taught. Danger was near. I need to get home, she thought, hands trembling. She put the book on the passenger seat, taking one last reaching look at the open page. To avoid making a noise with the door latch she slipped through the car’s open window and dropped to the ground. After getting to her feet she peered slowly over the hood.
A searcher drone! She knew it well from Jon’s sketchbook. It had taken him years, but he had drawn hundreds, and labeled each, describing what to look out for and noting the particular stun method of each. This type never traveled alone and it was making its way toward her, most likely looking for living creatures.
Suddenly there was a laser blast, then another louder one emitted by a larger drone above and behind the smaller searcher. A bunny. It was burnt to a crisp but not before letting out a shriek after the first incapacitating laser stunned it. Amy knew well how it worked. She crouched low sneaking around the car then tip-toed from the junk yard as quietly as possible. She reached into her pocket, touching the device—click. A feeling of relief to know it was there. After a few car-lengths she bolted, through and around the wreckage, around a mountain of cars, around the charred house and toward the front. Then a momentary pause beside an overturned school bus, and she stopped to catch her breath. She looked all around. Everything was silent save for her thumping heart. She knew it was a quite a distance but put faith in herself. Weighing hardly anything did have its advantages. She could fly back if a strong gust of wind came along. She hustled, hunched over, cautiously. Then faster—faster. Darting and ducking, jumping over the logs, through the barn, then she all out sprinted. Home was nearing, up the mountain path, halfway there!
4. Moving Day
Amy heard a noise as she approached through the brush that made up their outer perimeter. Then she saw it, and her whole mood changed. A deer that was crossing her path stopped twenty feet in front of her. It was skinny, but beautiful and had magnificent antlers. She almost wanted to pinch herself; another dream. Jerry will never believe me. The sight of it filled her with hope for the world, and she momentarily forgot her bad dream. Silence. And she smiled at the deer, and shared a moment with it, then slowly brought her hand up and waved. Pop! The deer bolted out of sight.
The sound of the shot sent a chill through her spine almost causing her to trip. Oh no, it came from—inside our cave, she thought.
Her daddies had taught her well. Amy meant everything to them from the very first day they vowed to care for her. Their family, unfortunately smaller without the women, was still a team, and Jon and Jerry continued to teach Amy math, science, and all that good stuff, but most of all, survival in this new world. It was relatively new for all of them, and they learned more each day they’d managed to stay hidden, alive against all odds. And Amy taught them, about reasons to continue on; she was a light in the hollow dead world they struggled to cope with everyday. She kept things fun, interesting, and mostly, offered a fresh and not-so-gloomy perspective of the world as it was. Hope danced in their eyes when she was near; she had the power to uplift everyone around her.
For years they’d learned to survive—against all odds—but rule number one: stay away from drones, no matter what. Stay hidden, undetected. Amy knew what to look out for. She knew various aspects of the many types of drones: buzzers, sonics, searchers, clippers, giants, minis, torchers—a whole encycl
opedia’s worth—but especially, she knew to hide from them, silently.
There were no buzzing sounds; maybe it was just an animal, or something else. Please don’t let it be the new drones, she thought. The new ones were silent, twice as fast as the old buzzers, almost undetectable. Jon called them creepers; it was a creeper that killed that skinny young woman last year. Luckily they’ve only seen them a few times, and were well blocked every time. Approaching home Amy crept around the rock to see what was happening before going down. A crash! Accompanying it was a loud scream of agony. Her thoughts screamed out, Daddy!
As she peered into the cave she saw what she’d feared most. Both were blade-less and silent. It was a creeper! Flat black with a rounded saucer-shape it had a front that protruded to house the eyes, and small vertical wings in the rear. Short spider-like arms dangled at its sides. The nets were already down—they must have missed! Jerry lay grounded deeper inside bathed in a red glow, and Jon closer to her balancing on a step swinging a bat with one arm, the other tucked into his chest. The scream, it didn’t even sound like daddy Jerry. He’d gotten shot in the side with a laser. He was still reeling from the shock and his thick bearded face didn’t hide the agony of it. He cringed, teeth showing, biting down hard, but stood tall and solid; he took a stance and kept it at bay. His face determined, his strength adrenalizing; if he could only get to the guns. They must have been caught completely off guard.
Blood spattered the walls striping her art. His wound was instantly cauterized, black and crispy, clothes melted around it. He forced himself to continue on and kept stabbing forcefully at the larger of the two drones like he wasn’t even hurt. He’d taken one down with that large spear once before, it was easier to do if the machine had moving parts, at least an edge to poke, but this one…
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