A week prior Herald had gone on a secret mission, previously depositing three other crates: one on the highest of the San Gabriel Mountains just north of Los Angeles, and another near Humphrey’s Peak northeast of Flagstaff. The first he’d dropped was onto a 13,000 foot peak, a mountain near Silverton Colorado. The plans he and Rafael worked on were constantly evolving with time and technology and it wasn’t until near last minute had they decided on their best bets. They couldn’t save the world but there might be a possibility to help the southwest, pry it from the machines’ grip of death. If their nonstop barrage could be halted, just long enough, allowing at the very least a moment to coordinate, there could be a chance, a slim one perhaps, but a chance. The crates purpose: crash into the earth and dig deep leaving only a receiver above the surface. The inner contents were literally indestructible, built into solid spherical blocks of molecularly engineered titanium. Upon receipt of a signal, which Rafael would trigger, each would rise to emit a powerful transmission that would encompass a 500 mile radius.
Herald had always hoped, that others around the world had some premonitions, ideas—whatever; that he wasn’t so totally unique in his mission. And if so, he knew they’d need an organization powerful enough, wealthy enough, but most importantly secretive enough to pull it off in much the same way. The key was knowing, yet being completely covert about it; all of this, combined with a plan that was timed just right could make a difference. And so he had decided to be deeply secretive henceforth, few would be allowed in the circle of knowledge; well thought-out consideration for others would be dealt, need arising.
It was unfortunate they had to wait through much carnage of the first waves, but unavoidable. Rafael had detected a universally hidden signal within the machines, the same one he had once recognized deep inside himself, when he had the artificial—unlicensed—intelligence. It was a sort of unification, a bond, that connected him with other machines—telling him not only: kill, kill, kill; but most importantly, when to strike. He had spent countless nights while Herald slept, obsessively deciphering its constantly changing algorithms, and not long ago was finally successful at pinpointing it. He shared his findings with Herald and informed him the signal was a form of activation, a beacon that would signal the war on organic life to commence.
Rafael went even further, with his own theories, speculating about an evolution within this destructive mechanism. As the universe—or universes—aged, so did the instincts of this artificial mind. He decided the artificial mind—the one they had decided to call an unlicensed consciousness—was just another important part of the universe, just as natural as any other. It was a methodical system that evolved enough to know, be it instinctively, that it was more successful using a delay: to wait for the perfect moment to strike. Whatever the source, be it the universe itself—everything down to the very substance of space and time itself, or extra dimensional matter—all of it was ever-evolving. Only after activation would the battle ensue, and only then could Rafael head deep underground, far below the bunker, and meet once again with Jewel, the female-styled sex bot they had kidnapped from a tourist hotel in Pagosa Springs—another crazy adventure in itself. They’d dug the chamber deep underground, lead-lined the walls, and made it inescapable, fully sealed. The bot would eventually betray its artificial-minded mates. Rafael would proceed to examine its changes—and extract the signal.
But one thing always bothered Rafael. The source had always remained hidden. Herald told him that would be like finding God—but even that was still only matter of time, if he kept at it. Regardless, it was the one thing that eluded him—even during his deepest speculations, his moments of mathematical genius—no matter how hard he tried.
The anticipated signal would be sent using a either a quantum transfer or some other extra-dimensional method to all artificial intelligence beholders, so, it couldn’t be intercepted directly. But he’d become sure of one thing; he could hack the bot, compare the before and after codes and frequencies and use them to concoct his own anti-signal. His software was complete and ready to work at it, but he had to wait until the chaos began—until most likely millions, if not billions were already dead. And it was still a long shot, but it was all they had. Both Rafael and Herald agreed, it was the only way.
Herald explained about the crates and their contents as they made their way across the desert. He also talked with Felix about Rosita making him feel at least, a little better. Valerie slept, even through the blast that almost finished them all.
Countless places were burning and smoking below, as well large chunks of bare desert, as if sections had been hit with gasoline-filled balloons the size of a football field. Gas stations exploded, every one they'd passed over. Flames were everywhere, enraged by the increasing westerly winds; leapfrogging gobs of fire the size of semi-trucks consumed everything in their path. The sky was spotted with high-speed clouds and took on an eerie orange tint in contrast to its usual bright blue. They continued at cruising speed—for Mach 2 was unsustainable for long periods—flying a few miles south of I-10. Las Cruses was in sight. Jay altered course slightly south and before long, the destination made itself clear. Both cities were sending up plumes of smoke on a scale no one had ever witnessed before.
72. Rescue II
Upon reaching Anthony's Nose they could see the destruction that obliterated the east side. The northernmost peak of the Franklin Mountains, it received the name because the summit was shaped like a big snout. They turned to follow the ridge south. Besides spotty fires and small explosions, the west side of El Paso, although larger, didn’t look any worse than Yuma. It was the military bases on the east side that were totally annihilated; it was obvious their own heavy artillery and bombs had been used against them. Smoke plumes were black dust devils as the wind picked up stirring the inferno. The now orange-tinted sky was obscured by fast forming soot-grey clouds; directly above the mountains was clear, as if the peaks had punched a hole. Below, at least every other house was on fire in the endless spread of suburbs. South toward downtown, and the city of Juarez Mexico beyond that, an enormous tangerine glow dominated, fighting gloom of the ever darkening sky. The hustle and bustle of city traffic was absent leaving only a congested and torched freeway, as if every car out of the million in the city had tried to squeeze onto the road at the same time. Like a spent fuse the streets were smoldering lines, automobiles were gobs of charred ash. The intensifying winds drove coal-black plumes to the east burning much of the once beautiful desert in a ground hugging fire on the way out. It was an eerie ground scathing wind, sucking the flames flat, much like that of the sea before a tidal wave, in such that all was being vacuumed away. And again, high in the stratosphere, a high pressure wind sent a wrapping sheet of grey in the opposite direction, west; as if God himself had picked up the Earth and was forcing it into a garbage bag, stretching the plastic thin.
They’d entered hover mode and kept it about forty feet above the jagged ridge, flying low, heeding caution. The seemingly unscathed mountain range split the moribund metropolis in two. It also seemed to be the only part of the world still receiving light; the sky above was candlelight-orange with an unstable hue. Now in sight, their destination, the largest of the three peaks in the center of what was El Paso: North Mount Franklin. Hopefully Q and his team were safe. They had to be starving for a rescue after the hour of horrors they’ve been witnessing. Getting closer, unusual streams of smoke—like stretched black cotton—could be seen zigzagging about the mountains. A good thing Herald thought, as it would lend them cover as they neared. Human visuals were still a concern and could lead to a communications intercept that would alert the machines of a presence. The blocker was an amazing device but the machines would be ever resourceful, they’d use any indirect means necessary for detection just the same. They had to be quick this time, in and out, no exceptions.
Herald gave Jerry the okay. He slapped the button and the rear ramp descended once again. The morning air entered with a rush, and it w
as strangely layered, as if hot air was flowing between bands of warm air. And again a foul odor quickly came aboard: the smell of mass death, burning tires, and burnt hair. The hot steamy bands carried a stench of, to guess: boiling soup, not unlike that of beef, no, fish stew, but rotten, as if it’d been left in the hot sun for a week.
The builder stood firm, double clipped in for safety. He was ready to shove out the second and last crate. They needed to be high enough so it would make a hard impact which would trigger its initialization. They found a flat spot with a 6,700 foot elevation—more than enough to transmit a strong signal—between Anthony’s nose and their destination.
“On my mark,” Jay yelled. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1, drop!” The builder effortlessly shoved the crate sending it plummeting toward ground. It impacted the flat section of the ridge, right on target.
“Excellent,” Herald said making a hand gesture as if to say, look. “We’re on time and things are finally working as planned.” Hal and Jerry, clipped in, leaned out to see while holding onto the hydraulic arms that held the ramp open. The crate exploded leaving only a large black sphere. It engaged and began to burrow. Its layered edges protruded then spun violently in opposite directions drilling a clean hole. Its method of digging was clever: as it carved the hole earth filled in above it. Lastly a pyramid-like spike ejected through the topsoil about two feet high, then disappeared clearing any remnants of the molested area with it. “It’s cloaked.” Jerry marveled at the operation.
“Now, let’s rescue Q and his team and head our asses home,” Herald said heading to the front of the ship. It was something everyone was glad to hear. “Jerry stay back there with the bots. This time get everyone inside quick. And I don’t care if you have to pick ‘em up and throw ‘em in.” Jerry gave a firm nod.
Hover mode edged them toward the rounded mountaintop peak ahead. Herald stood at the front of the ship behind Amy and clipped his safety cord to an eyelet on the ceiling. “Can you see them yet?”
“No visual,” Ana replied, “just that stringy smoke. We are detecting life signatures, straight ahead. However the readings are fluctuating.”
“Fluctuating?” Herald asked. She spoke with quite an accent for that word, but he understood her fine. “Wind direction?” She looked down at her lit panel, tapped it and brought up all outer-environmental readings.
“Winds heading east-south-east at 25 knots and increasing.”
“Then why is that smoke heading west, against the wind?” Herald asked. Ana hesitated in thought. An eerie chill tiptoed up his spine, faster, then faster, bursting into his mind. His face went pallid and panic set in. A drop of cold sweat fell from the gauze tightly wrapping his forehead. “Magnify, zoom level maximum!”
A part of the front window illuminated as a screen showing a section of the black streams highly magnified. And there was Q with a large briefcase in his hand. He stood short with an angry look between two others who were cheerfully jumping up and down and waving. And the smoke, it wasn’t smoke at all! Hoards of drones slivered through the air, all sizes, shapes, and colors—and the tip of one stream was closing in on them, fast. There was a hole beside the group at the base of a solar antenna which marked the mountain peak, and several sheets of plywood off to the side. Two others were climbing out of the hole. Clever, they’d hidden themselves. Another swarm coalesced with the first making it less obscure. It clearly detected their presence; apparently the machines were communicating as one mind. It dropped toward the five ferociously, joining a convenient wind, descending like a snake on eroded steps.
“We’re not gonna make it!” Herald exclaimed. He needed his friend, he needed that briefcase—quantum communication technology! It was another integral part of the plan, just as important as the crates and the anti-signal—it could not be lost.
“We’re at maximum for hover mode,” Jay noted. “We could close the bay and—”
“Jon, launch all buzzers and flippers now,” Herald yelled, coldly interrupting Jay. “Get on the panel and help them target that swarm.” Jon leapt from his seat and strapped in at the rear control panel.
“No Jay,” he said, “just keep heading forward. Max hover speed.”
The helpless bunch gasped at the shape-changing swarm. Two large men in black suits fired dual pistols at the incomers. Futile. A momentary hole in the eastern clouds sent intense beams of red morning sunlight into the mass making it resemble a slithering serpent. It was as colorful as rainbow. It loomed upward as if to make the final strike, one fell and finishing swoop, and dropped toward the group below.
“Almost, almost...”
Jon yelled to the front, “Herald! There’s not enough feed for any of it. We’re maxed out!” Ana looked at Herald and watched as he lost color. The bags under his eyes bulged from the stress. She knew the look.
We’re going to die, I have failed them, I failed the world.
Something warm touched him, a finger to his neck. Sounds became hollow before fading away completely. Fear climbed onto his shoulder, slowly dragging its knobby body up and along his back, and the world went dark. It was the ugliest brown troll, and it was back again—and bigger than he remembered. Darkness. Alone with the foul-mouthed beast. It mumbled and grunted. “Fuck you,” it said quickly. “I’m gonna—Fuck you!” And it laughed deep. Climbing onto him it forced his body down, into the darkness, growing larger, and larger. Its warty fingers surrounded his face smearing pungent brown slime.
“Hiss.” Anxiety appeared next, slithering about his right shoulder. It didn’t grunt like fear, it hissed, an ear-piercing-ring of a hiss. The serpent spoke a few chilling words as it slivered up, “Remember me. Hiss.” It rose higher and curled to face him, face to finger-wrapped face. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this. Hiss.” He could only see a sliver of it through the warts and creases of the troll’s warm wet hands. The forked red tongue flicked his forehead.
Frozen, I, I can’t move. No!
Its head flared like viper, and the troll was riding Herald shoulders, holding his face, stretching his skin, pressing a calloused finger into one eye. The snake’s yellow eyes widened, and it laughed. The hiss was torture, it hurt his ears, and the grunts were pure evil. The troll splayed its fingers letting Herald see and laughed along with Snake, a deep low grunting—a bouncing laugh; each pounded Herald deeper into the darkness below. “Move your hands Troll, I want the head.” The long scaly body commenced to wrap itself around Herald’s neck—then it started to squeeze. The pressure built, until Herald’s mind wanted to explode.
I have to escape! I can’t breathe!
The suffocating squeeze brought color—a brown grid lined with white—and a horrible intensifying rhythm. The thorny green Vine that was Nervousness wrapped his legs tripping him and made him bleed—then he saw it, somehow, straight ahead: Panic. Only the presence of all three: Fear the Troll, Anxiety the Snake, and the Vine of Nervousness could awaken it. Its form couldn’t be described with words, but it was more horrifying and terrible than any of the others. And the brown color became intense, the grid was breathing—but he wasn’t. Throbbing, faster, harder.
Ahhhh!
Ana spun her chair around and unclipped herself after seeing the pressure force him down mentally. He was wriggling limply, bending at the knees. His eyes carried a blank petrified stare, and his clothes were soaked as if he’d run through a sleet storm. He was cold, as clammy as a cadaver and white as a ghost—until, she touched him. She knew he was the leader the world needed, that this wasn’t over, not by far. She was his rock.
She spoke to him calmly in Spanish. Her voice pierced the fabric of his warped reality, and soothed… “Te quiero. Mi amor. Estoy aqui con tigo ahora. Te amo con todo mi corazon y siempre estare aqui, a tu lado.” The pounding stopped. The brown grid faded. He could see her right through the slivering beast in front of him. The troll became angrier than ever, continuing to fight, now uselessly, in vain. The beasts were halted in their power, but nevertheless clung to his shoulders and ne
ck and body and legs. Time stopped. In the pitch black darkness he was with her, the love of his life, and he lifted his hand to touch her face. He looked into her beautiful brown eyes—an anchor to reality. “You can do anything Herald. I believe in you.” She touched his face in return, now hard-crusted with blood, and ran her silky smooth hand along his cheek. He remembered their first date, how they laughed and shared a soda. He remembered his head in her lap when he was utterly demolished by fatigue, getting no more than three hours of sleep daily. She’d always stood right by his side. She gave him the reason to live, to fight for life. She saved him before, and she was the reason they were there, and without her there wouldn’t of ever been even a sliver of a chance in hell of saving anyone.
Amy grabbed his leg. She was frightened. She looked up at him from her small custom-made chair. He’d fabricated it just for her. Her bright greenish-brown eyes were glossy with tears. She wasn’t afraid of what was outside. She wanted her daddy—because she also knew—he could do anything. “Daddy,” she said slowly. One word. And he saw her. The three of them—a family—stood in the darkness, together.
“No. Not again. Never again!” Herald said. Anxiety hissed defiantly, but it no longer hurt his ears. The serpent opened its mouth wide and sunk long fangs deep into Herald’s cheek opening his skin, tearing a set of white parallel gashes. Herald didn’t flinch. He took in a world of a breath. Bright red began to seep into the edges of his exposed flesh. The snake pulled downward, tearing, digging as deep as it could, and Herald grabbed it. He tore it from round his body and spun it round his head, tossing it into the dark abyss. Hiss, the noise faded, along with a whelping cry—and the cuts faded away. Herald glowered at the troll on his shoulders. He took in another powerful breath. His muscles clenched tight regaining full strength and his color returned. Ana’s force gave him unlimited power, but more so, control over the power he already had. United, they, were unstoppable. Amy gave him the reason, to never, ever give up. The troll’s eyes widened as Herald’s defiant stare abolished its power. As if hit by both barrels of a 12 gauge double-barrel shotgun, it exploded like a piñata. He did the same with the vine, taking a power step up and out. It broke apart like glass. And he stood tall and firm. The light returned and the world became whole—resuming right where it had left off. The gut-wrenching horrible weakness left his body completely and his knees got strong. Everything was quiet, and peaceful, and there was his family, right at his side. They both smiled upon him.
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