Here

by Zolendz, Christine

  The Gowanus Expressway is a road I take often. My mother’s family lives, lived, in Brooklyn, but the way now looks surreally unfamiliar. The Verrazano, a double-decked suspension bridge that connects Brooklyn to Staten Island, is concaved in the middle. It’s the gateway to New York Harbor and it certainly doesn’t look welcoming any longer. Chunks of rock and an enormous slab of both decks of the bridge poke out of the water, and its long steel ropes and cables loop into the Narrows below like thick silver strands of spaghetti. On the horizon, smoke billows in long columns and the Statue of Liberty is completely gone. The sky isn’t as thick here; at least I can see some blue. But it’s the only good thing for miles. The rest of the view is a city in ruins, smoldering and disintegrating into soft toxic dust.

  At least it’s not snowing anymore.

  It’s a struggle to hold back my tears looking at such devastation. I take the first exit I can to shield my eyes from the utter despair and cut through the Dyker Beach Golf Club.

  “Stop this thing,” he says, slapping his hands down on the dashboard.

  “This thing is called a car,” I snap back, unable to keep my emotions in check. The destruction of my home is staggering, and the thought of being here all alone makes it hard to breathe.

  “Well, stop it,” he says dryly.

  I stop the car. “We’re not even inside Fort Hamilton yet. I think—”

  “No. You don’t think. That’s your problem,” he says, yanking open the door. I’m surprised he gets it open on the first attempt, and I want to make fun of him for it, but I’m tongue-tied with anger because he’s calling me stupid.

  He slams the door before I can scream at him. I watch him move to the trunk and pull out his pack of metal parts. I’m trying to calm my breathing when he pulls open my door and sticks his face in front of mine. “You do have a brain in there, right? Stop with all your human emotional immaturity. If we go in there with you looking like, well, you…what do you think is going to happen?” He backs up and shifts the bag higher on his shoulder. “I don’t know what’s going on but I can use all the evidence to conclude that your people aren’t welcome.”

  I lunge out of the car and shove his chest hard. “No. Your people aren’t welcome. Remember that.”

  He doesn’t even stumble back. As a matter of fact, I think he laughs at my attempt to push him away, but I don’t want him to think that might have upset me. No matter how scrawny I am.

  Huffing back my bitterness, I follow him into an empty building with blown-out windows and tall gray vines growing up the sides. Bricks and chunks of rock are missing from the walls, covering the ground in a fine white powder.

  Up ahead to our left sits an enormous black cannon with a pile of cannon balls announcing the entrance to the old military grounds.

  “The metal fabric needs to touch skin, so you need to take all your garments off,” he says, focusing my attention back at hand.

  You’ve got to be kidding me. Yet another reason they probably have no more women on Planet Jackass. That shit has got to be uncomfortable.

  I open the flap on the bag and pull out an armful of tin. “How is this going to fit me?”

  “Just put it on,” he snaps, grimacing in my direction. “It molds to your skin. And do it slowly, it might pinch a little.”

  “Pinch a little?” I ask, waving a metal leg in the air. “Didn’t you say this might not be compatible with—”

  “With your dead, remember? Do you ever stop talking?” he interrupts.

  “No,” I snap back.

  “Are you afraid?”

  Fuck yes. “No!” I growl.

  “Do you want to help you sister or not?”

  Holding the waist up, I step slowly into the legs. As soon as my skin touches against the inside, the armor begins to vibrate with a low hum. It tingles across my skin, spreading goose bumps over every inch. It kind of tickles, but I bite my lip to stifle my giggles.

  That’s when it starts to pinch. And burn.

  “Rune. It burns.” The pants are on and immediately they feel like a layer of my own skin. And he’s an idiot if he thinks with bottoms this tight I’d pass for a boy. Every curve of my body is going to show. It feels like silver spandex.

  He doesn’t face me. He’s focusing on his metal boots and clicking things into place. “Of course. It’s getting through your pores.”

  “This is going into my skin?”

  “You can’t be this stupid,” he bites.

  “Well, you must be dumb as shit if you think I’m going to pass for a guy with the way it looks on me!”

  His head snaps up and a split second of anger flashes across his face, but then his expression changes and he swallows hard.

  He’s not even looking at the metal pants. He’s looking straight at my chest.

  I haven’t put that part on yet.

  In my defense, this metal stuff was seeping into my pores and burning like hell. I wasn’t thinking about being topless, I was thinking about being burned alive.

  His chest is expanding in quick, heaving pants.

  I want to say something snarky and asshole-ish, but words escape me. Golden sunlight streaks through the open window. His armor gleams radiantly, making him look like some godly warrior. I suppress a shudder that bites at the small of my back.

  The hairs on my arm tingle. I’m sure it’s the cool metal suit on my skin that’s making me tremble, but…the way he’s looking at me.

  I put the rest of the armor on and it instantly vacuum packs to my body and burns like it’s tattooing itself to my flesh.

  “It needs to touch your…skin…” his voice is soft, millions of miles away.

  “It is. It’s on. Look at it,” I say.

  “It’s hard not to,” he whispers.

  Thoughtlessly, I slap out my hand and smack his arm, clanking metal against metal. “Shut up. Stop looking at me.”

  He points to the mask and nudges his chin. “Put that on too,” he whispers hoarsely.

  I roll my eyes as I bring it up to my face, but any thought of niceties or dry sarcastic jokes vanish with the onslaught of unbearable pain.

  My skin burns hotter than before. It feels like it’s bubbling and blistering. I try to push out the agony with a scream but the mask is constricting my neck, pouring hot lava through my ears and right into my skull. I claw at my ravaged face but Rune pushes my hands away.

  “Ride it out,” he says, gripping my hands to his chest. I growl out a slew of curses and try desperately to free my hands from his hold.

  The pain disappears as quickly as it came and he stares wide-eyed down at me.

  “Let go of me,” I say through a tightly clenched jaw.

  His hands lift away immediately and a smile forms on his lips. “Not so scrawny,” he says so softly I hardly hear the words.

  “You could have warned me. That was way more than a pinch.” I want to smack him so hard his head will spin around.

  “Oops,” he smirks before dropping his hands at his sides and exiting our hiding place.

  “Asshole is a better fitting name for you,” I grumble.

  We walk up toward the base hissing and cursing at each other under our breaths.

  Just outside the entrance, humans—thousands of them—stand waiting. Each of them wearing the same blank expression. They stagger in small circles and softly bump into each other. Every one of them is well-advanced in age. Some struggle to stand and lean on each other.

  “What’s wrong with them?” I ask with a shiver. “They look stoned.”

  His eyes meet mine quickly then even quicker they trail down the rest of my figure and flash up and out across the crowds of people. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “That’s the first time we’ve agreed on anything,” I say dryly.

  “Your sister is probably here. Give me my faceplate and go find her.”

  “No she isn’t,” I say.

  “How would you know that? You haven’t even looked.”

 
; “There isn’t anyone under the age of sixty here. Just look,” I say, waving my hands at the group of elderly people.

  His eyebrows arch and he scans the crowds of people. “Look harder. Maybe in the back. We had a deal. I did my part now leave me alone. Hand over my—”

  I understand this isn’t a friendship, I’m not stupid. I get that this was just an arrangement born from need; just a brief oral agreement between two enemies. But if I let him leave me here, I’m on my own. What if she’s not here? Where else would I know to find her? I have to make him stay with me. What could I possibly do? “But what if Claire is inside?”

  “Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Not right this minute. I’ll give you back the mask, but I’m walking in there with you.”

  He shrugs and takes a deep breath. “It’s your right to want to die.”

  Wait. What?

  There’s no time to ask him. He’s storming through the throng of drugged-up humans heading for the gates. I run after him. He slams one of the masks over his face and doesn’t even flinch from the pain. I’m momentarily awed.

  Then I get over it.

  Inside the walls, there’s a distinct drone of energy, but I barely notice it. I’m too fascinated by the enormity of it all. Thousands of beings, head to toe in metal—a parade of robotic men—and in the distance where the county of Queens once lay, an enormous, sleek black atrocity I can only guess is their mode of space transport.

  My back straightens as I try to blend in and mirror the way these creatures walk or stand. I search their features as I do, terrified of the one creature to see me for what I really am.

  Suddenly, Rune is by my side, whispering. “Don’t speak. Don’t make a sound. Stay hidden for as long as you can.” He hurries me along, pushing me by my elbow, keeping me close to the brick buildings.

  A colossal stone building looms in front of us. The stones seem ancient but I’m certain they’ve only been here since the early 1800s. I remember doing a project about it in grade school when things like that were important. A small lighthouse sits on the top of the fortification overlooking the water. Once used to keep New York safe, now, it houses the enemy.

  I force myself forward, taking small unsure steps, until we cross through the stonewall gate. A prickling sensation pulses under my skin in steady throbs.

  Hundreds of them crowd the fields. Hard, black, deep-set holes for eyes, the masked men, all of them at once, still and begin murmuring in hushed voices.

  The beings look ruffled; their alloy faces ashen and pale. “Sir,” the creature closest to us stutters. My head snaps to Rune, a hollow feeling in my stomach.

  Rune takes a step forward, pulling me behind, and they all kneel before him. Every one of them.

  “General, sir, we thought…Pious said that…”

  “Oh yes, soldier, I am going to enjoy hearing what Pious has said,” Rune says.

  “General, we were told you expired,” the soldier lifts his head.

  “Do I look expired? I’m not sure why, but you seem to be taking prisoners. Lead me to them.”

  19

  Kate

  I can’t bring myself to look at him, to see him standing tall before all these kneeling men. Men who have destroyed my world.

  They bow their heads as if he’s a god.

  “Asshole,” I whisper-shout at him.

  “Where is Pious?” Rune’s voice thunders over my insults. He doesn’t look in my direction and I refuse to kneel like the others. Whatever hope I felt about saving my sister is instantly gone. My heartbeat rises into my throat as I watch him search over the bowed heads paying homage before him. None of the men answer him.

  “None of you are brave enough to tell me what has happened?” his voice echoes out over the crowd. A low hum of electricity rises until it crackles and whirs around us. I can feel it under my skin, especially under the mask that has molded to my face, in the most uncomfortable ways.

  Out of nowhere, a bright blue light flashes across my face, making me jerk back, smacking into the stone entrance we’d just come through. To the left of my vision, a small, green light blinks spastically then a display of words and numbers flashes quickly before my eyes. “What the shit?” I grit out, pawing my metal gloves at the plate stuck to my face.

  Rune launches closer to me—his suited form blocks the others from seeing me. I stumble to the side, unable to control my body. The armor vibrates over my skin, buzzing and rippling. In front of my eyes, a circular scope appears with a bull’s-eye in the middle. I whip my head around and numbers and names and colors whirl and splatter across my view.

  Then I’m blind.

  Utter blackness surrounds me. I can’t even see the sunlight through my eyelids, which I swear are still wide open. My body drops to the ground, a dreamlike feeling of gravity reaching out and pulling me slowly down, until my skin slaps loudly against the pavement.

  I hear dozens of shuffling feet and Rune’s voice shouting out demands, yet I can’t make out the words. My limbs lift and I feel weightless. My mind runs wild; thousands of questions fill my mouth but the words won’t fall out.

  My body is floating, shifting and bouncing in quick, small movements. Someone must be carrying me. If I listen close enough, I can hear the exertion of the person—small breaths of someone running swiftly away with me in their arms.

  After a few moments, my body touches down on a flat, hard surface. My skin is crawling under the suit and I’m trembling wildly under the icy metal. I can feel it seeping into my skin and through my blood stream. I wonder if he’s tried to kill me. I remember seeing what these suits did to those men lying dead on the ground. But why would he kill me now when he saved me then? He could have just killed me then and taken back his mask, leaving me to rot, and forgetting about Claire.

  “Don’t react in any way,” Rune’s voice whispers. I feel the coolness of his armored arm slip slowly down my cheek, making my body shiver more. “No matter what you see here, or what you feel under the skin, do not react.”

  A red dot appears in the center of the darkness. It pulses quickly then stretches out into a straight horizontal line and expands to fill my vision. The red fades as if a mist and shadows and shapes form underneath. My sight clears, the red bleeding out at the edges. A scroll of blue text rolls across my vision and standing behind it is Rune, his masked face empty of emotion. “Do. Not. React.” His voice is no louder than a whisper.

  The picture of him in my view blurs and crinkles with static. His features seep with reds, oranges, and yellows, like I’m looking through one of those thermal images.

  My retinas begin to burn, a scorching sting that makes my eyes tear and blink rapidly. He still stands in front of me, iron face slashed with a straight line for a mouth. “Don’t,” he grounds out low.

  I stare at him, trying desperately to contain my pain and emotions. The effort makes me tremble and grip my fists at my sides. His face is pale gray, words and numbers flutter and flash. A name, weight, height, kills, military history, birthday. I watch his breathing accelerate, I can hear it clearly in my ears.

  Then I see it.

  Emotional State: Concern. Confusion. Empathy. Adoration. Anxiety. Curiosity. Desire.

  My blood freezes. I try to swallow but my throat pinches painfully. His lips turn down at each corner, and I understand immediately that he also has this optic display flashing in front of his eyes and he could see everything my body is going through. I blink slowly and empty the images in my head. I breathe in deep, trying to slow my drumming heart and stare into his robotic blue eyes.

  I know it’s working because the words displayed across his face are: Relief. Gratitude. The last one still says Desire.

  “I think you like me,” I smile. I feel drunk on adrenaline.

  His hands drop to his sides and I thud back down on the slab of metal. I didn’t even realize he’d been holding me up. “Rest as long as you need, then leave,” his eyes darken and his voice is harsh.

  My trembling
stills as warmth rushes up my chest. I bolt up off the table and stand in front of him. I lift my face so close to his that our breath mixes and we breathe each other in. I’m about to yell, scream at him, when the words stream across his face. Regret. Disgust. Then, Indifference.

  My chest aches and my breathing catches in my throat. My face must read Humiliation. Insecurity. Hurt. I stumble back and focus my eyes on the top of his head. I can’t look at his face and see disgust. “What about my sister?”

  “I will find her and bring her to you,” he says hoarsely.

  “But what about—”

  “It’s over. This is not something you can fight. Go. Leave here and never come back.” Disgust. Hate. Resentment. Anger. Rage. The words flash in red.

  My skin tightens so hard across my chest with humiliation my ribs ache. “I. Hate. You.” It’s all I can manage to bite out. There’s a hard knot at the back of my throat that’s making it hard to breathe or swallow.

  “Good,” he whispers as he spins on his heel and heads for the door. “It’ll keep you safe.”

  Hate. Hate. Rage. Rage. Warning. Warning. Violent thoughts. The words flicker in big bold red text as he yanks open the door and storms out, slamming it shut behind him.

  So with this metal shit on, every one of them can read emotions. How the hell am I going to get out of here?

  20

  Kate

  Twenty-eight minutes, and fifty-six seconds.

  That’s how long it takes me to figure out how to work this metal contraption like a boss.

  I take it slow. There are hundreds of hidden buttons and displays I have to work through and learn. No one comes into the room as I investigate and experiment; it makes me wonder if I was simply forgotten.

  I only open the door when I feel confident enough, peeking my head out and keeping the rest of my body hidden behind the slab of stone wall. From my vantage point, I see nothing but a long stone walkway with old wooden doors placed sporadically throughout. It seems empty so I silently step out, shutting the door behind me.