Human Element

by AJ Powers

  “Oh, crap!” he grunted.

  Aaran’s momentum overpowered his balance, and he went tumbling down the hill. Sharp jolts of pain brutally beat his body as he barreled down the slope. Nearly halfway down to the lake, his chest slammed into a tree trunk, halting his violent descent. With a throaty groan, Aaran struggled to replace the air that had just been ejected from his lungs. Relief was slow to come. After several agonizing seconds, he inhaled sharply as if he was taking life’s first breaths.

  Through the sound of his own jagged breathing, Aaran heard the first of many trucks pass on the road above. Its whining turbo diesel roared when the driver downshifted to turn onto the street. Then another. And another.

  Time was not on Aaran’s side, but he didn’t move. The injuries from his fall had left him battered, bleeding, and nauseous. And even though he wanted to get up and move—he demanded his body comply—he remained motionless. He lay on his back, looking through the rain at the vibrant autumn treetops dancing in the breeze. In a strange way, he almost felt content, but that moment of peacefulness was chased away by the sound of rotor blades chopping through the brisk afternoon air. Suddenly, as if the cartwheels down the hill had never occurred, Aaran jumped to his feet and continued with a controlled descent to the bottom.

  Fear was always a powerful motivator.

  Aaran squeezed himself between a large tree and a boulder just as the Blackhawk helicopter soared overhead toward the crime scene. Though the trees provided some concealment, many of the leaves had already fallen to the ground for the season, creating patchy cover above. He would have to stay mindful of the helicopter’s position and the gaps in the trees at all times.

  “This is so not good,” Aaran said to himself again as the chopper started to establish a perimeter.

  The gravity of the situation seeped through the fog caused by repeated blows to the head as Aaran fell. With the helicopter searching for him too, he was petrified. What do I do now? he questioned as he struggled to think clearly. Scanning his surroundings, he spotted a restaurant sitting on the shore directly across the lake. It was maybe a hundred yards away, but that was as the crow flew. Since he would become hypothermic by the time he swam to the other side—not to mention easily visible from the sky—going around was his only option.

  Walking proved to be a more difficult task than he had expected. Not only did the pain shooting across his body increase with the impact of each step, but the steep grade of the hill required Aaran to lean unnaturally, making his gait awkward and unsteady. A challenge that was only enhanced by the slick, muddy ground. One slip and he would be splashing into the icy lake.

  Aaran caught his breath when he was forced to stop and evaluate his situation. He was about a third of the way around the shore and there was a large break in the trees. Under normal circumstances, he might have been able to cross the small expanse in six to seven seconds, but the situation was anything but normal. He was cold, wounded, and the ground felt like walking on vinyl slathered in bacon grease. He suspected it would take him closer to twenty or thirty seconds under the current conditions, and he would be completely exposed and vulnerable the entire time. He didn’t like it, but there were no other options. He couldn’t afford to be indecisive. Seconds counted, and he had already pissed enough of them away second-guessing himself since killing the Sentinel.

  Aaran walked to the edge of the trees and readied himself. He operated under the assumption that the troops inside the Blackhawk had the eyes of an eagle and would immediately spot him if they were even remotely looking his way. The window to cross would be small, and there would be no room for error.

  Between his fall yesterday, the one just a few minutes ago, and the frigid rain, the throbbing ache in Aaran’s knee was relentless. Wincing with each movement, he flexed his leg several times, loosening up for the run ahead of him.

  The Blackhawk circled the far side of the neighborhood, gradually expanding its perimeter with each pass. It was now turning back Aaran’s way. He patiently waited. His body rattled from the heavy thumping sound of the chopper when it crossed over the road. A second later, the Blackhawk zoomed directly over Aaran’s head, whipping up debris and rain, forcing Aaran to shield his eyes with his arm. The chopper then banked hard to the right and moved back in the direction of the neighborhood.

  It’s now or never, Aaran thought as soon as the helicopter’s tail completely faced him. He tore off for the other side of the trees.

  While hobbling across the clearing, Aaran couldn’t help but feel like the eyes of a million Sentinels were upon him, each one relaying every last detail to the Nebula—effectively placing a bullseye on his back for the rest of his—likely—short life. Though the Nebula was far from omnipresent, Aaran couldn’t begin to grasp what it was capable of. Just because there was a helicopter in the area didn’t mean there wasn’t also a heavily armed X-59 gliding silently just below the atmosphere, or a real-time satellite feed zeroing in on his position. Aaran had always felt a bit uneasy about traveling in the open, but after nearly a year of walking the roads without a major incident, he had concluded that the artificial intelligence didn’t dedicate many resources to broad-spectrum surveillance without a good reason.

  Unfortunately, Aaran had just given them a pretty damn good reason.

  Though the span wasn’t even half the length of a football field, Aaran felt like he was running a marathon. Slipping and nearly falling twice along the way didn’t help matters either. But he was almost across, and the helicopter was still heading away from him.

  With a shudder that started out as relief but turned into a shiver from the cold, Aaran once again shrouded himself beneath the orange and yellow veil of the trees. He even felt a bit optimistic when he noticed that the helicopter got a little further away before circling back around.

  They were looking in the wrong direction.

  Aaran let out a huge breath when he passed the bend in the shore, officially reaching the other side of the lake. He was getting further away from the road and closing in on the restaurant he hoped could provide him shelter while he laid low until the search party dissipated. I might just make it out of—

  A diesel engine across the lake disrupted his thoughts. Instinctively he crouched down, trying to hide behind a thin birch tree. From where he was, Aaran could just barely see a Humvee turning back onto the road from the neighborhood, flooring it towards the highway.

  Yes! he thought to himself, they’re giving up.

  But then, the truck started to slow down just as it reached the end of the lake.

  “No…What are you doing?” Aaran murmured, keeping his eyes locked to the military truck that became increasingly more visible the further down the road it traveled. “No…No, you don’t…”

  The truck turned onto a narrow driveway off the main road—a driveway that led to the restaurant Aaran was running to.

  “Crap! Okay, so yes, you do…”

  With the restaurant compromised, Aaran scrambled for a Plan B. He looked around and quickly determined that going back up the hill was his only option. He got to his feet and began climbing. With the road veering away from the trees, he was somewhat confident that he wouldn’t be spotted. He had no idea what was waiting for him on the other side of the hill, however the risks of the unknown outweighed the certain punishment storming down the gravel road.

  The hill was anything but easy to climb, but the group of armed men taking orders from an artificial intelligence gave him the proper motivation to make the difficult ascent. The truck pulled into the parking lot just as Aaran reached the top. After a quick glance over his shoulder, he dropped down to the other side, making a slightly-controlled descent to the bottom by digging his heel into the mud. He successfully reached the bottom of the hill without adding to his ever-growing list of injuries from the last twenty-four hours.

  Recovering from the slide, Aaran found himself facing the Little Miami River. A flash of hope filled his spirits when he saw the trees on the other sid
e of the water. From the looks of it, they were dense and continued on for a good ways. He was optimistic that he would be able to shake his pursuers, once he got far enough inside.

  Knowing the Sentinels would be hot on his tail, Aaran intrepidly tromped into the flowing stream of water. Even though he was already soaked from the rain, the swift-moving current felt like daggers of ice passing straight through his body. He clenched his chattering teeth as the water reached his stomach, questioning his plan.

  Aaran held his CZ Scorpion up to keep it out of the water. His Glock was already completely submerged, but he wasn’t nearly as worried about that—it was a Glock, it would still go bang. In fact, after all the diving, sliding, and crawling through the mud, the Austrian pistol was probably in need of a good wash anyhow.

  “Okay, getting a little deep here,” Aaran commented to himself when the water climbed to his neck. He was now holding the Scorpion over his head.

  A shaky laugh left his lips when he finally felt the ground beneath his feet start to rise, and more of his body left the water. As he emerged from the chilly water, a gust of wind blew through the small canyon, overwhelming him with an arctic pain that rivaled anything else he had experienced in his entire life. As cold as the water had felt getting in, it was exponentially worse getting out.

  Aaran was finally freed from the water and dashed for the trees up ahead. The thwopping sound from his clothes and boots were loud and pronounced—which was the last thing he wanted when trying to evade a group of armed, technologically-enhanced soldiers.

  As he took cover behind a tangled mess of shrubs about fifteen yards into the small forest, Aaran looked over his shoulder. It was still clear. Recovering from his glacial bath, Aaran’s first instinct was to get out of his wet clothes and dry off. But there was little point while the rain continued to fall.

  He kept his eyes glued to the hill on the other side of the river, scanning the summit for any movement. It didn’t take long for the first head to peek over the top. Thirty seconds later, four Sentinels were treading along the banks of the river, their heads swiveling as they searched for their suspect—for Aaran. He held his breath and watched from the other side, helpless. He could do nothing to improve his position.

  The Sentinels worked together to quickly and efficiently clear the area, their digital telepathy allowing them to do so in total silence. The sight was eerie, and the suspense made the hair on the back of Aaran’s neck stand at attention. Suddenly, one of the Sentinels looked right at him. Aaran’s heart misfired. A lump formed in his throat. As the man stared, Aaran resigned himself to the fact that he had been detected. The Sentinel had spotted him. The man’s gaze drifted to the left for a moment before drifting to the right, then back toward Aaran.

  Aaran’s already pale knuckles became ashen as he tightened his grip on his Scorpion. Psyching himself up to go out in a blaze of glory, Aaran slightly raised the nine-millimeter carbine, contemplating on whether he should take the first shot. At least I could take one or two of them out before they get me, he thought.

  Aaran flinched when the soldier snapped his rifle up, taking aim through his optics. At the exact same time, the other Sentinels stopped and spun around, raising their rifles in near perfect unison. Aaran fought his urge to jump up and fire, forcing himself to remain hidden behind the shrubs.

  “Citizen! Surrender yourself immediately!” one of the Sentinels yelled with a raspy voice, similar to the one who now laid dead in the neighborhood.

  The soldiers remained motionless, all four rifles aimed toward Aaran. His head whipped around when he sensed movement nearby. As he prepared to face more Sentinels, the bushes waved and twigs snapped as hooves darted gracefully through the forest, away from the shouts and threats. It was a mama doe and a baby fawn. By the time Aaran had returned his attention back to the river, the soldiers were already on the move again. The instant they had processed the movement as a non-combatant, they carried on as if nothing had happened.

  Chapter 6

  Aaran’s eyes remained locked on the Sentinels until they disappeared around a bend in the river. Once out of sight, he leaned back on his palms, mud oozing between each of his fingers, and finally allowed himself to exhale. That was way too close, he thought, hoping he would never have to go through anything like that again.

  He sat in silence on the wet ground for a moment, replaying the events of the last hour in his head. But more commotion from the road snapped him from his daze. The Sentinels across the river may not have spotted him, but that didn’t guarantee others wouldn’t. The noise on the road—and from the sky—reminded him that his day was far from over.

  With the help from a nearby sapling, Aaran pulled himself up to his feet, and a reluctant groan escaped his lips. He was wobbly at best, and his muscles ached mercilessly, but he had to keep moving. Even if he managed to evade the enemy, he would still be dead by morning if he didn’t find shelter. Staying active—keeping his muscles generating heat—was the first step in Aaran’s multi-step plan to not dying. Step two was staying undetected until he arrived at step three: a warm, dry place to sleep.

  Step two was a relatively easy one, at least for the moment, since Aaran was inside a dense patch of woods. And with a bit of good fortune, his first of the day, Aaran stumbled upon a new—relatively speaking—hiking trail that cut right through the small forest. Even while walking along the trail, the largest splotch of sky he could see was just a couple of feet in diameter. He was confident he wouldn’t be spotted. He took advantage of the paved path. After hobbling on a muddy, slanted terrain, walking on the smooth concrete felt like driving in a luxury car.

  After about a quarter mile of quiet traveling, Aaran spotted a bench on the side of the trail and decided to take a break. He sat down to search his pack for a bottle of water and discovered just how soaked everything was inside. He pulled out the Mossberg and gave it a few good shakes; splashes of water flickered to the ground. His bag of ammo had a little bit of water inside. Opening the bag and tilting it, he let the water drain out. After returning the shotgun and ammo to his pack, Aaran checked on his clothes. Miraculously, they were bone dry. He looked forward to throwing them on as soon as he got somewhere safe.

  “Ah, man!” Aaran quietly complained and shook his head, “You guys suck.” His angered words were intended for the Sentinels looking for him, but he hoped his voice wouldn’t reach their ears. The bag containing the comic books was wide open. It was his own fault for not taking the time to make sure he’d sealed the bag properly, but he blamed the Nebula for rudely disrupting his quiet day.

  Reaching back inside his saturated pack, Aaran’s hand finally found a bottle of water. His instinct was to drink the contents without so much as taking a breath, but he forced smaller, more controlled gulps, just enough to satiate his thirst. He still had a long way to go. He had no idea whether he was going to be able to walk or if he would be running for his life again. Having a bunch of water sloshing around his gut while trying to outrun a squad of Sentinels didn’t seem like the smartest idea.

  Aaran had rehydrated and given his tired body a moment of respite, but his five-minute break on the bench had passed. He forced himself to his feet, so his muscles didn’t relax too much, making the rest of his journey more difficult than it already was going to be. He did a quick search of the area to make sure no shred of evidence would be left behind—it was clean—then quietly zipped up the pack and slung it over his shoulders before moving out.

  A few hundred feet ahead, a highway passed over the trail. Though there wasn’t any activity on the roadway, that could change with little warning. There was a sizeable gap in the trees around the elevated freeway, which would again, leave Aaran vulnerable for several long seconds. Instead of approaching it, he drifted off the paved trail and delved deeper into the woods until he found a less exposed crossing point. The smaller opening was pockmarked with shorter trees and shrubs, and the mud and dirt that had collected on his clothes would disguise him more from the
view above. Though realistically, he doubted a normal human would mistake him for a tree, let alone a soldier equipped with the Neuroweb.

  Aaran leaned out from beneath the trees, peeking skyward. There was no sign of anyone or anything, so with a deep breath, he darted under the eastbound highway. He got as close to the middle of the bridge as he could before exhaling. He took a few moments to savor his shelter from the rain while he caught his breath. Panting for air after such a short sprint had him questioning his ability to find a safe house. He thought about camping out beneath the overpass for the night, but quickly nixed the idea. He was still way too close to the action from earlier. After all his running, dodging, and evading, Aaran was still less than half a mile away from the corpse. And something told him they weren’t going to just call off the search because it was getting close to dinnertime.

  After a few cautious looks around to ensure he wasn’t being followed, Aaran tiptoed towards the edge of the eastbound bridge, repeating the actions from before: a glance up, a suppressed breath, and a silent prayer before running over to the westbound overpass. With only thirty more feet of mud and slop separating him from another sea of trees, Aaran was almost home free. Preparing to run again, he took a deep breath, but then heard a helicopter approaching.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he growled, his voice fuming with fatigue. Instinctively, he sprinted back towards the middle of the highway, finding cover behind a turned over shopping cart and some overgrowth. “There’s no way they know I’m here,” he told himself in a less than convincing tone.

  Aaran held his hands over his ears as the helo screamed by, the noises viciously bouncing around the underpass. The rotors got quieter with each second that passed, and within a minute, the helicopter was merely a choppy hum in the distance. After giving it an extra five minutes, Aaran finally crossed the final gap, darting into the trees on the other side.

  Aaran’s nerves were wrecked. Every few steps, he thought he heard a twig snap or a hammer being cocked back. But no matter how sure he was that he had heard a sound, there was never anyone there. Nevertheless, he played it safe and stayed in the woods instead of returning to the walking trail. Even though he was back to slogging through muddy, uneven terrain, he felt safer being away from anything manmade.