Inside, the room was oddly quiet. She recognized the room as one of the labs, with long tables and glassware dressing most of the surfaces and large cabinets of equipment. But unlike other labs, at the furthest side of the room there was a large metal door with a single round window that looked like an eye, watching them.
The man from the door walked around them and began to pace back and forth, his lips moving as though he were counting. Sammi glanced nervously at Declan and then back to the strange man. As he paced, she couldn’t help but notice his coveralls, tattered, dirty and torn—unkempt like his wiry hair, which jutted out in every direction. When she saw his legs, Sammi began to wonder just how long he had been wearing the same clothes. Streaks of red—what looked to be blood, some fresh and some not—ran down, passing his knee.
At the sight of blood on the stranger’s coveralls, her thoughts went to the jab at her side—the one that doubled her over. Her thoughts then went to the rush of something warm between her legs. She hesitated, not wanting to know the truth. Her hands shook as she forced herself to check if she was bleeding. Relief. She gasped and covered her mouth with a trembling hand, thankful that it wasn’t blood.
Declan motioned to the center of the lab. A younger pretty woman sat alone, quietly perched on a chair. Her hand had been bloodied and bandaged. She waved to Sammi, putting on an odd grin as if to welcome them. Sammi shifted uncomfortably, squeezing Declan’s hand.
“My name is Isla,” the young woman said calmly. Out of breath, coughing and spitting blood from his mouth, Declan reached out to shake the hand of the man who had saved them. “And this… this is Phil—Phil Stark. We’re going to shut the machines down.”
8
The sound of waves crashing came to her like a yawn—slow at first, easing, and then all at once. Her eyes sprang open to find darkness and her mind raced, passing in and out of confusion. Next to her, she found a warm body, rising and falling in the throes of a deep sleep. Richard, she guessed, remembering dinner and the fire and the sudden feeling of exhaustion taking over.
I’m in the teepee, Janice confirmed, staring up and the canvas closing around them. I’m in the teepee with Richard.
She blinked away the last of a visiting dream—Andi, and the classroom, she thought—and wondered if she would ever teach again.
Dinner… with the outsiders, she told herself as another wave broke on the beach. Richard’s body rose and fell, encouraging her to sleep some more. Are we alone?
Janice pushed herself up onto an elbow and immediately laid back down. The front of her head pounded with a throb that matched her heavy heart. She took a deep breath, hoping that it would arrest the pain.
“I must have passed out,” she mumbled, recalling the meal around the fire. “Sammi? Did he say something about Sammi?”
The smell of fire drifted in their teepee. Janice propped herself back up onto her elbows, stretching to see if anyone was outside. The faint glow of orange told her that the center fire was still burning. The passing shadows growing across the canvas also told her that someone was awake.
A guard maybe? But guarding who? she wondered.
Thirst crept up her throat like the sand between her toes, dry and scratchy. Janice decided to chance a visit with the leader. Richard rolled onto his side, leaving behind the shallow snore that he had started. Without any thought, and as if by instinct, Janice rubbed his back, soothing him before standing up to leave.
Janice tried to shake the sleep out of her clothes and hair, but in the dim light, she didn’t much care how she might look. And as she had hoped, the leader was still seated at the fire, his legs and arms crossed in a tidy bundle. He sat, fixed and unmoving, like a statue guarding his small group. When he heard movement, his eyes popped open and found her across the fire. He tilted his square jaw, motioning to the seat next to him. A chill came over her, and she moved closer to the fire, inviting the heat.
“Evening,” she said, her voice cracked and her breath fogged in the late night. “I must have passed out earlier.” And as if to confirm her statement, the fire popped, sending an ember to lay in front of her. The red glow stayed bright for a moment, but then disappeared in a puff of smoke, turning coal gray.
“You’re fine now?” he asked. She nodded with some uncertainty and then motioned to the water beside him. He passed the bag. Janice gulped the fresh water until the dryness was gone from her throat. “Slow… you don’t want to get sick.” She drank some more. The cold sensation ran a line between her breasts, down to her middle where it quickly began to warm with the rest of her.
“Your man is up,” the leader said, stirring the fire. While the relationship wasn’t quite what he thought, Janice liked the sound of what he had said. “I want to tell you what we are planning to do.”
Richard sat next to them, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He offered a hazy smile, looking somewhat rested, and leaving her to wonder how much time had passed since their meal. The fire spat another ember, flinging it upward. That is when she noticed that the darkness she woke to had begun to lift. The fog was lighter, opening up to show her the rest of the group—some sleeping around the fire, some in their teepees. She had slept nearly a full night but had no recollection of it.
“Feeling better?” Richard asked; his voice sounded scratched and hoarse. She handed him the water, nodding. “Good. Had me worried.”
“Tell me what you know,” Janice said abruptly. “I remember some of what you said about our mortician and something about red—”
“The girl with red hair,” the leader finished Janice’s words. “She and two other woman came from the machine. They came from the machine to take the young man inside.”
“But that is impossible,” Richard countered. “Wait—young man, Declan?” The leader nodded, holding his words as he pulled a large square bundle from behind him and placed it at his feet.
“None of what you’re saying can be true. Sammi is dead,” Janice said. She heard the emotion in her voice and hated that she was not stronger. She nervously tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, and added, “I participated in her cleaning. I watched her…” She couldn’t finish, and swiped at a tear, impatiently.
“The vial,” the leader answered. “Your mortician told us how the machine brings people back—people from your Commune, to work and to run the machine. And now do you understand why we’ve had to stay away?”
“But why?” Richard asked. “None of this even sounds possible. The machines are just machines that were built to save the oceans or something.”
“Were they?” the leader asked, sounding sarcastic. “Before your mortician stepped into the ocean, he showed us something. He showed us the truth.”
The leader extended his hand, weathered and creased like old parchment, he began to draw a figure into the black sand. In the fire’s light, the sands turned to shimmering gold, dried like dust that the leader easily pushed along with his finger. He drew a large circle, punching seven divots around the edges, and then intersected a single line from each divot to a single point at the center. From the count, Janice could tell that he had drawn the Earth and that the divots represented the seven machines. It was the same drawing she had used in a thousand classroom lessons to teach her kids. But there was something wrong with the leader’s drawing. A teacherly instinct came over her, and she pushed her hand into the shimmering gold dust. But before she fixed his drawing, she lifter her finger and pointed to where the lines intersected.
“I’ve used this drawing to teach,” she exclaimed, and then touched the center, pushing her finger into the warm sand. “But this intersection at the center. I’ve never seen that before.”
“So your Commune knows of the Earth and the seven machines?” he asked. Janice and Richard nodded. “But you don’y know what these lines are?”
“What… what are they?” she asked, sounding impatient but feeling anxious.
“The machines are mining. They’re mining deep into our Earth, converting all the
minerals into this fog,” he told them, waving his hands to touch the low hanging clouds.
“That’s right!” Richard said. “Which was supposed to save the environment.”
“But that is where you are wrong,” the leader countered. “It is supposed to change the environment. And when the mining reaches the center, the change will be over, and our home will have changed forever.”
Janice shook her head in disbelief, “But why would we…”
“Nobody ever said anything about we,” the leader interrupted. “Changing the Earth wasn’t intended for us. It was never for us. The mortician said that they were coming soon, just as soon as the change had been completed.”
“This all sounds too unbelievable,” Richard said dryly, shaking his head. “How can you prove it?”
The leader dragged his fingers across the drawing, cutting into the gold light before sitting up to uncover the bundle in front of him.
“It isn’t a matter of proving anything,” he answered. His voice remained steady, almost unemotional. “We’ve seen enough to believe, and we’re going to end it.”
Janice recognized some of the technology in front of the leader. Energy cells and wires, loosely fastening them together in a way that could cause an explosion. A significant explosion. Janice leaned back and wanted to get up and run. But run where? With the number of energy cells packed together, all of the beaches around them for thousands of hands would disappear.
“You’re going to blow up the machine?” she asked, reluctantly. A shudder of apprehension fixed deep inside her. “What if you are wrong? What if it makes things worse.”
The leader of the group looked at Richard and then to her, the light from the fire gleaming in his eyes. She saw a crazed and excited look brimming in his expression. “Then we’ll finish this whole sorry mess!” he belted a raucous laugh that made her jump. A seriousness came over him then as he placed his hands on top of the device, rubbing it as if soothing a baby back to sleep. “When we blow up the machine, all of the machines will fail and you will finally see the end of gray skies.”
9
The girl with the red hair brushed past him, gripping his attention. She was different. And not just aware like the boy traveling with her, but very different. An odd and excited giddiness rose inside him as if he were ten again and it was the morning of his birthday.
Phil followed the young couple, remembering the red hair of his daughter Emily. He jabbed his leg with the metal shard, knowing that he had to make sure that what he was seeing was real. A fresh trickle of blood ran down his pant leg, answering his questions.
“How did you know to help us,” the young man named Declan asked. “I mean, you’re not like them so how could you know?”
“I can read the lights,” he told them and motioned to the wall. “We put an override in the computer, securing the room. You’re safe in here.” As Phil spoke, he was drawn to the young woman and to her red hair. But she followed his movements, caution fixed in her expression. He sensed her fear and raised his palms. When he reached her, the young man stepped between them, his posture guarding.
“What are you doing?”
“I just want to touch is all,” he told her, trying to smile, but felt awkward. “My daughter, Emily, her hair… her hair was the same.”
“What do you mean the same?” the young woman asked. Phil closed his eyes and listened to her voice. It was Emily, but he knew the impossibility of her standing in front of him. Yet, through some miracle, time had brought his daughter back to him. “Sir? What did you mean?”
“You even sound like her,” he answered. He tapped his head, smacking it then, and saw Isla and the others flinched. Stop that, he warned himself. “But I can’t see my daughter’s face though. Not anymore. Not in a very long time. But her hair, it was red like yours. May I?”
His heart lifted when she stepped around the young man. Her slender fingers gripped her guardian’s shoulder and told him that it would be okay. She moved closer and offered her hand to him.
“My name is Sammi,” she told him. The sweet sound of his daughter’s voice jabbed his heart. He winced, but it was with pride and joy as a tear crept into his eye. He felt a sudden wave of emotion and tried biting down on his lip to hold it in. “This is my chosen, Declan. We’re trying to go home. Go home to our Commune. Escape this place. Can you… will you help us?”
Phil nodded, taking the young woman’s hand in his. Her fair skin matched his. In this world—a millennia away from his own—the fair skinned had been lost. Everyone had browned, including their eyes and hair and complexion. Sammi leaned forward, presenting her hair to him. He touched it just once, not wanting to chance distancing them.
A thump. Everyone turned to the door, startled by the sound.
“Zombies are persistent aren’t they,” Phil said with a snort. As if on cue, the young couple receded deeper into the lab, moving away from the front. “They certainly want you.”
“Zom— what?” Declan asked, sounding both confused and concerned.
“Just an old name from my time, which is a long time ago,” Phil answered and motioned to the lights. “When they follow those—not aware that is—I call them zombies…”
“What does the machine want with them,” Isla asked, interrupting.
“We’re going to have a baby,” Sammi answered. “That must be it. Right?”
Phil shut his eyes, thinking. The technology. The DNA.
A crash at the door jarred their attention. The quiet of their discussion interrupted by the bodies outside. Phil stole a quick glance at the lights, intrigued by the machine’s tenacity.
“It has to be your baby,” Phil exclaimed. “I think I might understand what’s happening.”
Another crash came then. Phil studied the door, searching for any signs of the metal buckling.
“Why are they after us?” Sammi screamed. “Is it my baby?”
“We’re close aren’t we?” Isla asked. “Closer than you thought.”
Phil nodded, “We’re running out of time. The mining is almost complete, and they want to begin the next phase.”
“What phase,” Sammi asked. “What do you mean?”
The sound of metal bending and shearing pierced the air. Phil felt the sudden urge to laugh in disbelief. He imagined zombie bodies piling up behind the door, pressing against the metal—bones breaking, flesh ripping, zombies dying in the urgency to break through the door.
“Please—” Declan yelled. “Please tell us what to do!”
Phil understood the need. He understood the need to mix the alien technology with their own. First it was just the technology—convincing him and the others—that had been the only way to create the machines. And now, with the mining near complete, it was time for more, but much more than just the simple cloning to provide a workforce. They wanted the young man’s DNA. It was to be the beginning of a new population.
“It is your baby,” he told them. “You were right to suspect that. The machine wants your baby, and it isn’t going to stop until it has it.”
“Declan!” Sammi cried.
“I can get you out of here,” he added. “But you’ll never be safe… not until we destroy this thing.”
“The vent,” Isla yelled. “This way.” She lead them to the ventilation system, ducking beneath a lab table to show them the opening. The cover disappeared in a single move. Isla backed out of the opening, pointing into the black void.
“I’ll take you,” Phil said. “I know where to go.”
Sammi was the first to crawl in, swallowed by the blackness. “Declan, come on.” Her voice echoed in the ventilation shaft. Declan crawled in, stopping to turn around.
“I’m coming back,” he told them. “Once Sammi is out of her, I’m coming back to help you finish this.”
“Okay then,” Phil answered, admiring the young man’s commitment. His thoughts briefly went to the young man his daughter had found after the clouds fell. Phil struggled to pull a name from his
swiss-cheese brain. But these days there were more holes than substance. It’s the cloning, he thought. Has to be. But he knew better, his mind had become a playground of psychosis.
The door to the lab crashed into the room, and a flurry of activity erupted behind them. Arms and legs spidered in all directions, flooding the opening and swallowing any light from the corridor. Isla quickly ducked beneath one of the lab tables, covering her head with trembling arms.
She’ll be safe there, Phil assured himself. Just need to get these two out of here, and then we can get started.
The urgency rose in throat, but he couldn’t swallow. His mouth went dry as the swarm toppled tables, shattering glass and stomping on anything in their path. Phil let out an excited laugh, enjoying the suddenness of the machine’s pursuit—a true cat and mouse game that he could never have imagined. He didn’t have to look at the lights to know which of the alarms were being signaled. By now, he could sense it, he could sense the zombie bodies coming for Sammi’s baby and they were willing to tear him apart if he got in their way.
“You have to hurry!” Isla shouted over the ruckus of the zombie’s advance.
“When I come back, you’ll know?” Declan asked. “You’ll know to let me inside?”
“Yes, now lets move!” Phil answered, hiding the uncertainty of his promise. “You get back here and we’ll finish this.”
10
The man in the dirty coveralls waved his arms around his head, pointing at the ceiling and the lights and talking faster than anyone Sammi had ever seen before. The sight of him reminded her of the feral cats from the old theater: ragged and scruffy—an untidy wildness in his eyes that warranted the most cautious of steps. In her gut, she thought that Phil truly wanted to help them, but she was afraid of him.
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