Cannibal

by Ivan Shaman

  Taking a breath, he began to descend the long, seemly endless stairs. Step by step, span by span, and floor by floor. Groaning in pain and swearing when he touched the wall with his shoulders, and breathing with difficulty, he descended.

  He didn’t know how long it took – five minutes, fifteen, or half an hour, but in the end, he went out into the dark street, which even the moon no longer lit. It was very dark. At least, it was warmer below, and Alex leaned against the wall and tried to get gradually become accustomed to the darkness.

  Finally, he began to discern obscure silhouettes nearby. Most technocrats lay in the snow, but weak clouds of breath rose from some of them. In total silence, a few of them wandered in front of the building, colliding with each other, stopping and falling over.

  Fucking shit! Alex thought. How did it happen? What will happen next?

  The answer came a few minutes later. He distinguished this black silhouette from the others only because it walked with an absolutely straight back. A blurred female figure slowly moved along the street, not missing a single technocrat. She approached everyone she met and cut off their heads with a single stroke of a short, thin sword.

  This is the end, Alex thought, looking at the woman with long hair escaping from beneath her hood. She moved slowly, but inevitably, like time itself. One of the technocrats tried to run away, and the woman caught up with him in two effortless jumps, thrusting her tanto into the base of the skull, then sharply jerking the blade to the side, simultaneously cutting the implant and the technocrat’s neck.

  He couldn’t escape or resist. Alex closed his eyes to see the Sun for the last time. However, the sphere of the Light had ceased to be itself. He could see nothing but a void full of infinite loneliness. Nevertheless, it was better than the slowly approaching death.

  Alex didn’t know how long he sat with his eyes closed. At a certain moment, he decided that it was enough and opened them. The woman had disappeared. The dark street was littered with corpses, but there were also plenty of cyborgs still living. They wandered aimlessly out of the buildings, perhaps as blind and deaf as he currently was.

  It was necessary to move on, to head to the warmer houses of the city’s center, and so he rose. At first, he tried to hold his left arm with his right hand, but the pain in his shoulder was too strong, and so he walked with his arms down. They dangled along his body like two thick hoses. Trying to bypass the still living ones, he awkwardly stumbled over the dead bodies that littered the street. Several times Demon tried to open a map to look at his location, but he didn’t have any to look at.

  He didn’t hear any shots, but he saw flashes of fire on the buildings ahead. Obviously, the people had decided to finish what the EMP from the nuclear explosions had begun. What an absurdity! They had defeated old age and death, but they had died from the electromagnetic radiation. Despite the danger, he kept going forward. He needed warmth, the rest wasn’t important right now.

  For half an hour, he barely covered about two blocks, often stopping to take a break. He felt so helpless that it was monstrously unpleasant. However, this indignation, pity, and pain only meant that he was still alive.

  Then he saw them. A group of people walked with torches. Everyone had a knife, a demining shovel, or other random melee weapons in their hands. They finished off lying technocrats quickly, without hesitation. The leader regularly pointed to the sides, then several people separated from the group and headed for the entrances.

  Alex stood against the wall, burying his hunched back in the wall. One of the people stopped, listening to possible sounds. He shouted something to the others and the whole group turned the corner. Again, the death let him go. Therefore, he had to go forward. Or run.

  He didn’t look back. Forward, only forward. To the eco-house, heated by the geyser. He wondered how long it would last before the Earth froze so much that it wouldn’t be able to provide heat. How long would this night last?

  Alex hardly recognized the outlines of the individual streets, orienting himself only with the spire of the relay station – the huge construction of the island communications, which was supposed to provide wireless access throughout Sakhalin – as well as include virtually unlimited computing power. Despite numerous attempts to blow it up, bomb it, or demolish it, it resisted and remained intact. Now he didn’t even know if there was any sense in it, except to show him the way to the house.

  In the morning, he finally reached the center, which people had already left. The small detachments that carried out special operations in the Sakhalin territory had killed as many cyborgs as they had cartridges. Now, without communication, they had obviously returned back to their main forces. It was absolutely right: after all, there was no one else left to fight.

  He entered the thirty-storied eco-house and, deciding not to climb high, collapsed into the first open apartment. It was warm. With difficulty undressing, he climbed into a bed, covered himself with a blanket, and fell sound asleep.

  Chapter 30. Chase

  When Demon opened his eyes again, he couldn’t remember if he had dreamed it all. Time had passed without bringing any relief or light. Getting up and going to the window with difficulty, he realized that the morning had arrived. In the dark clouds, the light of the sun was barely discernible, but it was still there. Somewhere. Now, he had to eat and regain his strength.

  Alex briefly looked around the apartment he had so unceremoniously moved into. At least, the apartment with its fenced-off kitchen was clean. The fridge was almost empty except for a single bottle of water, and there were several changes of bed linen in the closet. Obviously, a very neat old woman had lived in this apartment. One of those that always had everything in order – no matter what she did.

  Alex recalled that there might be a farm building in the vicinity, or rather another building with insulation and vertical beds inside. Gradually, his eyes became quite accustomed, and he saw several nearby. The only thing that seriously hindered everything was that his hearing hadn’t fully recovered. He hoped to the last that the reason was simply down to dirt or fatigue, but he didn’t find anything by picking at his ear with a hygienic pic that he found in the bathroom.

  Leaving the apartment, he closed the door, but he didn’t lock it, even finding the key in the hallway. He wasn’t sure that he would return, but a warm bed could be useful to everyone. On the street, it was now a mixture of snow and ash that now fell from above. Probably fires from the nuclear strikes that had started somewhere in the forests. Or, maybe, even in the cities.

  Recalling the road’s layout for a few minutes, he finally found the right building. The windows were partially broken, and several hundred unreasonable technocrats were grazing inside. They were eating leaves and tops, devouring tomatoes and cucumbers.

  “Well, at least you have enough brains for something,” Alex muttered, pushing through to the beds. Most of the cyborgs hadn’t guessed to dig out the carrots and onions, so he picked up full pockets of vegetables, and then he filled a large child’s backpack with them all. He couldn’t look at the technocrats chewing grass like rams. Therefore, he covered the holes in the windows with a sheet of tarpaulin lying inside and went back to the eco-house.

  In the apartment, fortunately, nothing had changed. There was even hot running water. Demon had a shower and washed the carrots. Then he ate, and only after that, did he decide to look at himself in the mirror.

  He had put off this moment for as long as he could. He had tried to not look in mirrors, and he avoided all reflections. After all, he hoped to the last that by losing control over nanomachines, but still retaining his rationality, he would one day become a human again. However, prior to this, every technocrat he met had refuted his hope with their appearance, and now he saw that the hope had died.

  A sick monster was looking back at him from the mirror. The monster had small spikes protruding from its skull; horny skin, more reminiscent of dragon scales; and sharp, triangular teeth. The plates and spikes became gray and cracked.
The red whites of the eyes, full of inflamed vessels, framed black irises on which the pupils were almost invisible. The cheeks had shrunk, and the muscles had turned into gray knolls. Not to mention the bleeding wounds, fractures, abrasions and scabs.

  The monster wasn’t scary and creepy. Instead, it was rather miserable looking.

  Without inventing another occupation, he lay down on the bed and thought carefully. He was no longer a technocrat, or a fighter, or a Luminary. Although the plasma gun hadn’t disappeared from his hand, he was now unable to use it.

  His life had ended again – for the second time in three months. He wasn’t able to go back to the people and get lost among them, as even makeup couldn’t hide his appearance. What would he do there? It was possible to try to find more technocrats who remained reasonable after yesterday’s explosion, but they would still need to be fed, and he could only find food for himself, and even then it would only be enough for a couple of days. So, soon it’d be necessary to search for another place.

  There was a third option – he could do nothing. Just live. Or rather try and survive. He would go somewhere far away from the city so that nobody would be able to find him. What next though? Would he live the rest of his life in fear of being found?

  He had no answers to any of these questions. Not long ago he had looked for the meaning of what had happened, but now he only had enough strength to just try and live. It was necessary now to try and invent a new meaning for his life. A doctrine, a goal.

  He turned his head, looking out the window. Not far away, the huge relay station towered over the city. Perhaps, he would find some answers there. Having eaten once again (he absolutely didn’t want to eat, but he didn’t know when he would be able to return), Alex put on some warm clothes that he had found in the apartment – a gray jacket that was a bit wide for him, as well as a pair of winter boots.

  Finally, he set off on the three-mile-long journey. It was an insignificant distance for a technocrat, short for a healthy person, and extremely painful for him in his present condition. Slowly wandering through the gray streets, and covered with snow mixed with ash, he imagined what would await them all in the spring when it came. If it even came.

  Suddenly, the memories came to his mind, and he remembered that after a massive thermonuclear strike, nuclear winter would begin. In the worst case scenario, the Earth would be covered with a thirty-yard layer of ice… forever. In the best... well, it was stupid to wait for the best scenario. Judging by the charges that exploded yesterday, all the nuclear weapons in the world had been activated. Alex couldn’t imagine how much this was, and there was no guessing what would happen next. After all, ice couldn’t cover the whole planet in one day, and probably not even in an entire year. He didn’t even want to look that far ahead.

  In some places, limbs stuck out of dirty snow drifts. Unreasonable technocrats froze in the cold. They probably moaned and howled. He didn’t know, because he didn’t hear. He would like to help them, move them into the warm house, but what would they eat? How would he control them? Turning around the next building, he came face to face with a man dressed in a warm jacket. It took them a couple of seconds to stare at each other before recoiling.

  The man held a long knife. Realizing that he might be slaughtered, Alex twisted his fingers and, crouching down, hissed as badly as he could. The enemy, accustomed in the past two months that technocrats in the melee were almost invincible, rushed off and soon disappeared from view.

  Having straightened up and taken a deep breath, Demon decided to go another way. He walked across the open shopping arcade to the other side of the street and continued on his way toward the relay station. Alex wasn’t able to articulate clearly what attracted him there. The best word was ‘hope’.

  He slowly, in very short intervals, moved down the street, trying to hide behind the ledges of buildings and the numerous snowdrifts – fortunately, snow covered everything around with a thick layer and easily concealed his silhouette. Alex stared around in agony, trying to look simultaneously in all directions in order to compensate for his deafness, but because of this, his speed had decreased badly.

  However, this behavior allowed him to notice the group following him. Several soldiers, led by the girl with the long, black hair, quickly inspected the area, moving in his direction. His decision came to him immediately. Going into the nearest porch, he stomped with force, shaking off the snow, and then he quickly went up the floors, checking all the doors as he went.

  He deliberately left several open doors behind him, rising higher, and, waiting for his shoes to stop leaving wet tracks, he then returned to one of the apartments on a lower floor. Locking the door carefully, he held his breath, looking out through the peephole.

  The girl, who had been chasing him for best part of this second day with a naked thirty-inch dagger, rushed upstairs with all the grace of a tigress and the speed of a bullet, barely glancing at the dried tracks. The military men followed her. They checked every door, tugging at them, and the door, behind which he was hiding, wasn’t an exception.

  A man of an Asian appearance tugged the handle, poked and pulled the door, and then he moved onto the next one. Alex sighed with relief. He saw the whole group going up. None of the military group had any suspicions about his current whereabouts.

  A half hour passed. Tired of standing on one spot, Alex went inside the room and looked around. The one-bedroom apartment had been abandoned around the same time as the others – at the time of the technocrats’ exodus, almost immediately after the attack. The household items were scattered on the floor, and some things had been hurriedly thrown into an open suitcase lying on the sofa. Going to the kitchen, he realized that was very hungry.

  There was no point looking into the fridge, as it was unlikely that there was anything edible left in there. Having searched the shelves, he found a few cans. The owners likely hadn’t worried about the end of the world, and so they hadn’t made any long-term stocks. Now it seemed extremely stupid – not thinking about the apocalypse. However, a couple of months ago, nothing had foreshadowed it.

  Opening the first can, he was surprised to find a strange pinkish paste. Turning the can in his hands, he saw the inscription ‘Food for cheerful cats!’ Well, today he was a cat it seemed. Taking a fork in his hand, Alex forced himself hard to send the first portion into his mouth. It wasn’t delicious. Sighing, he examined the remaining two cans. They were also cat food, which meant he had no choice.

  Fiddling with a fork for a minute and dropping his food three times, he took a dessert spoon from the drawer. Trying not to concentrate on the smell, he mechanically began eating the canned food, sending one spoonful after another into his mouth. The third one seemed almost pleasant, although he, of course, would prefer a stew. Having finished with the food, he realized that such a product should be drunk with something. The first thing that came to mind was tap water, but the house wasn’t self-sufficient. So, he had to dig a little in the drawers until he found a couple of energy drinks for athletes. Their shelf life was coming to an end, but, given that they were standing in a natural refrigerator...

  Putting the five tins in front of him, he tried to open them as expected by pulling on the ring. Nothing came of it. Then he remembered how a few days ago he had opened the tight can of stew with his finger and hit on of the cans with his fingernail. His finger arched unnaturally, and he screamed in pain. The liquid had probably turned into ice with the minus temperatures, and his nail must have lost its strength and now couldn’t withstand such a blow.

  Wildly swearing and howling, Alex pressed his finger between his knees and tried to set it back in place. Squeezing his legs with force, he slowly turned his hand and then pulled it up. The pain was unbelievable, but the joint seemed to be back in place.

  Cursing from his own inconsistency, the cyborg went to the window and opened it, putting his hand under the very bottom of the snowcap and taking out a handful of clean snow not polluted with ashes. Without waiting for
it to melt, he chewed a snowball and reached for the next portion.

  Having finally gotten rid of the terrible aftertaste, he turned around. The door to the corridor was wide open, and right in front of him stood the girl. She looked at him more with interest than hostility. The Cannibal raised his right hand up, trying to give up.

  The girl said something, but he heard nothing.

  “I don’t hear,” he said, pointing to his ears. “I hear nothing.”

  The girl uttered some words again, but even by her facial expression, he couldn’t understand what she was suggesting. She was so different in appearance to everything he was used to. However, these words were obviously not meant for him. The group of fighters that ran into the room twisted Alex quickly and put a black opaque bag over his head.

  Chapter 31. Camp

  He woke up and saw his clothes had been changed, his wounds had been treated and sewed up, and his broken bones and twisted joints had been set. If he was comparing himself with yesterday, he felt much better now. Except for the fact that his arms and legs were handcuffed to the wall with a short chain, of course.

  Alex looked around: he was in a metal room – the walls, ceiling, and even floor were made of some kind of alloy. The room had a small porthole, giving a little light, and there were five folded metal beds – he was lying on a sixth one – and an unusual door with a handle was below. There was no toilet, no bed table. It was extremely ascetic and functional.

  After some time, two people entered the room. The first one was a middle-aged man wearing a white medical gown. He bowed slightly and smiled, then he put down the chair he had brought with and sat down. He was followed by a military man of around thirty-five, gloomy, with short, black hair. Alex called them Doctor and Escort mentally.