Never Fear

by William F. Nolan

  There was movement again. A flash of white light and heat.

  And darkness.

  ***

  He awoke in a small room, strapped to a flat-cushioned platform. A bank of instruments half-covered one of the white walls. There was a man of indeterminate age standing over him. Totally bald, he did not even have eyebrows. His skin shined pink and smooth like a baby's, and he had a small pointy nose, eyes, and a tiny mouth. He wore a set of earphones that appeared to be implanted in the flesh layered over his skull.

  “Who are you?” said Tag, struggling against the restraints.

  “I am Pell,” said the man, apparently not disposed to give additional information unless asked.

  “What happened to me? Why are you doing this to me?”

  “I am told you were captured outside the City. An intruder.”

  “Isn't this… Oz?”

  “Oz? What is an Oz?” said Pell, turning to adjust several of the instruments.

  “Never mind,” said Tag, thinking immediately of what Peregrine had tried to tell him. Thinking of what he now suspected to be the fantasies of an old man who had seen so much terror he had dealt with it in the only way he could. “What’re you going to do with me?”

  Pell turned and stared at him blankly, coldly. “You show a degree of development. You will be used.”

  “Used? What’re you going to do to me?” Tag jerked his wrists against the mesh bonds. “Who's in charge of this place? I want to talk to someone in charge!”

  “Not possible. The City is engaged in many activities. It already knows of your existence. That is enough.”

  “What do you mean? I want to talk to… to the ‘Boss.’ Do you understand?”

  “Do you understand?” said Pell. “The City is. That is all.”

  Tag understood. The city had become that indefinable essence, an almost alchemical happening men had strived to create. It hadn't been successfully achieved before the Impact and the Yellow Death. At least Tag had not known of it.

  But something had happened here.

  Here in the thing Pell called the Cityplex, where all the databases and independent control systems had achieved that merged state of function, the moment of cybernetic Darwinism when sentience became the next logical step, the next choice.

  “What is The City going to do with me?”

  Pell looked at him. “The City must be maintained.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “You need not. Accept the fate chosen for you. And be strong.”

  A door opened and two other men entered, nearly identical to the one called Pell. Tag began screaming, letting all the fear, the hate, grief, and pain blend into one tortured cry that did not stop even as they wheeled him out of the room and down a corridor from which he would not return.

  ***

  After a time, he did not know how long, since he no longer thought in such terms, he was crunching across the wasted landscape, flexing his limbs, his weapons-systems. His new body performed beautifully during the tests. He was a seamless shell of armor, many centimeters thick, bristling with sensors and inputs that rushed information to his colloidal brain case at the speed of light. His treads churned up the dry soil, and the delicate but strong suspension system absorbed every movement, every jerk and jolt. Deep in the center of his new metallic body, the tiny machines pumped and microchips monitored, the machines that kept his brain full of nutrients and oxygenated blood. He was happy.

  But every now and then, an odd thought—an image sometimes, a concept or a word at other times—would come to him. And he would struggle with it, trying to remember something, but never actually succeeding.

  Outside the City, where Tag roamed as a sentry, the soil turned to dust, and the rocks to sand, and a great desert rose up to cover the markers and the dead things.

  And he never found out about Dorothy.

  HOW CAN I HELP HURT YOU?

  Crystal Perkins

  I don’t see the sun. The sky is there—or at least I think it is—but there is no sun. The day my planet cracked, burned, and spun, we lost our sun. I can’t even imagine it coming back. If I’m being honest, I can’t imagine much of anything right now.

  Hope is a distant memory, as day flows into night, with no sense of time. The numbers on my watch just spin, no doubt a side effect of the electric shockwaves that shook the world when it split. We never knew this was how most of us would go. We never imagined a world when all the things that helped us would now harm us. We never cared about what we did to this place we called home. Until it was too late.

  People talked of war and weapons, evil dictators, and how the world would end in shows of senseless violence. That’s not what happened. Not even close.

  Drilling, and stripping the planet of its resources cracked the very core of Earth. Countries full of electricity cracked, while oceans and rivers flowed, causing the electrocution of entire populations of people. Landlocked cities fared no better, with electric storms prowling the deserts, searching for their victims, and picking them off one by one.

  I survived, but I don’t know how or why. I was lucky enough to dodge the electric lightning strikes that seemed to have a mind of their own. But then again, maybe I wasn’t so lucky.

  The first few days on the farm were easy. There was fresh, dead meat, and fires everywhere to cook it on. The stream that overflowed still had clean water, and I had a mattress that was okay to sleep on.

  Things are no longer okay, though, and I know I have to travel to the city. I must know if others survived, and work to keep surviving myself. There’s only one problem—the machines. The cars, the carving knives, the blenders, the everything electronic. Something happened to all of it when the world ended, and all the things we depended on to make our lives easier are now killing us.

  The first night, when my cell phone shocked and burned me, I thought it was a fluke. Now, I know it’s not. Not after the dishwasher in the middle of the yard opened on its own and started shooting dishes and cutlery my way. Not after the truck with no wheels came scraping across the ground faster than I could run, and plowed right over me. The world was not safe from humans when it was whole, and now… now it’s not safe from what we created.

  ***

  I walk along the deserted highway, favoring my good leg, while using a tree branch as a makeshift cane. Getting run over was no picnic, and I got sick many times while pushing my bones back inside my skin and gluing the wounds together. Thank God for my backpack. I haven’t let go of it since this all began, and the tube of super-sticky glue I’ve kept in there for years. I wouldn’t be walking now otherwise.

  There wasn’t much to do with my broken cheekbone, but vanity left me days ago, when hope was all but lost. Survival is all that matters now.

  I pass bodies on the road, more bodies than I could ever count. There are lovers locked in embraces, families holding hands, and others who died alone. As all birds and other wildlife are gone, there is no way for me to tell if they all died together, or at different times. A forensic scientist could tell, but as I didn’t even finish high school yet, I’m not qualified to make those kinds of assumptions. I only see what I see.

  Frozen faces, broken bones, dried blood and organs outside of bodies. I see it all, and it does nothing to me. I feel nothing as I walk through this highway of horrors. None of it matters to me, because I can’t allow it to. If I stop and think about it all, I’ll break. I will fucking fall apart, and not be able to go on. That simply isn’t an option.

  I see the handheld tablet flying through the air a moment before it hits me. That moment is enough for me to turn my back, and duck my head. Yes, my head hurts as it grazes it sharply, but I know it would’ve lodged in my throat if I hadn’t moved. As it is, I watch in horrified fascination as it impales an already dead body. Blood leaks out, turning everything around the body crimson.

  Blood is trickling down the side of my head where I was clipped, but I just wipe it away before it gets in my eyes. There’s not
hing more to do right now, and maybe not ever. Are any doctors even alive, and if they are, are they following that oath they took, or just looking out for themselves? As I’ve seen no one alive yet, I don’t know. I don’t know what to fear, and what to embrace. What to trust, and what to run from. I know everything I’ve learned in life, and it is all irrelevant now.

  ***

  There are no signs of life as I continue my journey toward the city. Some buildings still stand, and as when life was still “normal,” they look closer than I know they are. I have miles to go before I get to them, and I won’t allow myself to be fooled into thinking otherwise.

  The water bottles I brought with me are emptying faster than I thought they would, but I don’t trust the water around me, as it flows over dead bodies and structures that succumbed to the battle against the world itself. I should still have enough to make it these last few miles, and I’ll keep telling myself that until they’re gone.

  “Help. Please help me,” I hear as I pass by a mound of rubble.

  It’s a girl’s voice, a living person, and yet, I almost don’t stop. I believe so strongly that it’s me against everything—and everyone else—that I almost ignore a cry for help. Almost.

  “Where are you?” I call out in a scratchy voice I barely recognize as my own. The lack of use has made my vocal chords rough.

  “Here. Over here. Please.”

  I follow the voice to the other side of the broken concrete, to see a girl around my age crouching there. Her face is bruised and bloody, and one of her arms is in a makeshift sling, but otherwise, she looks okay.

  “What happened to you?”

  “The same thing that happened to you, I’m guessing,” she says, looking me over with a discerning eye.

  “Probably.”

  I’m being cautious, because I don’t know her. Even if I’d known her before, I wouldn’t trust her now. Something in me wants to, but I give it a mental push back down.

  “Are you going to the city?”

  “Yes. I can’t live out here alone. No one can.”

  “We need resources.”

  “We?”

  “Won’t it be better to be together? To watch each other’s backs and search together?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m not asking you to marry me.”

  I snort, because that’s so far from what I was thinking, it’s really not even funny. “No chance of that.”

  She looks offended, and maybe a little hurt, but it passes quickly from her face. “We need each other.”

  I’m afraid she’s right, so I nod, and hold out my hand to her. She takes it, pulling herself closer to me than I’d intended. As her body lines up with mine, I feel all of her, and it makes me feel. Pulling away like I’ve been shocked, I shake off the feeling as best I can, and start walking. She’ll follow me, or she won’t. I don’t care. Much.

  ***

  The girl chatters for the next mile, making me alternate between feeling irritated, and comforted. I’ve grown to like the quiet of my own thoughts, but I’m also realizing I missed the companionship of having another human speaking to me. Not even that—I’ve missed being near another living, breathing, human. It doesn’t sit well with me, so I try to shut her up.

  “Can you close your mouth for even five seconds?”

  “Why?”

  Is she really that dense? “So I can have some peace and quiet.”

  “Isn’t that what you’ve been having since the world ended?”

  “It didn’t end. We wouldn’t still be walking and talking if it completely ended.”

  “Well, whatever you call it, we’re all we have right now.”

  I start to tell her we don’t have anything together, but she pushes me to the ground before I can get the words out. An electric lantern whizzes past my head, and crashes to the ground next to me. It’s still twitching and fighting to fly again, even as it lies broken into pieces.

  “Thanks,” I say, meaning it.

  “I told you we needed each other.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  We walk in silence for a little while after that. I don’t know if she’s trying to prove she actually can keep her mouth shut, or if we’re getting used to being together. I steal covert glances at her, seeing her beauty underneath the cuts and bruises. If things were the way they once were, I might’ve asked her out on a date. I don’t know what school she went to, or even where she lived, although I didn’t find her too far from my old home. I could ask her, but keeping things impersonal seems best, at least for now.

  “What’s your plan for when we get there?” she asks, when we’re about a mile away.

  “I don’t know. Do you think people survived it? Survived the machines?”

  “If they banded together like we’re doing, I think it’s possible.”

  “Me too.”

  “I have some candy bars,” she says, lifting her shirt to show a fanny pack I hadn’t noticed under her baggy clothes. Do you want to trade me for some of your water?”

  I should have realized she had no water, but I was too focused on me and what’s going on. “Oh. Sure. Sorry.”

  We stop, and trade, taking a few minutes to give ourselves a needed boost of… something. When she reaches her good hand out to me, I take it, feeling and knowing it’s more than just holding hands. We’re in this together now.

  ***

  As we step into the city itself a few hours later, I can feel the energy humming around me. Back home, and on the open road, there was nothing; no energy and no life. Here, everything feels alive. Scary, and possibly deadly, but alive just the same.

  “Are you ready?” she asks me, squeezing my hand.

  “No, but we don’t have a choice. Without food and more water, we’ll die.”

  She lets go of my hand, and reaches up with hers to cup my cheek. “I don’t want to die now that I’ve met you.”

  “I want to kiss you,” I blurt out, not even sure where the thought came from, but knowing it’s true.

  “So kiss me.”

  I lean down, and do just that, touching my lips carefully to hers. I’ve never been sweet and gentle before with a girl. I mean, I never hurt one intentionally, but I was callous and uncaring in most of my interactions with girls. With this one, I have the urge to be soft, and not just because we both have facial injuries. I feel like I’m responsible for her, despite only caring about myself mere hours ago.

  “Why?” I ask out loud, after moving my lips from hers.

  “We belong together.”

  We do? Looking into her eyes, I believe her. “We do.”

  “Will you protect me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Within moments of walking down the street, we’re diving to the ground. Knives, lots of electric knives, have just come out of nowhere. If I hadn’t seen a reflection of them in a broken window, we’d both be dead now. As it is, they ping off the crumbling brick wall next to us, and tumble uselessly to the ground. Or so I think at first.

  “Run!” I yell, as they start to wiggle across the ground toward us.

  She doesn’t hesitate, taking off so fast, I have trouble keeping up. My leg is still injured, and she’s obviously stronger than she looked when I first met her. I’m not sure who’s saving who now, but I grab a discarded metal trash can cover, thinking it might come in handy soon.

  “We need to find cover,” she tells me as more and more things around us come to life. Blenders, mixers, DVD players… they're all coming for us, as if these objects just can’t help themselves.

  I motion to an open wooden door, but she flattens herself to the slats instead of running in, narrowly missing being nailed by a rogue gaming system, its wires whipping at her good hand as she holds it over her face. I grab for the wires, and swing my arms in an arc, sending it flying somewhere. I don’t stop to look as I pull her close and block her body with mine, holding the lid behind my back.

  After a few minutes
of waiting, nothing else comes out after us, so I chance a look inside. There’s no more electronic or battery-operated items left in the room. Only a battered couch and some slashed paintings.

  “It’s clear.”

  I guide her still trembling body inside, and get her settled on the couch, before closing and locking the door. It won’t hold against a car, but it should keep us safe from small appliances. At least I hope it will.

  Hope? No, that’s not right. I don’t hope. I live, but I don’t believe in wishing for anything more.

  “Kiss me,” she whispers

  I heed her call as my mind fogs, pulling her into my arms and kissing her. As our lips collide, I feel it again. Hope. I feel hope in my heart, hope that we’ll stay alive, and keep kissing like this.

  ***

  “How did this happen?” I ask her, hours later, when our limbs are entangled and our mouths are sore from kissing.

  “The world lost its way.”

  “All these things we created to help us.”

  “And now they’ve turned into what we fear most,” she says, finishing my thought for me.

  “How do we stop them? How do we live?”

  “We can’t stop them, but maybe we can live. I want to live with you.”

  “Yes.”

  “I want food. Do you want food? It’s been so long since I’ve had something other than chocolate.”

  “I’ll go look,” I tell her without hesitation.

  “Be safe,” she says, in a voice than sounds lighter than it did before.

  “I’ll come back to you.”

  “I hope so.”

  Kissing her once more, I climb off the couch and open the door carefully. Nothing comes flying at me immediately, so I step outside. I’ve only gone a few feet when I hear a clanking behind me. I turn to see a row of George Foreman grills advancing on me, their plates snapping open and closed like vicious dogs snapping their teeth. I run-hobble as fast as I can, knocking over anything I can to try and stop them, to no avail. They are still coming closer, and I can’t keep up this pace for much longer.