by A. W. Cross
Her body was as perfect as I’d thought it would be, her breasts full and heavy in my hand. As I rolled her nipple between my fingers, she arched back, purring with pleasure.
This was wrong, but I still rose in response.
She rested the palms of her hands on my collarbone, and I flinched. It only spurred her on, and she dragged her fingernails down my chest, slowly, watching my reaction.
She had slid her hands just below my belly button when her fingers froze then curled inward like claws. She stared down at them, her eyes wide as her nails cut into the flesh of her palms.
“What the f—”
“Are you all right?”
“No. I can’t…can’t move my hands…” She rolled off me and onto her feet next to the bed. “What the hell is going on? What have you done to me?”
“Me? Nothing? I—” No. It couldn’t be. But Oliver had said our abilities were paired; if Ailith could control me, it made sense that she’d also be able to manipulate Kalbir. But even if she could, would she? Shit.
“Maybe you should go see Oliver,” I suggested. “Maybe you’ve got some kind of…glitch.”
“Motherf— I bet you’re right. We’ll have to continue this another time, gorgeous. Unless you like this?” She held up her hands.
“No…another time would be better. Do you want me to go with you to Oliver?”
“No, just open the door for me.”
“Don’t you want to…put on a shirt or something? I can put a towel over your shoulders.”
“I’m sure I haven’t got anything he hasn’t already seen. Why? Is there something wrong with my body?
“No, I—”
“Or are you jealous?” She grinned as I squirmed. “I’m joking, Tor. God, I bet vanilla was your favorite flavor of ice cream, wasn’t it?”
Actually, I hated ice cream. “Yes.”
“Figures.” She leaned over and bit my chest . “One for the road.”
As she kicked Oliver’s door, trying to get his attention, I made my escape. It wasn’t until I locked my own door behind me that I finally allowed myself to breathe.
Asche told my father to stay away from the cities. He said people had gone crazy, killing each other over cans of dog food. The silver rain kept falling with no warning, catching people while they were out searching for supplies. When Asche found out my mom was a nurse, he agreed to help us with food in an exchange.
—Love, Grace
It was almost five days later that I finally managed to catch him on his own. Like I’d done every day since talking to Eire, I’d left the compound under the pretext of foraging for seeds and edible plants, plus the long list of medicinal ones Lexa had given me. I’d avoided going back to Goldnesse. The thought that someone might recognize me was more anxiety than I needed right now.
The others had been back once or twice. If I succeeded today, Cindra, the only one who knew what I was about to do, would return tomorrow to find Asche. Pax had said he came every week, so she planned to cross her fingers and set off early in the morning, Pax in tow. If I succeeded.
My only worry was Tor, who often hunted at the same time I was out, but since we were politely sidestepping each other, the risk of running into him was small. Part of me felt bad about what I’d done, but I still snorted every time I thought of Kalbir, half-naked, trying to smash Oliver’s door down.
I’m doing this regardless, whether Tor sees me or not.
Mil and Lexa had told me to avoid my father until they decided what I should do. Mil and Lexa could go fuck themselves. I couldn’t trust them. I could trust only myself and the other cyborgs. Our kind. The others couldn’t lie to me, even if they wanted to.
I need to protect them.
Whatever we’d been a part of, we were on our own now, and I was the one thing that connected us. They’d all lost so much, and I was tired of losing.
Oliver had listened intently as I’d told him what Eire had said, our uneasy alliance still intact. Ever since he’d found about Cindra’s grandmother, about Asche, he’d begun to tread more lightly, to be…almost normal. Full days went by that I didn’t fantasize about strangling him.
He’d frowned, more serious than I’d ever seen him. “I’ll look into it. If there’s something in their system, I’ll find it.”
With Oliver solving that puzzle, it was time for me to work on my own.
And so here I was, wedged into a dry thicket, watching my father work his way across an old field, searching for anything familiar that might’ve survived. How often had he done this, returning to the same places over and over, hoping for a different answer? Given the flatness of the pack against his back, he wasn’t finding it.
He looked much older than I remembered, older than he should have only five years later. Dorian still lived in his face, the hazel eyes so unlike my own. I searched him for a likeness of myself, for even a hint that I’d ever truly existed to him.
I stepped out of the brush as he bent to examine a coral-berried plant familiar to me. “The berries are edible. But they taste like Aunt Gwen’s candied yams.”
He straightened up too quickly, staggering. A savage delight curled in my chest, and I made no move to help him.
“Ailith?” he whispered.
“So you do remember me. I tho—” Air flew from my lungs as he hugged me, squeezing me until I thought either his arms or my ribs would break.
He pushed me away from him then pulled me back in, twining one shaking hand in my hair. “I knew you would survive. I knew it. I’ve been waiting for you to find me. Look at you. Are you…?”
“A cyborg? Yes.”
“When I saw you in town the other week, I knew I wouldn’t have to wait long.”
“Wait, you saw me?”
“Of course I did. I’ve looked for you every day. You’re my child, and I survived this war because of you.”
I almost broke then—not the clean snap of a dead branch, but the visceral ripping of a fibrous root, torn from the earth.
“Then why did you tell Tor you never had a daughter?”
“Tor. He was the large, dark-haired man, wasn’t he? He did seem rather interested in my life. Is he a cyborg too?”
“Yes. Do you hate us? Blame us for the war? Did you deny me because you wish I didn’t exist?” I waited.
He smiled, wiping his thumb gently across my cheekbone. “No. I’m your father. I’m still trying to protect you.”
“Do they hate us that much, then?”
He sighed, a deep, heavy sound like falling snow. “Yes and no. It’s not hate as much as fear. A lot was said before and during the war about cyborgs and artilects. Information became confused, and no one really knows what happened. Not truly. Even those of us who lived through it all have no idea exactly what happened, and few will discuss what their beliefs were before. It’s a topic everyone avoids. They don’t know what to be afraid of, but if the choice were between their neighbors and something ‘other’ like yourselves…you can guess who they’d choose. I genuinely think some of them would welcome you, but it’s a big risk. Especially now. We’ve been hearing rumors lately that have everyone unsettled.”
“Rumors? What do you mean? About us?”
“No, no, nothing like that. Nobody suspects Mil and Lexa of harboring cyborgs. They’ve been nothing but solid members of our community since they came to town. Until I saw you, I never would’ve suspected there was more to their story than what they’d told us. They’re good liars.”
Yes, they are. We all are.
“We have a group of young men and women who travel around the province, scouting. They search for other survivors, technology, that sort of thing. Anyone or anything useful, they bring back to Goldnesse. One of them came back last week from the Kootenay region—you know, to the west, near the Alberta border? Anyway, they found the remains of an entire group, maybe ninety-odd people, men, women, and children, dead.”
Tendrils of ice curled around my chest. “Do they know what killed them?”
“At first, they suspected a cult that lives in the area—the scout herself barely managed to avoid them—but the way some of the people were torn apart— Sorry,” he said. “I know it’s scary. But that’s a long way from here. It was probably a pack of wild animals. We’ve been seeing more and more of them lately.” He looked over his shoulder as though expecting some to appear. “But forget about that. What happened to you? I went to the hospital the minute the news of the war broke to find you. I-I wanted to apologize. For the way I behaved.”
My father had managed to keep his contempt about my cyberization to himself until the night before my operation. I understood that it was difficult for him. Becoming a cyborg would save my life, but it also meant becoming something he loathed. He blamed AI technology for the deaths of my mother and brother, and the idea that I would soon be swarming with millions of them became too much for him to bear silently. We’d fought, and I’d gone to the hospital the next morning alone.
“It’s okay, Dad. I understand. Really,” I said, taking his hands in mine.
I told him about the bunker and Tor. Our journey to find the source of the mysterious signal. Oliver, Cindra, Pax. I left out the visions, the torture, the killing, our brief moments as gods. The things I could never tell him far outweighed what I could. I hated lying to him, but if he knew what we’d done, what I’d done… He was my father, and although he’d obviously changed after the war, I didn’t know how much. Before, no matter how much he loved me, he was also the kind of man who would do the right thing, even if that meant turning in his own daughter. Even the end of world might not have changed that about him.
“So how are you…different? You look wonderful, healthy.” He stepped back to get a better look.
What do I say? “I’m not too different, I guess. I’m stronger. I heal faster .” I can read other cyborgs’ minds, have a kind of telepathy with some, and can even use one of them as my own personal weapon. “Nothing too exciting.”
“Well, be careful when you come to Goldnesse. Those two things alone are enough to make people suspicious.”
“Plus, people might recognize me. Does anyone we know still live there?”
“A few. Nobody we knew well. Mrs. Grindell, but she’s not been quite right since the war. I have no idea how she’s survived as long as she has. Besides, it wouldn’t matter. I never told anyone you became a cyborg, only that you’d gone in for another surgery. Then the war happened. We can always tell them you escaped the hospital and found the research station.” He hesitated. “Do you, uh, do you think you’d ever consider moving to the town?” The hope in his eyes was guarded. He knew the answer as well as I did, but I loved him for asking.
“You know I can’t.” I leaned against his chest; just the miracle of hearing his heart beat was enough for me. “But you could come visit me. I mean, I’ll have to talk to Lexa and Mil about it, but I’m sure they’ll says yes.” The words came out too fast.
“Do they know you’re talking to me now?” he asked.
“No, but—”
“Aah. Well, I’ll wait until you sort that out then.” He gripped both my shoulders and looked at me. “Ailith, listen to me. You have to make them understand that I won’t reveal who and what you are. Do you understand me?” And there was the man my father had become. He was still a good man, but he now understood what it took to survive, and he’d made his peace with that. Maybe one day I would be able to tell him everything.
“I understand.”
We stood for a moment in silence, his gaze mapping my face, taking me in.
“Dad? How— Why did so many people die? Lots of places weren’t destroyed, and yet most people didn’t survive. It doesn’t seem possible. Tor saw a few things, pieced together others…but I still don’t understand.”
“Did he tell you about the rain?”
“The silver rain? Yes. He said there was something in the bombs, something that made people sick.”
“Yes. Black rain fell while the bombs were dropping, but the silver rain came a few days later. Many people were still alive then. Residue from the black rain stained everything, and the air was so dry, had been for days. And so when the silver rain began to fall, it looked almost normal, and people walked outside in it.”
I could picture it. A welcome respite after weeks of fear. People, their faces tipped to the sky, bathing in what they thought was a sign of hope.
“Then they started dying. Agonizing deaths, their bodies twisted, hands clawing at their eyes, trying to peel off their own skin. Most died hours after their symptoms started. Others took days. A very few seemed to recover, only to succumb a day or two later. I’ve never seen anything like it. Before they’d died, they’d seemed to heal from their injuries. One minute they were sitting up, the picture of health…and the next— It was worse than anything I saw during the war.” He shook his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing roughly in his throat. “So what do cyborgs do all day? Are you always out here? What were you doing?”
I explained to him about my underground greenhouse, how I was looking for anything to eat or grow.
“Oh,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “I would love to see that. I know it’s been done in abandoned buildings before, but I’ve never heard of one completely underground. What are you growing? I hope you’ve got millions of seeds. Perhaps I could trade some with you. Throwing in some familiar comforts will help people transition over to whatever new food will be available. At least the government isn’t around to legislate us now, eh?”
“My seeds are heirloom.”
“What?” His face became still. “What do you mean?”
“My seeds are heirloom seeds. Thousands of them. Everything you could imagine.”
“But that’s… How did they…?”
“That’s what I’ve been wondering.”
“Ailith, be careful.” His lips were a thin line.
“I will be. And I’ll give you some of our seeds. I don’t know what Mil and Lexa are hiding, but whatever it is, I’m not a part of it. Those seeds are for everyone.”
He nodded. “I’ll construct another greenhouse. Or two. Ah! It’s so good to see you.” He folded me in his arms again, resting his chin on my head.
Then I remembered. “Dad, there’s one more thing. The day I came to Goldnesse, you were talking to a young man, one who leads a group of people up near Tow?”
“Oh, you mean Asche? Yes. What about him?”
I explained about Cindra, about their past together. “Do you think we can trust him?”
His face softened. “Yes, I believe we can. I trade a lot with Asche, and I’ve been to where he lives many times over the last couple of years. Cindra, you say?”
I nodded.
“He has a picture of her on the wall in his workshop, one he painted himself after the war. If I know him like I think I do, he’ll keep her secret.” His smile was sad. “It must’ve been very hard for her. I know losing her was hard on him.” He brushed some hair back from my forehead. “I suppose for you, not that much time has passed.”
“No.”
It was getting late. My father followed my gaze to the dimming sky, and we stood too long, reluctant to part, making small talk about our daily routines and his hopes for growing plants and adapting them to the new climate.
“I mean, who knows how much longer this weather will last? Could be years…decades even.”
We looked at each other a few minutes more, smiling as the shadows grew longer.
“Dad, I have to go. Someone might come looking for me, and I want to tell them about you on my own terms.”
“I know…it’s just—” He hugged me one last time.
As I watched his back retreating in the distance, something he’d said about the silver rain prickled in my mind. I tucked it away to mull over later. Right now, I needed to decide just how I was going to kill Lexa and Mil.
We were at the cabin for two years. The day before my thirteenth birthday, Dad came back with a present for me
: a bar of chocolate. He said we would be moving in three days, to Goldnesse, a town over an hour’s drive from where we’d lived before. Survivors were building a community there, and we could help. It was only later that I realized his watch was missing.
—Love, Grace
I’d never understood whether the stories we’d passed down through the generations had happened in the past or were prophesies preparing us for the future. Perhaps they were both. Life was cyclical, wasn’t it?
My hands were freezing as I stalked Asche around Goldnesse, waiting for the opportunity to catch him on his own. He seemed well-liked, everyone he passed smiling in greeting or stopping to swap a few words. He’d brought a heavily-laden travois with him, piled high with pelts and wrapped parcels of meat. It could’ve been any other day before the war, Asche plying his trade to grateful customers. Waiting for him might take all day.
The cold ache in my hands reminded me of a story my grandmother used to tell of a woman who’d died far from home. Her passion for her beloved was so strong that she refused to accept death. Impressed by her defiance, Death set her a series of tasks, and promised to return her to life if she completed them. It took her many years, but she did it, and one day showed up on her lover’s doorstep. He was shocked, of course, and wondered if the grief had finally driven him mad.
There. He was just about to head out of town, his travois much lighter now. Peeking out of the canvas-covered surface were two dolls, clearly handmade, with twisted black hair and shiny button eyes.
Dolls for his daughters.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should just turn around and go home. But Ailith said her father was going to tell Asche that I was alive, so his shock wouldn’t expose us if he saw me in town. Luke had approached him earlier, so I knew he expected to see me, and as cruel as it was to find out I was alive, I would be crueler if I avoided him now.
Deep breath.
“Asche?”
He paused, his back straight. The moments before he turned seemed to last for hours. When he finally did, his face was indeed that of a man whose beloved had returned to him after those long years of grief: pale, drawn, guilty. Like a man who’d given up trying to find his way home, only to discover it was just around the next bend in the road.