by Jason Mather
Hans said nothing. What did you say to something like that?
“It’s a terrible memory. I still have nightmares about it. The others I don’t remember nearly as well. It was just a job after that, until my father. I’ll always remember his face as I slit his throat. Wanted him to feel it, to know it was me. These awful memories are mine, though. Mine. I wouldn’t give them up, because they’re the only way I know I am… was… human.” She looked to him, searching his face for something. Comfort, maybe. He didn’t know what to give her.
“If this is all that’s left of me…” she continued, “I can’t continue like this. Not with a partial body, a partial brain. I will find who did this and make them pay, but, if there’s nothing else, I won’t be returning with you.”
Silence returned to the cabin after her admission. The road passed. Trees encroached on its surface, roots occasionally breaking through, jostling the vehicle. Hans wanted to say something, but the silence drew out and he didn’t know how to break it. How could he possibly empathize with what she was experiencing? Her very being was in question, every memory suspect, subject to change on a whim. Only an iron will held her together, and it was crumbling. He was a coward, letting her stew after an admission like that. On impulse he reached across, took her hand. She let him. They rode in silence, the intimacy welcome but unspoken.
“Promise me something, Hans,” she took her hand back, “promise me, because I know if you promise you won’t renege.”
“What?”
“If this body dies, promise you won’t stop looking for me.”
“Illiyana, I don’t think…”
“Just shut up and promise me. Where we’re going is dangerous, and this body is the most expendable. So, promise you’ll keep looking if I expend it.”
“I promise.”
“One other thing.”
“I’m sorry, I only make one solemn promise a day.”
“Take care of Lori. Promise me you won’t give her to someone else, won’t shirk your duties. She doesn’t need just a friend, Hans, or even a brother. She needs a father. She needs you. Don’t you give up on her.”
That was an easy promise to make.
— «» —
The growth of trees and tall grass that had surrounded the road began to thin, wither. The plants were sickly versions of what they’d seen on the way down. Ashen, scraggly trees, wilted grass, almost no flowers to speak of. The animals they glimpsed between the trees disappeared. The warmth Hans felt faded along with the green.
So much for the place healing.
The foliage continued to fade, graying and shrinking, leaving only a sparse, tundra-like covering. Buildings jutted out from the bleak ground, sick like the plants. They passed a sign pointing to the old Air Force Academy grounds, deserted along with the rest of the city.
“Here we are,” Grit said. “So where do we go now?”
Hans didn’t know. He followed the main road further into the city.
Colorado Springs had never been a picturesque city, its sprawl more like a concrete stain on the side of the mountain, any beauty due to the contrast of its dowdy urban façade against the magnificence of its background, a striking scar against perfect skin. The years of fighting and contamination had not improved things. Whether due to radiation, disease, or simple indifference, the foliage that had begun to reclaim so many other abandoned areas had barely touched the Springs, the few plants continuing to look sickly, pale, drained of life and color. No animals prowled its streets, no people in any apparent residence. Hans’ scanning of its environment the previous day had shown a few blips of human habitation. What were they doing here? How could anyone survive here? It wasn’t about lingering radiation, or even disease. It was the crushing loneliness of a ghost town.
No one spoke as they exited the highway onto the streets. The town had installed its own blue-gray filter, the dreary emptiness seeping through the walls of the transport, through the minds of its occupants. It wasn’t hell on earth, it was limbo.
The first pile of bodies was stacked up outside an old gas station just off the highway. Hans drove slowly past the carnage. Clones, pods, both the smaller ones and the more vicious ones he’d seen at Brigham’s; strewn throughout the parking lot, into the road.
“Are they fighting each other?” Grit asked.
“Seems so, that’s what I saw through the sphere.”
“Or someone else took them out,” Gino offered.
Hans stopped at the next intersection, looking for more bodies. The only working idea he had was to follow the fighting.
“Any ideas?” he asked the cockpit.
“You’re the one who brought us here,” Grit said, “can’t you use that sphere to find it?”
“Maybe, but someone else needs to drive.”
Greta took the controls from Hans, following their current street until they knew otherwise.
Hans sat, grasping the sphere in his pocket. He didn’t want to do this. Whatever had attacked him was much nearer, and he was seeking it out. He connected, passively looking for access points, intentionally not accessing them directly. A place off in the distance, more felt than seen. Massive access, massive security.
“Go straight.”
They trundled down the road, more bodies on the side, organic and inorganic, the organic laying in pieces. Pat covered Lori’s eyes. Why the hell had he agreed to bring her along?
Something moving in the distance; one of the larger orbs, limping slightly.
They turned to avoid any direct confrontation. Hans kept a tenuous connection with the sphere, trying to lead them without drawing attention. Through another on-ramp section, though they didn’t get on. The city passed behind them; a mountain looming in the distance. They turned left onto a small, two-lane road, the most decrepit they’d seen yet, winding its way up into the mountains. Gino glanced at Hans, Hans gave him a nod. He checked the sphere again…
I’VE FOUND YOU.
Hans let go of the sphere, started in his seat, the voice powerful in his head, filling his thoughts.
“Shit.”
“What?” Onyx asked.
“We may have some company soon.”
No one else seemed surprised. Lori pushed closer to him, gripping his arm.
Nothing happened. They continued. The mountain loomed closer.
“What’s up there, do you think?” Hans asked.
“That’s Cheyenne Mountain. They dug an old military base right inside of it. Used to be where NORAD was based, before they disbanded it.” Count on Grit to know her history.
“What’s it used for now?”
“It’s been abandoned. One of the militias used it for awhile, but it should be as empty as anything else here.”
“Emphasis on should.”
“Great place for a secret base.”
“Yeah.”
They continued. Still nothing to stop them. The road climbed, bodies increasingly strewn along its banks. Was anyone actually winning?
A long left turn; they could see signs for the entrance now. Everyone was on edge waiting for something to drop.
An army blocked the road around the next curve. A few dozen of the larger pods stood ready. John Brigham stood at their front.
— «» —
“Step out of the vehicle, please.” His voice was smooth, booming, confident.
No one moved.
“Get out of the vehicle, or my minions will tear you out.”
“Did he just say ‘minions’?” Gino asked. “Who says fucking ‘minions’?”
“Watch your language,” Pat scolded.
“What do we do?” Hans asked.
“Can we fight those?” Grit asked.
Onyx responded. “No, not that many. They’d cut us down before we could take out even a couple.”
“Then we get out.” Grit led them to the side hatch in the rear, lowered it, and walked purposely into the street. Onyx followed, then Gino, then Pat. Hans went last, telling Lori to stay.<
br />
“Bring the girl out, too,” Brigham boomed, “everyone together, if you please.”
They grouped together in the road, facing Brigham and his forces. Hans hoped he looked as brave as the others, standing upright, defiant.
“Well,” Brigham said, “this is an unexpected boon in an otherwise frustrating few days.”
“Are you human?” Onyx interrupted. “Or are you another fabrication?”
“Human, I assure you. Something I would be happy to show you if only you had the proper equipment to receive my lesson. Alas, ‘tis not to be.”
“Alas?” Gino muttered.
“I escaped your destruction of my home, though just barely. The same cannot be said for my many pets. I am grateful to you for bringing one of them here. They can be so hard to train.” He eyed Lori. She shrank against Hans, making a noise in the back of her throat. Hans put an arm around her, afraid she might run back.
“Come here girl.” Lori stayed put, grabbing Hans even tighter. Brigham repeated the request. His face darkened.
“Well, it seems someone else has been taking advantage of my teachings. I hope you enjoyed her in your final days, Mr. Ricker. No bother. You won’t be alive much longer. None of you will, except our dear sweet Onyx, of course. What a wonderful day this is. My pet has returned, my fiercest enemy cowed. I’m feeling almost chipper.”
He clapped his hands, the gesture at once childlike and petty. His hands were covered in bandages.
“My dear Brigham, whatever happened to your hands?” Onyx’s voice was full of venom, goading him.
“A favor I look forward to returning, my dear.”
Onyx turned to Hans.
“Hans, remember your promise.”
“What?”
“Your promise to me. You won’t forget?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Find me, Hans. You said you would.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Give you an opening, and save the girl.”
“There’s got to be a better way.”
“My way is it. When I move run for the transport. I should be able to take out the ones we can see, but reinforcements will be on the way. Once you’re inside it should be easier to defend.”
“What if you’re wrong? What if there’s no other body?”
“Then I die.”
Onyx pulled something about the size of a one of her ID spoofers from a pocket. It was just as black, with a trigger on the side.
“What is that?”
“A solution.”
And she ran. Charged Brigham, moved toward his lines. There was no surprise on his face, just a wicked grin. The pods moved toward her. She leaped for Brigham, pulled the trigger.
There was no noise, no explosion, no shockwave, merely a small blip from the sphere, the signal powerful enough to reach Hans even without direct contact. The pods nearest Brigham fell silently, unmoving. Sounds of crashing came from the trees as hidden attackers collapsed.
Now Brigham looked surprised and drew something from his pocket. A small pistol. Onyx landed on him as he fired, the bullet passing through her torso, spraying out the back. She drew a knife, buried it in his neck, twisted and pulled. His blood covered them both; the only sound a grunt from her, a muffled roar from him. The gun went off again, taking a piece of Onyx’s head with it. Still she pulled, her death throes severing his spine with the wicked blade. They fell together, a parody of a lover’s embrace, she atop him.
The rest of them sprinted for the transport, Hans practically carrying Lori. Already there were more sounds from the surrounding trees.
Greta was already in the cockpit as Gino tried to shut the door, rifle at the ready to pick off anything behind them. The transport’s engine shrieked as she gave it full throttle, powering over the fallen enemies. They jumped a median and headed up the broken path toward the tunnel entrance. The car roared inside, fishtailing on the gravel in the tunnel. The doors to the complex loomed in front of them, cracked open only slightly, the entrance too small for the vehicle. They scrambled from the transport, the sounds behind them gaining ground.
They ran toward the doors, no one glancing back, no time. The pursuit was closing at speed. The doors reached, they filed through, one at a time. Lori went first, Hans practically throwing her through. Then Pat, then himself, Grit, and then Gino, the enemy pods licking at his heels.
Those with guns were spinning, firing. The first pod through the door fell, blocking others trying to clamber over. Another fell, then another. The pile in the doorway was growing larger, and the doors begin moving, trying to shut, something controlling them, but fallen and active pods blocked the efforts.
A sound came from behind, like crabs on linoleum. Lori shrieked, and Hans spun. Thousands of smaller pods were emerging from the dark of the cavern behind them. No chance to stop them. Hans grabbed Lori, crouched over her. The others continued firing. The smaller pods reached the group and parted around them, scrambling for the door, filling it instantly, pushing the larger pods back, stabbing those working, dragging and heaving the dead, latching onto the doors, interlocking, pulling tight. The doors were moving, closing. Light was waning, the cavern behind unlit. A bar, a crack, a line. Something was crashing into the other side, trying to heave them open again.
They shut. Blackness. The rush of pods around them, departing, disappearing off into the distance. The only sound was Lori sobbing.
— «» —
“She’s not dead.” Hans hoped the statement sounded more confident than he felt.
“You can’t know that.” Grit’s voice came from off to his right.
“I do know that. She’s not dead, she used that fake body to get us in here. We have to find her.”
“I didn’t come here to find her, Hans. I came here to find out who was trying to kill me. I saw him die outside.”
“Brigham’s a lackey.”
“Of whom?”
“I don’t know who, or even what, but whatever we’re looking for in here is much more powerful than John Brigham.”
“Suddenly you’re an expert.”
“Illiyana is here. The real one. I promised I’d find her. I will. You don’t have to come.”
His mother spoke up, “You two quit bickering. No one’s going anywhere in this darkness. Did anyone think to bring a light?”
“They were in the transport.” Grit’s frustration was evident. “I didn’t have time to grab them.”
“Relax, Grit,” his mother soothed, “no one is blaming you.”
Silence from the girls. Lori was still clinging to him, though her crying had stopped.
“You all right?” Hans asked her.
“She told me to stay with you, that you would keep me safe.”
“Who?”
“Miss Onyx. She said to stay with you, that she would protect me from Mr. Brigham when the time came. I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”
“It’s OK, Lori. She saved us all, now we have to return the favor.”
“Do you really think she’s still alive?”
“Yes. She’s alive and she’s here.”
“We need to get her then, like you said.”
Lori’s sliver of courage emboldened Hans. Someone believed him.
Minutes had passed, and the dark grew no less impenetrable. Gino and Grit were whispering to each other, making plans.
“Does anyone have any ideas?” Hans asked into the darkness.
“We’re getting out of here,” Grit said.
“What?”
“Gino and I both carried in some explosives. We think we can blow the door.”
“Those doors were designed to stop a nuclear blast.”
Grit said nothing.
“What about you, Mom?”
“I think we need to stay right here, stay together, not wander off.”
“Until what?” Grit was exasperated.
“Rescue.”
“By who? No one knows we’re here, and we’ve disabl
ed our ID tags.”
They were interrupted by whistling, unlikely, eerie, and the sound of shoes on rock. Hans crouched over Lori, could hear Grit drawing a weapon.
“Hello!” A man’s voice, echoing in the hard tunnel.
“Identify yourself,” Grit yelled.
“I am rescue, as requested.”
The lights came on slowly, giving their eyes time to adjust.
What Hans had taken for rock was actually the same black substance that made up Onyx’s building. It covered the floor, ceiling, and walls in a matte finish, glowing slightly from within, brightening to bring the man into view.
Hans knew this man.
“Hello, Hans, Greta, I see you’ve brought friends.” His smile was warm, disarming, though Grit kept the gun on him.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“A friend. We have spoken. You once told me I couldn’t stop you from finding your brother. I’m glad you finally found him.”
Grit took a moment to search her memory. The voice on her comm?
“Then you’re also the one who tried to burn my face off. Stay there.”
“No, Commander Ricker, that was not me. I saved your life in the hospital by drawing you away. I saved your life by destroying the ambush Brigham set up for you. I would not have done that merely to kill you.”
Grit lowered her rifle slightly.
“So now I have to trust you?”
“A little trust is required at this juncture, yes.”
“What if I just shoot you?”
“You can if you want, though it would take a couple of minutes for me to get another body up here, and you’d be back in the darkness.”
Grit stood, confused, giving Hans an opening.
“Hello, James. Is that still your name?”
“As good as any. It actually belonged to my father.”
— «» —
“Let us out,” Grit threatened, raising the rifle to her shoulder.