by Brett Savory
“Head back to the warehouse, fellas,” Marcton said, nodding at Jeremy and Harold. “We’ll catch up with you soon. And thanks for the help. Much appreciated.”
They nodded, looking both relieved and somewhat confused.
“Oh, and don’t mention the big robot, OK?”
They nodded, but Marcton knew they wouldn’t be able to keep their mouths shut. It wouldn’t matter soon enough, anyway. Either their plan would work, and Adelina would stop Kyllo – and they could then kill and bury her somewhere else (this time hopefully for good) – or their plan wouldn’t work, and Kyllo would carry on into the outside world, destroying the way of life and the anonymity they’d been building for over a century.
Jeremy and Harold said their goodbyes and left the basement. When he heard car doors slam, Marcton said, “Not the brightest bulbs, I know, but they work like fucking dogs.”
“By the way, any word of disappearances tonight from your camp?” Kendul asked.
“Not that I’ve heard, no. I kinda forgot about that, actually, with everything else blowing up. You?”
“No. Weird. Maybe whomever or whatever’s responsible for punishing our transgressions has more on its mind tonight, too.”
Marcton looked worried. “Maybe. It’s still early, though, too.”
Kendul nodded. The moment passed, then:
“So,” Marcton said. “What now?”
The sky was darkening, and snow was still falling – hadn’t stopped in days, and showed no signs of doing so.
“Well,” Kendul said. “Since none of the king’s horses or men are coming, I’d say we have to put her back together again ourselves.”
“I don’t like the Humpty Dumpty analogy,” Cleve said. “Can we use Frankenstein instead?”
“You mean Frankenstein’s monster,” Kendul said.
“I mean fuck you,” Cleve shot back.
“Alright,” Marcton said, “Frankenstein’s monster, it is. So how we do it? I know you said you feel that she’s alive, Kendul – in your bones, or whatever – but she looks real fuckin’ dead to the rest of us.”
Kendul shot him a look, considered further arguments, but then just dropped his eyes. I’m so goddamn tired. Exhausted by all this. Just wiped the fuck out…
“So what do we do now?” Marcton said. “Just tell us. Just tell us.”
Kendul looked back up at Marcton and in that instant – in a brief flash of insight – knew the kid would make a good leader. Probably better than Palermo ever was. He couldn’t put his finger on what made him think it, but it was suddenly there in his mind, like a memory of childhood, brought back to the surface. Never gone, just buried for a while, but always true.
“Alright, look. I don’t know exactly how we do it, but we need something to bring her back to us. I said earlier that our ace in the hole could be the fact that Kyllo killed her father. I think that was wrong: it’s not our ace in the hole; it’s the only fucking card we’ve got.”
“Séance,” Cleve said.
“No,” said Kendul. “Not a fucking séance. Dipshit.”
“Fine, not a fucking séance. Then what?”
“I think we just need to tell her. That her father is dead. That we know who killed him. All of us. And she needs to know we truly need her.”
“Do we need to, like, hold hands and shit?” Bill said.
“Yes. Yes, we do,” Kendul said.
“Oh. Um. I was kind of joking, but… OK.”
Kendul reached out his hand toward Marcton. Marcton took it, clasped it tightly. Nodded. Marcton grabbed Cleve’s hand. Cleve took Bill’s. Bill took Kendul’s.
Every one of them wanted to make a joke to relieve the awkwardness, but no one did. Almost immediately, each man felt the thrumming Kendul had experienced – was experiencing stronger than ever now.
Snowflakes fell gently outside. Marcton watched it through one of the dirty basement windows, and just let whatever was happening fill him up. Some of the snow sifted down through the side of the house that bore no wall. It blew in under the basement door, drifted down the stairs.
“Adelina, we–” Marcton began.
“Shut up,” Kendul cut him off. “Just don’t. Doesn’t feel right. Just think. Just… thoughts.”
Silence wrapped the room so tightly, it felt like the air was being sucked out into the night.
And Adelina heard them.
She heard them loud and clear.
* * *
Adelina felt Kendul’s and the others’ presence like a soft blanket draped slowly over her body. As she concentrated on connecting to their thoughts, her world of mostly formless swirls and forks of lightning began to solidify into something more concrete. Something tangible.
Crumbling walls, rubble, and dirt crisped into her mind. I know this place, she thought. I know where this is. This is home. My home.
As the scene continued to sharpen, four men took shape along the walls. Kendul. Dad’s friend. That one I know. The others… have I seen them before? I can’t remember. But they’re familiar.
A warm feeling washed over her, then – the warmest feeling she’d had in as long as she could remember.
Their thoughts were intensely focused on something in the ground. Something in the dirt. Exposed.
And then Adelina saw what they saw.
At first, she only saw it as the horribly mutated machine it would appear to be to most people – even to her kind – but then memories flooded her brain, and she realized that this was her. This was her body. She was inside that thing.
Or could be.
That was also the moment she realized she’d been here all along. Stuck in the cold ground, dismembered, left to rot for years.
Why would they do this to me? What could I have done to deserve this?
But those memories would not return. The part of her that understood what all this meant – what she’d been manipulated into doing all along: the plan for Henry; the goal; what needed to be achieved – that part of her would not allow any of her experience to become truly distasteful.
Though she did not know why – or at least no conscious idea why – she was instrumental to what Henry was destined for. What he was made to do, to become.
Then, clear as a bell, this thought came to her, calming, serene: Something inside me set all this in motion. That thing that protected our people for so long. Hid us from prying eyes. It is different now, but taken root in me. It has become me. Henry is our future. Henry must survive at all cost. He is –
– a murderer, your father’s killer –
The thought slipped beneath her radar, inserted itself into her narrative. Coming from the four men:
– Kyllo killed your father –
– we need your help –
– we need you –
– No – the voice within her broke in: Kyllo must survive. He will redefine what you are. What we all are. He will reshape everything, bring about the end of –
Then back to the men again:
– come back, come back –
– he’s your father’s murderer, Adelina –
– you need to stop him, you need to –
Something like breath moved through the torso of the machine in the ground, and Marcton flinched back, tripped over busted concrete, chunks of dirt, fell flat on his back.
The other three men stared at the machine’s chest.
“Un-fucking-real,” Cleve said. He turned to Bill: “Did we do that? We fucking did that, didn’t we?”
“I think we may have fucking done that, Cleve,” Bill replied.
“Steady,” Kendul breathed. “Steady on.” He was concentrating on the torso now, directing his thoughts there specifically.
With Marcton out of the circle, still in shock, dazed, just staring, the remaining three men joined hands.
“Keep going,” Kendul said. “Focus.”
As true and as real as her previous thoughts had felt about Henry Kyllo needing to be protected, to be saved at all costs, the
se new thoughts were just as true and just as real: he killed her father. Rage boiled up inside her – a rage she was incapable of feeling until now.
When Palermo had died on the street outside that apartment building, she’d known it, felt it on some level, but the connection to Kyllo wasn’t there. The knowledge of who killed her father hovered and flitted at the edges of her subconscious like a hummingbird: gentle, almost unnoticeable, not wanting to be detected. And, as she now knew, actively not wanting to be detected. Actively hiding from becoming part of her memories, her psychological makeup.
But now, realizing where she was, what she really was, Kendul’s and the others’ words, desires made more sense to her, drove her more than this other, manipulative, voice. This was not some indistinct, vague endgame to be played out on a grandiose stage.
This was revenge, pure and simple, and it spoke to her like nothing before ever had.
The thrumming in her chest increased: she willed it to do so. She saw clearly what she was – an organic mechanical beast broken to pieces in the cold, hard earth – and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she wanted something deeply. Down to her core. She needed to experience something she’d been denied for years:
Life.
In whatever form that took. She wanted it.
And she would have it.
* * *
Marcton stood up, brushed himself off. “Sorry, got freaked out there.”
“It’s fine,” Kendul said. “Get back into the circle. Quickly.”
Marcton moved ahead to join the circle when a fullblown breath inflated the machine’s torso.
Inhale.
Exhale.
No one moved.
Then Cleve very quietly whispered, “Guys, should we try to reattach–”
And at that moment, Adelina’s three disembodied limbs rose up out of the dirt, shot toward her torso, and stuck fast to her joints.
“Jesus fucking fuck,” Marcton breathed.
“Never mind,” Cleve said.
Power churned inside Adelina’s chest. She felt herself fill with it. A strength she’d never felt before, never known was possible.
Was this what happened before, and then at some point I lost control, and people dismembered me?
Metal and rock-hewn shards on her face contracted, lifted, resembled a scowl of sorts. She would need to get used to this body. Try to control it this time.
“Um,” Marcton said. “What now?”
“Let’s give her some room,” Kendul said. “Come on.” He waved his arms. “Step back, stay up against this wall.” They moved against the farthest wall. Kendul reached over to the duffle bag he’d brought. He unzipped it, reached inside, produced four shotguns and a pile of ammo.
“Uhh,” Cleve said.
“Just a precaution,” Kendul said. “This is how me and Edward downed her the first time. Barely. Gotta aim for the joints.”
Each man took a shotgun, loaded it, stood and waited.
Minutes that felt like hours ticked by as Adelina’s mind got used to its host again. Still lying on her back in the dirt, she flexed her fingers, moved her enormous feet back and forth – no toes as such there, more just two slabs of steel with what looked like tread of some kind, like on a tank, except it didn’t move. She lifted a knee up, brought it back down.
The snow had been drifting down and in through the holes in the roof and the one downed wall, had been steadily gathering, more and more blowing in as the wind had intensified. There had been about an inch or two when they’d arrived, already there from the previous few nights’ snowfall, but enough now had accumulated that there were a few inches to either side of Adelina, and a solid dusting on top of her.
As she continued to experiment with her body, at one point it looked like she was attempting something specific. Cleve was the first to recognize it.
“Is she…” He trailed off, frowning.
Kendul smiled. “Yeah, I think she is.”
Marcton voiced it: “Snow angel.”
Adelina moved her arms up and down, her legs side to side. The movements made the ground shudder.
“Surreal,” Marcton said, turned to Kendul. “I gather this is not how shit went down the first time?”
“Absolutely not. Much more running, screaming, and general death that first time. This is preferable by far.”
That’s when Adelina sat up, and all four men who’d resurrected her caught their breath. Snow drifted down from her arms and midsection, revealing both blackened and gleaming metal.
The men just stared and waited. For death. Or, hopefully, something less permanent.
Adelina clicked her tongue a few times; it sounded almost like someone forging a sword.
“Adelina,” Kendul said, breaking the silence and startling his companions. He knew he had to keep it simple. Didn’t want to clutter up her mind with a bunch of pointless questions. “What do you need from us?”
Adelina blinked. Immense power coursed through her; she found it difficult to stem its flow. But her mind was calming, filtering information, only allowing through the parts of herself she recognized. Trying like hell to keep the weight of decades of her ancestry at bay. That’s what wanted in, she understood: History, she thought. Longevity. Continuation.
The big metal balls that were her eyes moved from side to side, taking the men in. They squirmed under her gaze.
“Kyllo,” was all she said: granite dragged across concrete. It was all she needed to say.
And the voice that said it sounded like it had been waiting to say that particular word all its life.
T W E N T Y
With every step Henry Kyllo took down the subway tunnel, the walls shook.
“We need to find a light source, Henry.”
No answer, just more plodding.
It was getting harder and harder to get through to Henry now. Milo realized it would be best if he concentrated on working with Faye on a plan for getting them out of here. Away from these tunnels. Away from this whole city.
“Faye, how are you doing?”
“I feel a lot better,” she said, but winced when she moved her wounded arm and shoulder. “This damn thing still hurts, but not even close to as bad as before.”
They carried on in silence for a while, then Faye looked up at Henry, said, “How’s he doing?”
“Not great. No idea what’s going on in his head, and he won’t say anything. I don’t know where he’s gone, but I’m scared he won’t be coming back.”
And it was true. Henry’s mood darkened with each step he took, as though the darkness around him was becoming part of him, seeping into his structure. He felt as though he’d fallen down a very deep well and could no longer see the top – the light there long extinguished. And whenever he tried to scramble back up the sides of the well, they became slick with moisture, any handhold treacherous, impossible. He knew, too, that something was moving in to replace who he’d been. He was losing his internal battle.
Up ahead, some pinpricks of light. Shuffling sounds.
The lights wobbled from side to side as the tunnel curved and they were able to better see what it was: a handful of city workers, probably down here fixing something. With the sound of Henry’s thunderous steps, the lights became more frenzied as the workers figured out that whatever was stomping its way toward them was really big. And definitely not a subway train.
Scuffling, clattering sounds, and the lights scattered. Most vanished from sight instantly, but one stayed, low to the ground. As Henry, Milo, and Faye approached, they saw that one of the workers had dropped his flashlight. It sat in the dirt near the tracks.
“Light source,” said Faye.
“Ask and ye shall receive,” Milo replied, laughed.
“Well, while we’re asking, another one woulda been nice,” Faye said.
Milo picked up the flashlight, waved it around. The shaft of light caught the side of what appeared to be another tunnel – this one leading away from the old, disus
ed section of the underground.
“Must lead to the tunnel that’s actually in use,” Milo said. “Maybe something in this old tunnel is still hooked up to the new line?”
“Or, jeez, I dunno,” Faye said, “maybe they were working in the new tunnel, heard giant goddamn footsteps this way, decided to come check it out, saw what it was – or at least heard it – and got the hell out of Dodge.”
Milo nodded, grinned. “Yeah, that’s more likely, you’re right.”
But as quickly as the grin appeared on Milo’s face, he felt his heart sink as he thought about the situation. What was their plan here? Hide was not a helpful idea due to Henry’s size, so besides another rampage – the first one not turning out well for anyone involved – running away was the only other option. They needed to somehow try to get out of the city without being noticed. Underground was the best option for that plan, but now there were two options within that choice: old tunnels or new tunnels? Milo had no idea they were linked so openly.
“Henry,” Milo called up to his friend. “Listen, you’ve got to respond now. Which way do you wanna go? The old tunnels will be less populated – and no trains running in them – but they won’t extend as far out of the city as the new ones, so… what do you think?”
Henry just breathed in, breathed out. Stared down this slightly smaller tunnel, which led to the working subway lines. Blinked every once in a while.
Milo was about to ask again, clearly frustrated, but then Henry’s giant metal eyeballs swiveled around, found his friend, and some kind of understanding passed between them. Henry didn’t speak, but Milo thought he saw a brand of despair on Henry’s face that he would not have thought possible. It made his heart ache.
What is he thinking? What does he think he’s done? What does he know he’s done? As Milo thought this last, the sound of a subway rumbling down the line nearby filtered over to where they stood. Henry’s eyes settled momentarily on Faye, then he turned his head, and continued stomping away down the old tunnel, away from the sound of the train.