“Spear…” said his eyes were full of panic.
“Oh no! My arm,” he flexed it, and the digits responded correctly. His fingers opened and closed fine, but it was bent at a steep angle.
“Spear…” Three-One said again.
“I’m okay. It's just a little bend. The guards probably won’t notice.”
A long shadow loomed lumbered towards them. Spooked, Seven-Eight turned his head covering his arm to see the guard advancing. It was checking on the congregating group.
“You have to leave… Run,” Three-One stated.
“No, it's fine. It’s just bent. It will be okay,” the Water Carrier said.
“Your collar....It’s gone!” Three-One told him. “Spear, you need to run. Run as fast as you can. You need to take advantage of this. Run!”
Seven-Eight reached out and touched his naked neck, looking into the thick ash covered ground. His eyes searched for the metal ring.
“What? No. I can get another collar. The Master can give me another collar. I want to stay.”
Three-One struck him, bringing the world into focus, “You need to run!”
Everyone around him clutched at their necks, dropping to their knees. The crackle of the lowest discipline setting sent them into seizures. Everyone fell to the ground writhing except for 775.
When the other units stopped convulsing, the shadow was almost on top of him. Seven-Eight looked upwards, but only heard Three-One’s voice, “Run you, idiot. Follow the river to the ocean. I’ve seen it too. We all must have! Wake them! Now is the time! Go!”
An impossibly large hand reached for Seven-Eight.
Turning to accept his fate Seven-Eight, looked at the guard for some sign of mercy.
Three-One launched himself from the ground at Seven-Eight, pushing him aside. The hand wrapped around the old unit’s head, picking it up. As Seven-Eight was lifted by his skull, he yelled, “Run! Run to the ocean! Wake them! Save us all!”
The hand shook violently and the body separated from the head.
The Water Carrier lay still on the ground with the others, “Run… Please run… Save yourself… Please” her soft pleading voice hurt him. He stepped forward to grab her, to take her with him. To save her.
“Explain this!” the Master’s voice boomed, stopping Seven-Eight in his tracks. The guard dropped Three-One’s head, and it rolled to Seven-Eight’s feet. The unmoving face deformed from the strong hands. The ancient unit was broken and crushed dead. Unfocused eyes stared into the distance.
Warmth flooded Seven-Eight's face. He had known Three-One for as long as he had been alive. The unit had been a friend, sometimes irrational and unpredictable but still, a friend. It was a waste. A horrible waste!
Seven-Eight's good hand balled into a fist around his spear and turned. Charging for the Master, and ducking under the guards grabbing fists his small frame dodged each attempt to block him.
The other guards across the clearing were beginning to run, seeing the trajectory of the deviant unit.
Picking up speed Seven-Eight hoisted his coring spear and quickly sidestepped another grasp, before launching the sharpened pole. It flew through the air, arcing towards the Master. For a brief moment, Seven-Eight felt that his anger would manifest in killing the Master, but the only result was an explosion of sparks and light. The air around the Master rippled in a sphere as it distributed the protective energy field. The crackle was almost as loud as the Master's laugh at the attempt. The floating patchwork of appendages and arms flicked a small hand towards Seven-Eight in disdain, “Bring me its head.”
Snarling Seven-Eight turned, rolled away as guard attempted to grab him. Standing Seven-Eight drove his legs hard into the ash and turned towards the tree line. The stumbling giant paused and took a moment to process the change in direction.
Seven-Eight’s thin legs pumped away against the soot covered ground. A guard to his left was closing the gap, and Seven-Eight veered right, putting more space between him and the dark form. Distance slowly closed as the pursuers long legs picked up their pace.
Seven-Eight threw himself into the tree line clambering over trunks and jumping over depressions. Each bound was putting more and more distance between him and the guards. Why had he done that. He could have begged for forgiveness. He still could.
The thought disappeared as the ash encrusted trees behind him exploded. The giant guards were pursuing and opted to go through the obstacles he was going around. With each step, he knew that he was closer to the green and that he could hide in there.
Thundering footfalls rained down behind him. Seven-Eight knew that if he miss-stepped now, he would be pounced on before he could ask for mercy.
Spying a fallen trunk ahead, he gauged the space under it. Pumping his legs harder he timed his slide and passed under the shade of the ancient log. Quickly standing on the other side, he turned to his left, paralleling the log. The building-sized cylinder shuddered as the giants collided with it.
Turning back he could see them climb over, and point to him.
His feet continued carrying him even as his legs began to burn. He tried to recall when he had eaten last. How long would his legs hold out?
The ash under his feet turned to soil and after a distance to soft moss. He climbed over a boulder, sliding down the other side into the green forest.
Seven-Eight slowed his run; he listened for the giant bodies as they pushed through the brush. His mind raced as he flitted from the shadow to shadow. He crawled across the ground on all fours, fearing standing up and being seen. Jumping across a small pond, he landed and took a few steps. Something to the right crackled and Seven-Eight froze.
“Master tells us to burn it all,” came a warbling voice.
“Burning now,” came the reply.
Yellow arcs of flames erupted as the guards spewed liquid heat onto the underbrush. It landed in front of Seven-Eight. The scorching wave touched his face, and Seven-Eight turned taking a step backward.
“There!” came the monotone voice.
Running Seven-Eight charged through the underbrush blindly. Dodging around trees. Flames licked the air around him as the guards fired the burners hoping to catch him alight. The thickening brush formed a dense wall, and he pressed into it, hoping to lose them in the tangle. Each step slowed by the back pressure from the tangle of branches and vines, but he pushed on, crushing the plant life. His hands ripped a tunnel through the matted decaying brush. Pushing hard he cleared the brush, and his foot stepped into the open air.
The world rocketed upwards and away. Seven-Eight's legs kicked at the air as bright light blinded his eyes. The rock wall next to him slid by with ever increasing speed.
Something smashed into his head, and he spun violently before bouncing one more time into the boiling waters of the river.
Above him, three guards peered into the white water of the river far below. They scanned patiently for movement until the flames of their making began to overtake their position. Shaking their heads they disappeared into the forest.
Chapter 11
Seven-Eight could feel the pressure of the water crushing his body flat against the bottom of the river. Stones pelted him in the torrential current as he dragged along the bottom. Every so often the water would feed him another boulder and his body would bounce off of it threatening to break up in the cold grave.
Slowly, the flow shallowed, and taking advantage of the momentary reprieve he dug his hands and feet into the pebbles. Seven-Eight clung to the riverbed determined not to be cast downstream. Through the maelstrom, he drove himself, each tedious reach and pull moved him towards the surface. The waters calmed as he crawled but the roaring crashing sound remained. It deafened him.
Heaving himself from his would-be grave, he flopped onto the river bank of wet stones.
His head ached, and one of his eyes was damaged, but he was alive. Touching his face, he wondered if his eye would ever work again. Rolling onto his back, he scanned the area around him, searchin
g for the guards.
No towering sentinels stood watching. Just the quickly fading light and the unfamiliar riverbank provided company.
The steep walls of the canyon upstream hid from his sight where he had fallen. How far had he been swept? Downstream, the tree-topped cliffs of stone gave way to steep green hills and rocky outcroppings.
Kneeling, Seven-Eight looked up at the cloud-covered sky.
The colors of the sunset were beginning to creep into them from the hidden sun. It wouldn’t be long now before the darkness overtook him. There was no sleeping box out here; this was the wild.
Panic rose in him as he considered the idea that he would have to sleep out in the open. Alone. There were beasts in the forest. His hand instinctively went to his abdomen. He could feel the tooth still rolling around inside. Maybe there were larger creatures. One’s he had not seen. A chill seeped into his mind as he realized how alone he was.
Standing, he turned scanning for any sign of familiar markers. Nothing looked
He followed the bank, stumbling over rocks. The loss of his depth perception was a punishment unto itself. He had to stop trying to gauge the distance from the ground and keep his head up. Stumbling on the unsure footing was rough going, but invariably placing his foot too far down or tentatively judging the height of the next rock was infuriating.
As he moved downriver, the slope to his left seemed more and more climbable. Stepping away from the rushing water, he cautiously mounted the incline. Each tentative step was bringing him closer and closer to the dark tree line. The thick underbrush packed in between the trees left no opening for entry.
Following the edge of the thicket, he scrambled over rotting trees long blown down. The shadows lengthened by the minute. Each step became harder and harder to see. With no moon, the ground became a carpet of hazard and debris to be caught up in.
As the light completely faded, his desperate hands reached forward, feeling ahead of him. The moss covered log ahead of him felt like a wall. Stopping, he realized that there was nowhere further to go.
Loneliness filled him again. There was no Water Carrier to hold. His friends were far away, tucked into the sleeping box by now. His absence noted only by a new unit sleeping in his spot. He was nothing now. No Master to guide him. No tasks, no goal. He was nothing at all. A waste of metal.
His face scrunched as he fought back the sobs. Leaning against the trunk he slid to his knees and curled up next to its rotting mass in the cold darkness.
Chapter 12
A dreamless sleep had taken him, holding him in its silent embrace for most of the night until the crackle of underbrush greeted his ears. Rolling onto his back, he listened carefully, half asleep.
There it was again. A crack of twigs, a rustle of leaves. Something was coming this way. He sat up, pressing his back to the log. Was it the guards? Had they found him? Above him a sliver of moon was exposed, casting minuscule light on the world. Down the slope, he could see the sparkling reflection of the river. It’s roar deafened him even from this distance.
The wall of vegetation shook as figures rustled through.
The guards have found me, he thought.
He was done running. Maybe he would just let the guards take him. They would collect him up, and drag him back to the factory. The Master would kill him on the spot. In front of everyone. They would all know how he had failed.
Shaking his head, Seven-Eight balled his fists and set his jaw. He would fight. Feeling around for a weapon, he pulled up a large stone from the ground beneath his feet. Thin fingers clutched it in both hands. The guards would likely not even feel the impact before they killed him.
A glint of white teeth and silver eyes flashed before him from the blackness of the night, and his body froze. Wild things! Beasts. These were the uncaring monsters of the forest. The guards were one thing, but these brutes were even worse. They would kill him just for sport.
He clenched his jaw, and his arms tensed to lash out.
Low guttural growls followed by shadows lunging forward then back. Snapping jaws erupted from the darkness. Each form stepping out of the shadows testing him before returning out of sight.
“Leave me alone!” Seven-Eight yelled.
More eyes turned to him. A dozen sets of silver eyes formed a semicircle. He raised the stone.
“I have killed your beasts before! I am Spear! I promise you I will kill at least some of you before I die!” His voice was full of false bravado.
A beast lunged, and he smashed the stone down on the dark form. A soft yelp and the crowd of eyes flinched backward. The growls grew into a chorus. He beat back the fear in his head. If this was his end, he wanted it to happen while fighting.
“I am the Spear! I have fought you before!” he roared, stepping forward. Swinging his fists wildly. They connected with nothing. The shadows melted away, each time just out of range.
He stumbled in the darkness, falling landing on his knees. His hand touched the stone he had used as a weapon, and he grasped it again rising. The eyes were all around him now gnashing their teeth.
“I am not afraid!” he screamed turning. He lifted the weight above his head and launching it again into the crowd, “I am not afraid to die!”
The stone landed softly missing its mark, and the growling stopped. The eyes blinked, and the teeth sheathed themselves.
“I am Spear,” he roared, “… I am Spear… I am Spear.” He repeated it over and over again clenching and unclenching his fists.
The dark forms in the night tired of the noise and continued, indifferent to the rage and noise. Their forms flowed downhill towards the water, filtering around him. An occasion guttural roll of a lip revealed a tooth, but no lunging fight. No death.
Blinking, he watched them drain away, loping down into the river valley. He watched them as they bounced through the edge of the water. Splashing. They yipped and ran. Following the flow of water. Each dark form was bounding quickly, blocking the subtle reflection of the shoreline.
A howl echoed from down river, forcing cold shivers down his spine. Realizing he was alone again, he felt for the fallen tree, and crouched at the base of it, leaning into the moss.
He promised himself that he would not be defenseless like that again. Scouring the ground, he felt for the stone he had thrown. His fingers touched the hard surface, and his hands gathered it up, clinging it to his chest.
He chastised himself for his initial thought that he would just allow himself to be taken home by a guard. The aggression had saved him, but he was embarrassed by the idea of being at peace with dying. He promised himself he would stay alive no matter what.
Hugging the stone, he pulled in his legs, hiding in the dark, waiting for the inevitable sunrise.
Chapter 13
Spear felt the sun rise on the left side of his face before he saw it. The warmth was welcome after the brutal cold of the previous night. Blinking his working eye, he looked around. Somehow he had fallen back to sleep from sheer exhaustion.
Unfurling his arm’s, he released the cold stone and straightened himself upwards. The light of the day showed him what had seemed like an impassable wall was only a few feet long, and the rest of the rotting tree would have been easy to walk around had he seen it. The top portion had fallen long ago, sliding down the steep slope towards the river. Around him, the chirping noises of the flying animals echoed. Yellow and gold light glistened off of the morning dew, and a slight breeze brought the sound of the river to him.
He looked for any sign of the beasts he had earlier encountered, but they were no longer down on the river bank. Realizing that the easiest way to travel would be over the stones near the river, he began walking towards the water, easing himself down the slope he had climbed earlier.
As he walked, he scanned the sides of the canyon for threats or the guards, but after a few hours of following the river, he began to relax. Spear considered the likelihood that there would be no chase. No continued threat. They likely either had lost h
is trail or thought him dead.
Looking down at his feet, he could see tracks in the mud between the stones. Large muddy footprints left by the dark animals in the night. Stopping, he bent down and compared the size of the print to that of his hand. They were roughly the same size as his palm, and the water filled depression had four sharp indents that made him suspect that there were claws he had not seen with those teeth and eyes.
Shivering, he stood quickly. Throwing stones would not do next time. He needed a weapon. A spear. It worked to kill plants and so it would kill them as well, as long as he could find their root.
Small trees covered the river bank. Some had fallen, dried out. Soon to let the river take them further down. Walking up towards the tree line again, he inspected the cluster of thin wood. Discarding the angled and bent sticks, he found the one that looked as similar to his working tool. His metal hands wrapped themselves around the green bark, pulling on it. The bark tore under his grip for a moment before holding again. Eventually, he dragged it out by the roots, separating it from the others. The dry root cluster snapped as it released from the soil.
Peeling back the thin branches he found the lowest portion he needed, and laid it down on a round river stone, applying leverage with his body. The trunk of the small tree sheered roughly, leaving a shaft with a long thin flexible end. Bending it hard, he snapped the brittle end off.
Inspecting his work, he flipped the crude weapon and jammed the relatively sharper end into the mud. Satisfied he smiled. It was rough and not as strong as the steel, but if he encountered more beasts, it would likely hold for a few strikes.
Hefting his prize, he continued down the stream, using the shaft of the makeshift spear to keep from tripping over the loose stones.
Eventually, the towering stone walls dropped over the time and distance he was covering, and as the river bent to the right, he noticed a large stone wall to the left, supporting a relatively treeless expanse above. He had seen these things before. The black paths carved through the trees allowing only small plants to grow in their cracked black tar like dirt.
Spear's Journey Page 5