Spear stumbled backward under the impact but held on. He knew that if he let go of the pole, he was as good as dead. Even as he tripped, his hands clung to the weapon, never letting go. The sideways pull of the shaft, impaled in the attacker, swung both of them around. As they hit the ground sideways, Spear watched as his attacker’s head collided full force with a large black boulder. The metal split and the gel from inside spilled out, splashing over the wet stone.
Spear scrambled to his feet to create distance. The unmoving body lay dripping on the rock.
Tentatively, Spear stepped forward and pulled the hanging pack hanging off of the protruding handle. Looking around he slung the bag before looking for more motion in the fog, but none came. Bracing a foot against the body, he jerked the sharpened pole out. The metal scraped quietly, and Spear winced at the noise.
Where had it come from? Why had it attacked? Stepping forward he inspected the body.
The wet gel that leaked from the dead units head was a bright neon green. Over the last few days, he had seen enough carnage and death to know that something was wrong. The gel was a bright blue color.
His eyes passed over the rest of the rusting body. It looked patched dozens of times. On the abdomen around the digestor was a patina of blue. The unit had been feeding on the gel, and by the build up of lacquered layers, it likely had been feeding repeatedly over time.
Was this the end stage of gel consumption? Did units become feral and insane?
He stood and stepped backward towards the sound of the water. He no longer wanted to be here. The repugnant idea that units were feeding off of each other out here in the wild was disturbing.
The soft waves seemed to beckon him back towards the beach. Spear considered the likely hood that there were more cannibals in the obscured field.
He turned away from the black boulder, stained with green gel. Moving through the fog towards the beach he caught another large form to his right. A second black stone stood in the mist. Both twinned stones stood astride the path towards the beach. He might have walked right by them if he had not been stopped.
Spear's heart exploded with joy. His head looked them both up and down comparing them.
“It’s real,” he whispered. He had not seen any proof other than his dreams. They seemed so different yet so familiar.
Inspecting the boulder closely, he could see a beast’s face carved into its surface. Part of it had fallen away into the sand below, but the body remained, sitting regally as thought to welcome someone from the ocean.
The feeling that he had been there before filled his mind with a sense of mixed nostalgia and sadness. It was an unsettling feeling, as though he was late for something he had no memory of.
His metal hand reached out. Were these the images of the creatures he was searching for? The face had eyes facing forward, and fur like a beast, but the open maw, even with the lower jaw broken away still had teeth. It looked noble, though. Ancient and wise.
The distance between the two points was approximately as wide as the trails he had been walking on before. The black stones that spilled out onto the sand indicated that this trail had intersected with his own and was heading north. Into the field beyond.
Turning to face the ocean, he took a few steps onto the sand, and could see a length of shaped stones, stacked like a wall outwards into the waves. Stepping up onto the platform he could see that the familiar graystone had been poured onto organized boulders to create an indestructible pier out into the ocean. What had this been for? Did the originals practice ancient ceremonies here? Were they from the water?
His mind raced to piece together the new information with something that made sense, but the structure just confused him more.
With renewed hope, he stepped back down, onto the sand and tightening the pack against his shoulders. Hefting his spear, feeling the weight he knew where he had to go.
His legs felt like trembling as he looked forward into the fog. The two giant carved stones stared back. Their expectant black faces seemed to judge if he was worthy to pass.
He reflected for a moment. The originals were real. They were on the top of the hill. Sleeping. Waiting for him to wake them.
Spear stepped forward, and into the darkening mist.
Chapter 32
Carefully, Spear placed each foot on the dark stones of the path, feeling them shift under the pressure. The tip of his weapon waved back and forth as his ears hyper-focused on any surrounding sounds.
Satisfied that there was nothing close by he quickened the pace, peering through the fog with each step. The gray curtain made him feel as though he was exposed rather than hidden. Fighting the urge to run, he slowed himself again, resuming the stalking creep forward.
A grunt echoed to his left.
Spear froze, his body tensed at the ready for another attacker.
Ahead of him, a small shadow shifted, shambling to the right. The grunt happened again, this time behind him. Close behind him.
Stepping left off the path he kept low, ducking behind bushes, and looking ahead.
No shadows were visible, but the fog seemed to have brightened for a moment as the orange light of the sunset was now diffuse and ethereal with no specific direction.
Another grunt to his right.
Spear's body had reacted before his panicked mind asserted control. On all fours, he gingerly scrambled before raising into a crouching jog.
Grunting noises ahead of him followed by another pair of shadows. He turned moving to what he thought was north. Three sinister silhouettes ahead of him snapped from standing to a bent at the waist stance, ready to pounce.
He forced himself to assert dominance over the fear that was coursing through him. A shift to the right and he could see a wall of graystone. It was short, but he pressed himself against the only visual cover, creeping around it. Grunting was beginning to occur from where he had just come, and irregular footfalls seemed to close in behind him.
His hand felt the wall as it angled left, then quickly to the left again. It was a cube of graystone. His head popped up over the edge risking a view. Between the walls was an empty hollow, filled with putrid water, and dead growth, but he could see the stones at the bottom. With no other option for cover, and the cannibals closing in, he gently heaved his body over the short wall and slid into the space.
Water from the recent rain lapped against the sides. Spear cringed as a chorus of guttural noises around him passed like a wave through the obscuring fog. How many of them were there out there? Dozens?
The water was only waist deep, and the top of the wall was only chest high for a person standing on the outside. Now trapped inside, he realized that he could easily reach out and touch each of the walls without much trouble.
If even one of the damaged units walked by and peered over he would be seen. He was trapped. Frustration welled up in him.
Sitting down in the water he could feel his bag on his back float. Laying his spear at an angle kept its tip from sticking up like a signal pole. The orange light that had flared during the sunset was now dispersing slowly. Fading away
Spear felt his energy wane as he wondered when he had taken in nutrient last. At least there was water to flush out the encrusting salt. Dehydrated and exhausted he leaned back against the wall and opened his abdomen. Water filled with decaying matter poured into his digesting cavity. Small bubbles escaped, and his fingers could feel the white crystals inside dissolve as the crusts loosened and began floating.
Closing it, he satisfied himself with the fact that at least he had solved one problem. The other was not seeing where he was, or the herd of crazies he had wandered into were.
The noises above died down, and he relaxed. No movement and no noises indicated that the had stopped looking for him. Only the calm quiet of the stagnant air and water remained. Ever so slowly, the light faded from the day into a starless sky.
His body felt the stillness. Exhaustion of the two days of running from the guard set in. Closing
his eyes, he drifted for a few moments considering his situation.
Spear suspected that he had lost the guard in the fog, and possibly in the ascent then descent to and from the beach. At the very least the dead unit that lay smashed against the rocks might mimic Spear's body.
A simpleton guard might identify the damaged unit as its quarry and return to the Master. He imagined the guard moving back across the wilderness, through the trees, over the fields and finding the clearing of ashes.
The guard would tell the Master of its findings, and Spear’s death would be a pleasant footnote in the Master’s day. Hardly a consideration as he slowly brought units into existence, used them up then harvested them for the gel.
Spear could imagine the Master reaching down and plucking a random sentient unit out of the sleeping box, pulling the head from the body and supping on the juices inside while the others cowered.
Opening his eyes, he reflected that the Water Carrier was constrained by the Master. She still was among the slaves. Still dispensing water until she outlived her usefulness or became old enough to be harvested.
How long had the Master been alive? It was just another unit. Maybe smarter than the others. Maybe he had remembered how to use the factory. Maybe he had been taught by the originals, or perhaps he had killed the originals only to take their place.
Spear closed his eyes. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered now was the dreamless sleep he so desperately craved. His body relaxed and his head bent forward touching his chin to the water.
Spear woke in the night disoriented by the water and cold. His hand instinctively snapped to the handle of his weapon. The splash of movement ignited another cacophony of groans and aggressive snorting noises above him. Feet shambled close by, and he considered ducking his head under the water, but they faded quickly, searching the area and ignoring his hiding place.
Overhead, the fog had lifted, and in a cloudless sky familiar stars sat. Spear considered that he could chance sticking his head up and over the edge to see where he was. Immediately the thought was pushed from his mind. The corrupted units around him would see his head, and if they were present in the numbers he suspected, they would immediately overwhelm him. His solution would be to wait. If they moved on or gave up, he would have a chance.
If someone else caught their attention, he could move, but until he knew they were gone, he could do nothing but wait.
He was close to finishing his quest. Dying at the end would be ironic, but not the preference.
Allowing his eyes to shut, he kept his ears tuned for noises, and sank back into his frigid prison, sinking slightly into the greasy mud at the bottom.
Sunlight crested over the lip of the hole and Spear opened his eyes. The warming sun had not moved so far in the sky as to reach to the bottom, but he felt reassured as it rose. Spear reasoned that if the shadows cast by the light indicated that he was facing inland towards the forest, then the ocean was behind him. If he wanted to take a look over the edge at least he was faced in the correct direction.
Sitting in the brackish water, he considered his options. Risking a look during the daylight might mean being spotted, but he had no way of safely knowing if the horde was still in the field. He wondered if they had moved on.
In the morning light, he could see that the graystone of the box’s sides had spalled due to the weather over the years. At the top, the north side was more jagged than flat. Peeking through a crevice might be an acceptable risk when compared to putting his head over the edge.
Ever so slowly, he painstakingly shifted his weight forward and stood. The water rippled silently. Spear lifted his head to peer through the lowest point with one eye. The water dripped from him, but his glacial movements had netted nothing more than a gentle lapping at the walls.
Outside the box toward the inland side, he could see a vast field filled with the ruins of ancient graystone structures. Nothing was more than knee height, but the ground was only covered with small bunches of low-lying vegetation. Throughout the field clusters of flattened brightly colored plants popped up.
Scattered across the field was the horde of corrupted units. Their bodies were in various states of disrepair. Some missing appendages, others showing blatant neglect. On the ground, scattered around the field were parts from other units. Nearby he could see a dented cranium of a decapitation. Limbs of the previous owner pulled off and spread about.
Spear wondered if some explorer had mistakenly happened on the field as he almost did. Even a handful of aggressors would have made short work of him.
Each of the units he could see looked up at the sky. Poised and statue like they tracked the sun with their eyes.
Most of them were clustered along the far treeline, and in numbers that would have been at his estimate, twice as big as his home group. There were far too many for him to fight. Any attempt to pick them off one at a time would be suicide.
His heart rose for a moment as he saw a dark spot on the hill. A crescent shape of a graystone wall sparked a familiar feeling inside him. Filling most of the space was a large black square of a door.
Spear could barely contain himself. It was just like he had seen! They were there. Just beyond his reach. The originals slept, waiting for him. He was sure of it now. There were too many familiar places here. The door, the twin black rocks at the beach.
If he could just get to the originals, they would be able to fix all of this. They would use their powers to make life better for all of them. Give them some hope.
Spear's shoulders slumped. If only the defects didn’t stand in his way. He wondered if they could see at all. Perhaps they had burned their optics out trying to track the only object they could not reach to kill. Leaning back, he gently lowered himself to lean back on the wall, his legs curled up in front of him, and his head just above the water line.
Where had they all come from? Was there some compulsion to stay in this location because it was once home? Or did they cluster because they still required the social structure that others brought?
His hand idly felt the bottom of the water-filled box, and his fingers wrapped around the next idea. A stone plucked from the bottom rose to the surface in his hand, and he peered at it.
He could test the theory that they attacked sound but didn’t want to check the blindness theory just yet.
Rising slowly again he positioned himself at the back of the box, this time, giving himself enough space to throw the weighted stone up and over the wall without being seen.
He wound up, tensed his body and threw. The rock soared through the air silently, and only a slight slosh of the water attracted the ire of the grunters above. Almost immediately after a resulting clang occurred as the stone impacted a far off unit. SPear's throw had been more luck than aim, but he was pleased with the result.
A chorus of anger rose again amongst the crowd.
Moving forward as quickly as he dared he peered again through the open point in the wall. The bodies stalked towards a central unit which growled and spun looking for the attacker. Collective hands lashed out, and they worked together to grab the offending noise.
Spear watched as the crowd turned inwards, towards the increasing riot. Fists swung, and metal flew. Parts began to rain down, pulled apart and thrown. Some of the crowd broke off, moving away from the carnage to reach down and pick up broken pieces. Their hands pulled the components apart, disassembling them over open abdomens as though to drain any liquid found into their insides.
Spear caught a glimpse through the bodies of the victor cracking the skull and pouring its contents over its open digestion port. Each took a piece and wandered away, repeating the action. Realizing that there was no fluid to be had they dropped the dry parts to the dirt and stumbled away from each other, growling at any of those in the crowd who happened to touch them.
Satisfied that the offender was disassembled, the carnage dissipated, and they resumed their posts staring straight up.
Horrified, he realized
that they could see. They were not blind, only driven mad by the noise.
Fear knocked on the door of his mind again, showing him the reality of his situation. He had become trapped, and the damaged units out there would tear him to pieces the moment he rose from his hiding spot.
Settling down, he let the reality sink in. If he were lucky, in the next few days, before he died from starvation, he would be able to sneak away in the fog. There were too many to fight, and they were too close to the door for him to make a run for it.
Spear gripped his weapon and slunk back down into the water. He had been foolish.
There was no way out of this.
He was going to die here.
Chapter 33
Spear picked at the decaying greenery in the drying graystone box. Most of the water had sunk into the soil below him over the course of the last few days. He had alternated sleeping and staring at the sky, waiting for the fog to roll back in, conserving his strength.
The contents of the bag were laid out in front of him. The hand weapon he had taken from the Cartographer, a loop of wire and the cutter had survived the waterlogging, but the map had come apart into the separate plastic pieces it had been pressed from. The bag now acted as a sitting platform, letting him avoid becoming stuck in the mud.
Small black creatures flew around him, landing on his face and in the decaying matter. He had looked up this morning only to find that the horde was still standing where they had been for the last two days. Not one had moved.
The blue sky didn’t even threaten a cloud let alone another fog bank. He considered the unlikely possibility that he would be in for a longer wait than he expected.
He picked up the hand weapon and checked it again for the fourth time. From the bar of light on the back, he presumed that it indicated it was almost at full charge.
Spear's Journey Page 18