by Nick Cole
“Why,” Cade had once asked while cleaning his old Barrett sniper rifle at a nearby reading desk.
“Because,” Bertram had stormed angrily. “Someday there will be children again.”
Cade thought about all the children he’d seen haunting the resistance camps. They were little more than dogs. More often than not they died of hunger, or disease, or...
...Cans.
“Someday,” Bertram huffed to himself on that long gone day when it had just been the two of them in the children’s section on a stormy morning. “Someday children will get a chance to just be children again. They’ll learn and play and they’ll read these books about the way...”
And the old man didn’t finish the sentence.
He just let it go because they both understood that what came next might never happen, and if it did, if the Cans were ever destroyed and man ruled the planet again, how could children, or anyone for that matter, understand what was in these old books?
Cade liked the Hemingway ones because they were about the elements and man versus life. Things Cade knew. To Cade, the machines and surviving them were just a part of life.
A game, even though it was a deadly game.
Cory had crossed all the rows of shelving in the children’s books, and then picked one seemingly at random, inspecting it, then replacing it exactly. Then he’d move on to the next shelf and pick another. For a long moment he’d held onto one. Held it until Cade had come close and sat down in a tiny chair at a tiny table.
“Whatcha’ got there, buddy?”
Cory continued to stare at the book. Thin, flat. Just holding it and staring at the cover. Then without warning, he’d handed it to Cade and stared straight back into the tall man’s eyes.
Cade studied the picture on the worn front cover. It meant little to him. He opened the book and read the first words.
Pancake jumped out at him.
What’s a pancake, he thought?
He’d intended to read it to the boy right then and there, but Bertram summoned him to the monitors and so Cade had told Cory, “After dinner tonight we’ll sit by the fire and I’ll read this one to you, okay?”
Cory nodded and Cade left for the monitors.
Now, watching the playback of the grainy stranger cross the highway once more, Bertram finally spoke up. “He keeps coming and going and that’s what bothers me. Most scavengers just keep on moving. This one keeps re-crossing the area. He keeps coming back.”
Cade leaned in closer.
“Wish we could make out his face.”
“Best I can do,” said Bertram quietly.
“So he’s crossing and re-crossing.” Pause. “Triangulating?” suggested Cade.
“Could be,” sighed Bertram. “Could be indeed. Whatever it is... he keeps coming back, and I don’t like it.”
There was a long silence as once again the loop of the feed started again. They’d seen scavengers come and go. But there was a moment in the feed that bothered Cade about this one. One moment in which the scavenger seemed to...
... “scan” his surroundings. Even then, it wasn’t something Cade could totally say was “wrong”. Humans were very cautious now. Especially out in the open. An HK flying the old freeway heading down into the San Diego rift to take out one of the resistance camps could appear at any moment. Most scavengers worked fast and moved even faster. There were always the Cans to consider and that...
Cade leaned forward. “I’ll tell you what bothers me, Bert.” His chair squeaked. “This fella’s in no kinda hurry.”
They watched it again.
And again.
And again.
“I’m afraid you might be right,” said Bertram.
Chapter twenty-Five
Cade went to his gear the next morning.
All through the night, he’d listened to the wind howl and moan in the outer dark beyond the cinderblock walls of the library. All night he’d been thinking.
If it is a Terminator...
... then that’s bad. Real bad in fact.
The Cans held the cities, or what was left of the cities. Anything they didn’t want, they’d irradiated heavily with highjacked nuclear weapons, or decimated with their ground and air troops. Terminators and Hunter Killers.
The frozen wastelands beyond the old cities where humanity barely survived, the Cans didn’t want that and they knew survival was so thin out there that it drove their enemies into the killing fields around the ruined cities where the machines harvested materials for their empire. Their civilization. Whatever it was they were doing.
South of LA, what old maps called the County of Orange, was a wasteland. San Diego had been hit with some kind of crust-busting super weapon one of the old Superpowers had dreamed up to take out a deep water port and most of a fleet. In the early moments of the Can’s war against mankind, a conflict had been fought here, in the County of Orange, between old pre-awareness military units and guerilla forces the Cans had tricked into fighting for freedom and human rights. In reality they were fighting for the machines. Eventually the Cans moved in drone units and first gen Terminators. Six months into the war they’d started to lose, so they’d gone chemical. That had pretty much done the trick.
Very few survived the massive chemical attack that blanketed much of the West Coast.
Now, the resistance didn’t have any units this far south. That’s why Command had hidden the library here. Or really, the resistance had found the library, almost untouched. They’d rebuilt and then booted up their baling wire network and left Bertram to run it. Now the library was the messaging center, and the memory of humanity as it once was and as it made its last stand against the machines. If they lost the library, then, well, 1st Army up in the mountains above old Pasadena was finished.
For that matter, humanity was finished.
But how to “suss” out the scavenger? That was Cade’s question as he sat in the old leather chair by the fire throughout the long night, watching the orange embers turn to gray ash
“Suss”. Where had he ever learned that lost word? He had a dim memory of an oldster who’d been kind to him when he was a kid, scavenging up in the Reno ruins out in the Nevada wasteland. The oldster had let him tag along and eat what was left over. He was always on about some big project and though Cade couldn’t remember the specifics, he knew it was big, that it meant something. The old man was looking for some lost military base where the old U.S. of America had hidden weapons that might defeat the Cans.
Everybody knew that was a joke. A bad joke.
The Cans were the “Old US of A”. Some said the people who ran the government had turned everything over to them. Trusted them. “That’s right!” the oldster had railed. They never imagined the Cans, or “SkyNet” as everyone called it, they never imagined it would do this to them.
“Suss”
Cade was always looking over the oldster’s shoulder as he worked on some yellowed map or tried to get an old Before engine to turn over one last time, and he, the oldster would use that word time and again. “Suss”. “Let’s suss this here elevator out and figure where it might take us, whaddya say, boy?”
“Suss”.
Cade had cleaned the Barrett all that afternoon. He had ten uranium depleted rounds packing an electro-static charge that would knock a Terminator down flat, no sweat. He also had thirty-seven LMG rounds that “might” knock it down.
Might.
The main thing was finding out whether the scavenger was a Terminator, or just another fellow human being trying to survive.
Cade watched the sleeping dog, its paws crossed, its muzzle resting on them. One ear twitched.
When he’d been sent south by General Kang, they’d given him the dog. “She’s property of the library now,” the general had told Cade. “She’s just for sniffing out Cans. Don’t ever let one of them get through the doors to the library. Never, ever, soldier. Even if it costs you your life.”
If he took Netta out there and it was a Can an
d he lost her, ‘cause the Cans always killed the dogs first, well... there’d be no dog to guard the library.
There was a sudden, sharp snap inside the fire.
Dogs were valuable. It took a lot of time to train ‘em just to be around humans again. Most dogs were full wild now. They even hunted humans. But when the resistance could train one, the resistance had a hard choice to make. Breed more, which was always an option, or use it to detect infiltration units. Terminators. Which was absolutely vital. That took a long time and the success rate wasn’t great. When a dog did take to the training, they saved more than enough people inside the outposts and refugee camps.
More than enough.
So he couldn’t risk her. The library was too valuable. She was too valuable.
Cade’s eyes fell on Cory. He watched the giant, slow, sleeping boy for a long time.
Just after dawn, Cade and Cory started out from the library. The wind had stopped about four in the morning and now there was an icy mist that hung along the ruined hills, making the burnt matchstick frame houses seem like dim images of stick figure people standing far off.
Cade had the large sniper rifle. His cowboy hat. His military overcoat. His only pair of combat boots. Within the military overcoat were many things. Even the pair of mirrored sunglasses he took out and wore against the harsh iron glare of dawn.
He’d told Cory they’d go out and look for his Daddy.
Cory had taken his backpack and his utility belt. He wasn’t wearing his mask, cape, or heavy duty gloves. He was just Cory now.
They walked across the old parking lot, its pavement gritty and ruptured, then they both climbed over a low cinderblock wall. On the other side lay a large rectangular building that once housed a movie theatre. They skirted its back alley and crossed into a small collection of crumbling office buildings constructed of warped and aging dark wood. They reached the street leading toward the bridge that crossed over the railroad tracks and the dead remains of the swamp. In the middle of the bridge Cory stopped and looked out into the misty expanse below, staring down into an unusually dense fog that clung to the narrow train tracks and skeletal trees.
Cade stopped and walked back toward him. “What’s wrong, buddy?”
Cory shook his head slightly.
“You don’t like that fog?”
Again, Cory shook his head.
“Well don’t worry, we don’t have to go down into it today. We’re gonna go over and look near the freeway for your Dad.”
“Daddy,” mumbled Cory after a second.
“C’mon. It’s cold out, kid. Gotta keep moving.” Cade started off toward the far end of the bridge. A moment later, Cory followed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
06:20:34
Sector 3 analysis completed. Moving onto Sector 4.
The Thinking Machine crossed the empty street, leaving one decrepit falling into ruin neighborhood for another. Sector 4.
Virus Learning Facility located within Sector 4.
Archived Satellite feed shows inactivity since Year Two. Resistance field hospital neutralized by Chemical Strike Hawkeye Delivery System.
The Thinking Machine was in the middle of sweeping all eight sectors surrounding the hill where the bounce array was located. Once the sweep was completed, it would then summit the hill and hack the bounce array. It was hoping, estimating was the way it thought of the word hope, that it would find a direct fiber optic cable or another connecting live router in one of the sectors adjacent the bounce array. There was no cover up there and also there was a high probability the bounce array was under Virus surveillance.
The Virus would definitely be alerted to the Thinking Machine if it tried to summit the hill.
Weapons on standby.
... scanning for threats.
... scanning IEDs.
... electronic device signatures.
Houses built in the 1960’s, ranchero-style, lay along the street leading toward the site of the Resistance Field Hospital that had once been an elementary school. Where there had been lawns, now there were dry greenish-brown weeds. The weeds were breaking up the concrete and the asphalt of the silent street.
The sun rose above the peeling and gutshot rooftops to the east.
That there had been a raging battle here long ago, with multiple firefights, was evident. Bullet holes in the splintered and warping garage doors. Along the crumbling stucco walls. Walls entirely missing in some cases. The machine cataloged various debris clusters on a background subroutine process as it passed through the area.
Shell Casings. 247 count. 5.56mm.
... database checking.
... standby.
5.56 mm not used since Year 15. Ammunition type consistent with Initial Conflict Virus Contact 7457 00:184:22:43:14.
Archived Footage Available.
The Thinking Machine opened a small window in its HUD and started the archive feed as it stepped into the blown-out remains of a small living room. The exposed beams of the roof latticed the gray sky above. There were six skeletons in the room.
GPS Synch.
Virus Contact Footage...
Archive Footage Reaper VH9, MainForce.
A first gen terminator, Reaper VH9’s HUD appeared. On screen, the sky was dark and overcast. The POV slewed left and then right. Above, the marking lights of a Virus air vehicle came into view.
AH6 LittleBird. Virus Asset. VTOL Rotary Wing Vehicle. Armaments: Miniguns. AGM missiles.
Reaper VH9’s POV slewed to the left, tagging another Reaper unit behind cover inside the remains of a Virus dwelling. Its skeletal chassis, matte-black, reflected no light. A quick diagnostic scan swept the other unit and identified small arms damage across the chest plate.
A diagnostic assessment scan pop-up announced the other Reaper unit as “Operational”.
The other Reaper fired a sudden burst from the large 20mm MiniCannon it carried. A red triangular targeting laser stabbed out briefly from the Visual Optic Sensors located in the Cranial Processor Housing.
Incoming Message Reaper VH8:
Virus Terminated.
6 Hostiles Identified.
VH9 emerged from cover within the rapidly disintegrating Virus dwelling, running out into the street. The Virus Helicopter above was decimating everything with both whining mini-guns. VH9’s targeting reticle identified hostile Virus units inside the house the Thinking Machine was now standing in twenty-five years later.
Missile Launch detected.
The feed’s audio records a sudden static Whooosh. VH9 pans upward and targets the AH6 LittleBird helicopter.
A message appears on the Reaper unit’s HUD.
VH8 Destroyed.
Then a directive from MainForce Authority.
Recover Chassis as per Tech Denial Protocol once Hostiles in this area are eliminated.
Incoming Weapons fire... multiple hits...
...Internal hydraulic 105 OFFLINE
...Light Damage Armor, leg.
...Light Damage Armor, Chest.
...Light Damage Armor, Cranial Processor Unit.
Continue Mission.
Eradicate Hostile Virus Units this Sector.
VH9 hits the curb on the far sidewalk, tracking three different sources of gunfire coming from the house the Thinking Machine finds itself standing in, in the future.
Hostile Virus Unit, Male, Armed, M4 firing on Full Auto. Estimate Magazine change in 3.5 seconds.
Hostile Virus Unit, Male, Armed, M248, engaging in burst fire mode. Magazine status unknown?
Hostile Virus Unit, Female, Scout Sniper Rifle with ranged laser targeting optics. Bolt Action. Next shot in 1.5 seconds.
Priority Elimination assigned High Value Target Status: Sniper.
The female Virus unit was the most dangerous. Sniper rifles could take a Reaper down. VH9 targets her and fires a short burst from its MiniCannon, punching a large hole in her chest. She disappears from the window of the house. VH9 targets the machine gunner and ventilates him a
s well as the surrounding and background walls near the Virus’s cover position. Then the riflemen inside the dwelling. In one fluid motion VH9 halts before the door, raises the MiniCannon’s metallic butt and smashes it into the flimsy door, taking it off the hinges. It steps into the room and fires at three more Hostile Virus units leaning intently over a laptop on the floor. All are terminated within 2.4 seconds.
It scans the room.
Virus units are bleeding. Moaning. Dying.
The feed ends.
It was thirty seconds long.
That room had been different. Colors. Fabrics. Paintings. Life.
Now standing in the same room twenty-five years later, the Thinking Machine scans the places where each of the Hostile Virus units had lain. The weapons, the bullet casings, the laptop... all of these things are gone. Either destroyed by the Reaper Unit or the Reclamation Units or taken by the Hostile Virus units now called the Resistance.
There is little left of the house. The stairs rise to nowhere. The skeletal remains of the walls only suggest a home was once there. The furniture, the paintings, the life... all the things that once were, are gone.
Only the bones remain, as six skeletons stare sightlessly at the Thinking Machine.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Wan sunlight nears the zenith of its day and there is a suggestion of actual warmth up near the bounce array on top of the ruin-covered hill. Cade looks out over surrounding neighborhoods forever devastated, gray rolling hills, the distant gully where the old rail lines lie, warped and rusting. But the sky has decided to be that rare blue one only remembers. A blue Cade sometimes finds described in books about better days he never really knew. White bilious clouds speed across the sky.