by Simone Pond
The sun beat down intensely as Ava worked her way down the other side of the canyon. She found a shady spot to rest and eat whatever was in the silver packets. She tore open the bag to find mixed nuts and dried fruit. Not the most satisfying thing, but she needed the protein—though she didn’t understand why, since her body wasn’t real. She sipped from the canteen, feeling the relief of cool water going down her throat.
“Not real,” she reminded herself.
She clung to thoughts of Joseph and Grace, somehow knowing if she didn’t keep them at the top of her mind she’d end up losing them forever. Morray had waited sixteen years to seek his revenge. So far, his ploy had been executed to perfection. But Ava was too determined to let him win. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. Besides, he couldn’t keep her actual body locked away forever. Once someone from the academy discovered she was missing, they’d initiate a search and rescue . . .
She almost choked on the water, knowing exactly who would volunteer for the job. Grace may have resented her mother, but Ava was sure she’d do whatever she could to get her back. Maybe that’s what Morray wanted all along—to trap both Ava and Grace inside the mainframe together? Ava wouldn’t let that happen. She’d sacrifice herself but not her daughter. She’d have to figure out a way to transmit a message to Grace, warning her to stay put and stay out of the mainframe—no matter what. She’d have to find someone at the camp with enough technical savvy to send the message without Dickson or Morray noticing. She knew just the person.
20
Grace heard something that sounded like a broken trombone echo through the tunnel. Blythe and Missakian had returned with a vehicle. Grace and Marion ran toward the opening, grateful to be out of the stench of the tunnel.
They had returned with something, although Grace wasn’t sure what. The frame of the vehicle was still there, but the rest of it seemed to be missing. The thing consisted of a metal platform shaped like a sleigh that was rigged to eight enormous wheels, four along each side. The roof was a canopy made of solar panels that powered the vehicle. And the engine was exposed with hundreds of wires and cables jutting out in every direction, linking up to the solar panels. Blythe sat low behind the wheel and Missakian was seated next to her in a metal chair that was bolted to the floor.
“You call that a ride?” Marion yelled over the revving engine.
“What’d you expect? We had a sword and a quiver to barter,” Blythe yelled through the opening, where a front windshield should have been.
“You gave up your arrows?” Grace asked, feeling a hint of guilt.
“It’s for your mother, not you. Can you wuss nuts just shut up and get in?”
Grace climbed up one of the wheels and stood on the platform to help hoist up Marion. They strapped themselves into a couple of metal chairs situated in the back of the sleigh-like contraption. Blythe pulled down the yellow-tinted face shield, revved up the engine, and peeled away. Dust and dirt from the filthy streets billowed up all around them. The sleigh mobile had power—a lot of power—and they hurtled out of the seedy part of town toward a main road, passing a rickety hand-painted sign that read NORTH.
“You’ll need these.” Missakian tossed back a couple of face masks, then put on a pair of aviator goggles and pulled his bright orange headband over his nose and mouth to protect himself from the windowless dust-blasting machine.
“How many miles?” Grace yelled over the noise.
Missakian chose to communicate by flashing his fingers: one, seven, and five.
Grace calculated they were going about forty or fifty miles per hour, so they’d probably get to the Seattle region by early afternoon. They could set up camp and scope the area, giving them time to devise a plan to get inside the city center. As they drove through the tall pines that stretched toward the clear blue skies, Grace felt a sense of accomplishment—everything was going according to plan and in a timely manner—they might even complete this mission before classes started on Monday. The feeling of relief was ripped away when Blythe slammed on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a screeching halt. One of the bolts on Grace’s chair came loose, and she pinballed around the back area as the straps dug into her shoulders.
Blythe shut off the engine. “Trouble,” she said, securing her face shield.
Grace undid the chair straps and stood up to get a better view. About a hundred yards ahead sat a barricade of similar makeshift vehicles. She squatted next to Missakian.
“Is there a work-around?” she asked.
“Not a safe one.”
“What do they want?”
“Their ride.”
“But they just bartered with us.”
“Yeah, this is how they do biz up in these parts.”
“This is FUBAR.” Blythe punched the steering wheel. “It’s two to one. And some of them have guns.”
Grace motioned for Marion, and the team huddled together. “I only count two shotguns. The rest have crowbars and clubs. All we need to do is distract them, take down the ones with shotguns first, then go after the others. Marion still has her slingshot. And I’m sure Missakian didn’t give up his pigstickers.”
“Yeah, still got ’em. Only four, though.”
“That’s enough. They might outnumber us, but we’re trained soldiers. They think we’re weaponless, so they’ll think we’re weak. That’s their weakness. All we have to do is anticipate their strike and attack before they do. I’m not too worried about them outsmarting us. Blythe and I will take two knives and head over to see if we can talk it out. The second we sense it’s not happening, I’ll signal to Marion to sling a fireball right into that truck-like thing. It’s a gas engine, so that means it’s combustible. I’m assuming that big barrel in the back is their fuel. Aim for that. You can douse some bandages with witch hazel and wrap them around some rocks for your ammo.”
Marion nodded and started scanning the area for rocks.
Grace continued laying out the plan. “When the truck catches fire they’ll be nice and distracted, and that’s when Blythe and I can go for the shotguns.”
“What about me?” Missakian had moved his headband down around his neck, and his windblown dusty hair gave him a slightly deranged look.
“The second I signal for Marion, you rush forward and start flinging those pigstickers at anyone who comes at us.” She looked at her team. “We good?”
“Let’s do this.” Blythe tucked the knife into her belt at the small of her back.
Grace regretted not having changed into some pants. The jumpsuit didn’t come with a belt. She decided to slip the knife up the sleeve of her jacket, knowing she’d have to be lightning-quick with her draw. Blythe jumped down from the vehicle and straightened her jacket, sizing up the gritty group of degenerates. The titan was definitely in her element, ready to take them all down if necessary. Grace stood next to her and waited as two scruffy men carrying shotguns headed toward the middle of the road. They wore ratty fur vests and pants made of faded animal hide. The one in the front kept his gun at his side while his backup man loosely aimed at Blythe. As predicted, they weren’t keen on strategy, sending over their only two gunmen. Grace glanced back toward the sleigh mobile. Missakian and Marion were in position, awaiting the signal.
“Sup?” the first guy yelled out, cocking his gun.
“Trying to get north. You’re in the way.” Blythe rested her hands on her hips, ready to reach around for that knife.
“Gotta pay de toll,” his sidekick yelled, then cackled like a deranged joker.
“We gave you everything we had.” Blythe stepped forward, letting the toothless boneheads know she wasn’t intimidated.
“Not true.” The joker pointed his gun toward each of the females, grinning maniacally.
“Ha!” Blythe cracked her knuckles, getting ready to pounce.
“Listen, we gave you everything of value. You let us through; we’ll get the ride back to you in two days’ time. You can keep the sword and arrows.” Grace wanted to give the fool
s a chance.
“Yer purty, you is. I get dis one.” The joker moved in closer to Grace, pressing the barrel of his shotgun into her breast.
She smiled and stroked the barrel, attempting to flirt with the idiot. He released another cackle and a wave of rotten breath. Grace bit her bottom lip and edged her way closer to him, holding her breath to avoid choking on his funk. She pressed up against his rail thin chest. The main guy was so shocked that he took his eyes off Blythe to watch. At that point she reached around and removed her knife, holding it behind her back. The other men started making catcalls and moaning sounds in the background, getting excited. Grace kept pressing up against the man, stroking his fur vest. She eased the knife down her sleeve and into her hand, holding it by her side. “Now, Marion,” she yelled.
The men looked overhead as a flaming rock careened through the air and smashed into the barrel of gasoline, causing it to burst. The men scattered like cockroaches. Grace dug her knife into the joker’s jugular and yanked the shotgun out of his hands. Blythe kicked the other guy in the balls just to make a point, then stabbed him in the eye to make another one. She grabbed the shotgun from his loose grip and fired at one of the men running toward her, spraying him in the chest. Grace took down another one who was about to tackle her. Missakian chased after two of the men who had run for cover in the woods. He flung his knives, hitting one right in the base of the skull, and the other in the upper back. Both men dropped to the ground. Marion continued slinging fireballs toward the other vehicles, catching them on fire. Six men down, two remaining. One of the men got into one of the flaming vehicles and peeled out. He only got a few hundred yards down the road before he burned to death. The last man standing held up his grease-stained hands in surrender, dropping to his knees. Grace looked around to make sure everyone on her team was accounted for. Marion and Missakian approached, not a scratch on them.
Blythe shoved her shotgun into the man’s grimy cheek.
“Wait!” Grace shouted.
“Aw, come on. They were gonna take you back to their cave for dessert. You really wanna let this animal live?”
“Lemme live. Lemme live. I’ll give ya back yer stuff.” The streams of tears were cutting lines through the dirt on his cheeks.
“Stand down, Blythe,” Grace ordered.
Blythe removed the gun from the man’s face and stepped back. He crawled on the road, praising them for their mercy. Blythe kicked him in the jaw and he collapsed, spread eagle.
“Where’s my quiver and bow?”
“Yer wha?”
“My arrows, you idiot.”
“It’s all in dat black buggy. Go see fer yerself.” He spat out a puddle of blood and what was probably his last tooth.
Blythe went over to the smoldering black car and peered into the backseat. She gave the thumbs-up, then reached through and pulled out her quiver and collapsible bow. She opened it up to make sure it was still intact. Then she loaded an arrow and shot it toward the man on the ground, purposely missing his crotch by an inch.
“Looks like we scored. Lots of shells,” she yelled out, flinging the bag of shotgun shells over her shoulder.
“Is my sword in there?”
Blythe reached into the car and pulled out the sword. Grace let out a huge sigh of relief. It was turning out to be a good day, after all.
“I want you to move the vehicles out of the way so we can get through,” she told the man on the ground.
He pulled himself up, giving Grace a bloody smile. He got behind the wheel of the black buggy and used it to push the other charred vehicles to the side of the road, clearing a path.
The team got back into the sleigh mobile and drove toward the narrow passage. Grace pointed the shotgun toward the man. “Next time, don’t go back on your barter. It’s not cool,” she said. “And clean up this mess.”
“Fer ser, miss. Clean ’er up real good.” He saluted Grace and waved them off as they pulled away from the scene.
“Should’ve killed him,” Blythe grumbled, using her sleeve to wipe off the blood spatter on her face shield.
“That’s not what a warrior does. He surrendered. Plus, you always leave one man alive to account for what went down.” Grace adjusted her ponytail and settled back into the chair.
Marion stared at Grace.
“What?” Grace asked.
“Your father would be proud.”
“We still need to get Seattle. And, hopefully, make my mother proud.”
21
Ava rested under the shade trees at the bottom of the canyon. The sun had shifted directly overhead, and the temperature was blazing. And this was just the beginning of her journey; she still had miles to go. She wondered why Dickson didn’t code the program to plunk her right at the camp. She guessed Morray wanted her to suffer for her sins.
She sipped some water and ate another handful of nuts. It was time to start moving again. She had about six hours of daylight—she wanted to find shelter before the sun went down. Traveling at night with predators and human stragglers wouldn’t be wise. Lillian’s journals had mentioned the lost souls who wandered through the wilderness, searching for any means of survival during the years that followed the Repatterning. Hunger and desperation make people do strange things. For the next leg of her hike she’d cut through the foothills and cross over what used to be the 101 freeway. There, she’d seek shelter on higher ground.
As she trekked along, listening to the symphony of leaves fluttering in the wind and the forest critters skittering through the brush, she thought about Grace. Her memories were starting to get blurry around the edges, as if fading from existence.
“Grace.” She cupped the image of her daughter’s face. “Grace is real. This is not,” she whispered to the trees.
She walked along the winding path, noticing remnants of a former neighborhood. There were places where the foundation of the houses hadn’t burned completely to the ground, leaving behind crumbly brick walls. There were burnt shells of cars parked in patches of overgrown grass, wild vegetation overflowing from their windows. She had seen this type of stuff before in Morray’s archive files, but experiencing it from her own perspective seared a deeper pain in her heart. The loss of so much life. And for what? So the elites could start over and rebuild society as they deemed fit.
At the end of the path there was a wider passageway. The trail looked worn, as though vehicles had been using it for travel. According to the map, this road would take her to the 101 freeway. Whether or not the passage was safe was yet to be determined. She stuck to the side of the road, grateful for the tree coverage. If any unexpected company did show up, she could make a quick dash into the woods.
After a couple of miles she stopped to sip some water and stretch her tight muscles, still not sure how her muscles could actually feel sore. Dickson’s program reached beyond the norm of typical virtuals.
The sound of a muffled engine emerged in the distance. She ran down the slope and hid behind a tree, forgetting the backpack on the side of the road. It was too late to run back and retrieve it, so she ducked behind the tree, clasping one of the long spears. A powder-blue scooter with rust stains and dents along the front and side panels came puttering up the trail at about ten or fifteen miles per hour. The driver’s long hair flowed out from underneath the matching helmet. The scooter zipped right by the backpack, and Ava leaned against the tree, relieved. But a few seconds later the scooter slowed down and U-turned. The driver parked the scooter, turned off the engine, walked over to the backpack, and began examining the contents.
“Whoever’s out there, I can smell you. No use in hiding. I’m harmless.” The young woman yelled out toward Ava’s direction. The helmet stayed on, even as she drank from the canteen.
Ava stepped out from her hiding spot and slowly approached, keeping a firm grip on the spear, ready to use it if the woman tried anything.
“I’m Laura,” she said, wiping her mouth.
“Ava.” She stood a few feet back. “Nice he
lmet,” she added.
Laura removed her helmet and shook her head, releasing her long hair. She was Asian, and her almond-shaped eyes were dark cherry brown, just like her hair. There was a tattoo of a dragon’s face coming up the side of her neck.
“Whaddya doin’ all alone on the Lost Trail?” she asked.
“Making my way north,” Ava said, not wanting to give too many details.
“Alone?” she cocked her head in disbelief.
“Not anymore.”
The woman smiled and handed Ava the canteen. “I haven’t had any clean water in a long time. Good thing I ran into you.”
“Where are you heading?” Ava asked, hoping to gather some intel and possibly score a ride north.
“Everywhere. Nowhere.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I have no destination. I’m a traveler.”
“You must be going somewhere.”
“I’m always going somewhere. I just don’t end up anywhere.” The woman spoke in riddles, as if spewing some mysterious, ancient wisdom.
“Okay, so where are you going right now?” Ava asked.
Laura tucked her hair behind her ears, and Ava got a better look at her face. She had a pleasant look, soft and unhurried. She noticed a trace of sadness in the young woman’s almond-shaped eyes. She concluded that Laura and her powder-blue scooter weren’t a threat. In fact, they seemed like a godsend. “I’m heading north,” Laura said.