by Schow, Ryan
Like breaking.
To his overwhelming relief, the two gunman put their weapons away, and four people put their water bottles on the sidewalk while a dozen others emptied their pockets of food.
None of it looked appetizing. It was like high school food you get from guys whose candy bars sat in their front pockets so close to their nuts you knew the ball heat had softened the chocolate and you didn’t want to eat it.
“Do you need all that, Maria?” he asked as one young girl, a child that looked the same size and age as One, leaned over and put a bruised apple on the ground.
“Of course I do,” she said. “You know I do.”
“You have what you want now,” he said, his full attention on her. “We don’t need them anymore.”
Maria pushed the girl she was holding hostage away from her and said, “Leave, now. All of you. And take the dead guy with you.”
“His name was Fred,” one woman wailed, her eyes wet and red, her features tormented beyond measure. Carver looked at her, at this visceral pain that had transformed her, and he didn’t know what to say.
“Now it’s Drop Dead Fred,” Maria said. “Get him out of here.”
“You’re the devil!” the woman screeched as she took one of Fred’s hands.
“I know,” Maria said with a sadistic grin that chilled even Carver. Looking at this mad, bloodstained monster, thinking he’d actually been having sex with her, caused a sweep of revulsion to slowly churn through him.
When they were gone, Maria fell to her knees in the middle of the road and went on a feeding frenzy like he’d never seen any human do before. It was like a puppy attacking a bowl of food, but gruntier, snortier, more ferocious. When she unscrewed the bottle’s lid and guzzled down the water, the liquid mixed with the smears of food all over her face. The entire mess ran down her chin and chest, dampening her shirt.
Finally full, the hybrid sat back on her heels, rocked herself a few times, then let out the loudest burp. The noise startled Carver. He looked over to the truck and One was staring out the window, horrified. But Maria? The hybrid looked oddly satiated.
“I’m going to need you to find us a place to stay,” Maria said. “If I don’t sleep, my body won’t be able to heal right. And if you’re wondering what to do about me when I’m out, I warn you, I sleep lightly even though it seems like a hibernation sleep.”
“That’s good to know,” he said.
“You can’t kill me,” she warned him. “You think you can, Carver, but you can’t.”
“I have no intention of killing you,” Carver lied. For the most part that was true, but now the thought entered his mind, just as it did when he was following her out of Palo Alto.
Can I do it now? he wondered. In this weakened state, is there a way? And what if her spine was coated with the same substance the rest of her bones were coated in?
“What are you thinking?” she asked as she got in the truck. “I can see the hamster running at a dead sprint.”
“I was just wondering again about your bones. You said I can’t kill you, and though I don’t want to kill you, some of those arrows should have driven into soft bone. Two of them looked like the tips were smashed, almost as if they hit a steel wall rather than a human body. Why is that?”
She was leaning against the side door now, her eyelids bobbing, her damaged body sinking into a sleep posture. “Let me sleep, Carver.”
“Tell me first, Maria. After what we just went through, after you killing our friends back there, and that man dying, I think you owe me at least that.”
“I don’t owe you dick,” she said.
“I want to know, too,” One said from in between them.
“It’s a liquid armor, if you must know. But instead of coating the bones, it infuses with them, becomes the bones. Your military was working on it, but in a different capacity.”
“I don’t understand,” Carver said, navigating roads filled with debris, his head on a swivel, scouting out potential hazards, looking for the kinds of ambushes he knew to expect in times like these.
Maria sat up, glared at him and said, “You’re heading to the highway, right?”
“I am,” he replied.
“Too much going on here,” she said, waving a tired hand at the veritable destruction all around them.
One sat quietly between them, her presence diminishing by the second as it had at the homestead. Carver looked down at her and he felt bad. The other kids, they lived normal lives—well as normal as they could, all things considered—but she didn’t. She was supposed to pretend to be happy with the woman who killed her parents, this woman who was a mass murderer by anyone’s definition.
“If you want me to get technical, I can, since it’s of such interest to you,” Maria said, her skin now damp with sweat, her hair becoming wet and limp at the temples. She spoke like a woman who was almost asleep, if not for her barely open eyes.
“Not too technical,” Carver said, turning onto Rocklin Rd and making his way toward the highway 80 on ramp.
“The liquid base you saw the doctors injecting into this body was a shear-thickening fluid, which is basically a fluid that moves like liquid but abruptly solidifies when hit.”
“How does that even work?” he asked.
She held up a hand, as if the very notion of talking robbed her of precious energy.
“The fluid is comprised of tiny particles, all of them suspended inside the fluid, all of them slightly repelling each other. This is how they float so easily together without clumping or sinking to the bottom. When it’s hit, though, the swift impact overwhelms the repulsive forces between these suspended particles, causing them to pull together into a mass known as hydroclusters. When the energy from the impact disperses, the particles once again repel each other, and the hydroclusters dissipate, causing the solid substance to once again become liquid. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, but these hydroclusters, they aren’t the strength, right?”
“No,” she said.
As they got on the freeway, they noticed a dotting of tents all along the four lanes of traffic. When they passed one, a lady was sitting in a folding camping chair enjoying the start of the day. It looked like she had no teeth and that one of her fingers was black.
He slowed just in case she had a dog off a leash, or a kid who wouldn’t expect traffic and would come darting out in front of them, chasing a ball, or whatever.
That’s when he saw the old man taking a crap in the street not ten feet from the old lady. He was squatted over, lily white legs shaky and thin. He stood up, saw them, then leaned over, scooped the poop and hurled it at them as they drove by. The brown smear splattered the windshield and Maria groaned.
“Are we really going to have to look at that man’s crap for the next twenty-five miles?”
“‘Fraid so,” he said. “You were saying?”
“That’s gross,” One said.
Carver nodded and Maria continued. “Body armor fluid is made of silica particles, and these particles are suspended in polyethylene glycol.”
“Are you talking silica like in sand and quartz?”
“Yes,” she said, looking up at him, halfway impressed. “And polyethylene glycol like they use in laxatives and lubricants. When you take nanometer sized silica particles and put them into this particular fluid, it’s basically a form of—”
“Nanotechnology,” Carver said, understanding.
“Yes,” she said, looking pleased. “So, for the layman and lay children in this truck, if you want to make liquid body armor using this shear-thickening fluid, you’ve got to first dilute the fluid in ethanol. After that, you have to saturate Kevlar with the diluted fluid, then put it in a hot oven so you can evaporate whatever ethanol remains. The shear-thickening fluid then infuses the Kevlar, and the Kevlar strands hold the particle-filled fluid in place.”
“But that would mean your bones were already coated with Kevlar, and unless you say otherwise, I’m assuming they weren�
��t.”
“No,” she said. “This is where I’m way ahead of the curve and you’re all just stinkbugs tottering around in the dirt.”
“Way to keep your audience,” Carver grumbled, looking again at the brown smears on the windshield obstructing Maria’s view. Serves her right.
“The Kevlar is magnetized inside the solution, but it’s so stable that it doesn’t interfere with the balance of the other fluids. So not only are the Kevlar strands nearly microscopic and magnetized, they have a delivery system that attracts them to bone only. They latch on to it, then fuse with it until you can’t tell the bone from the Kevlar. The shear-thickening fluid basically infuses the bone and the Kevlar giving you a bone so strong a bullet can’t penetrate it and an arrow can’t pierce it.”
“But Kevlar is like fourteen layers thick, and you’re just infusing your bones with…I don’t know how much Kevlar.”
“There are no layers, Carver. The bone is essentially Kevlar.”
“But Kevlar stretches when it’s hit,” he says. “Won’t that break the bone?”
“The fluid hardens on impact, reducing the stretch, but also holding the bones together where they would otherwise break.”
“If someone shoots you, your bone is going to break no matter what,” he said, almost to the point of arguing.
She took a deep breath, let it out in a sigh, then laid her head against the window and closed her eyes. “That is why my genetics have been altered to allow for rapid healing. A broken bone mends quickly so long as it is in place. The Kevlar and the fluid hold it in place, so if it breaks, it will heal quickly without the need for a reset, or a metal plate and screws to hold it in place.”
“Does it hurt?” One asked.
“Hurt is relative. For me, pain is just data. But you are human, and you love to revel in all your little discomforts. It’s how you get attention.”
“But it hurts?” One asks again.
“Yes.”
“Does it hurt now?” she asked.
Maria cracked an eyelid, looking at the child with her left eye only, as if to let her know she was disturbing her from a much needed rest.
“Yes,” she said.
“Good,” Carver mumbled.
Chapter Nine
Maria woke to a soft bed, a lightless room, and the sounds of people sleeping nearby. Aside from the air being cold and the early outdoor smells permeating the room, she detected a faint, underlying smell: smoke damage mixed with mustiness.
She sat up, relied on her ears for more information. Nearby, she zeroed in on the light snoring sounds of One, along with the heavier breathing of Carver, who was not in bed with her, but sleeping…on the floor? Really?
Allowing herself a moment to gather her bearings, she sat there, trying to piece together what happened. First, however, she wanted to know where she was. After she adjusted to the darkness, she was able to see that she was in a studio apartment building, but one that was long ago abandoned. The side wall was blown out completely, a smattering of debris on the carpeted floor where the wall used to be. She got out of bed, sunk to her knees in the carpet and debris, felt along the edges. The hole was framed by a pair of studs, broken drywall and exposed insulation. The edges were charred, however, like it was singed but not burnt. Part of the floor had fallen away, too, but not much.
She sat back on cleaner carpet, took it all in.
A light draft eddied through the room, keeping things cool and most important, keeping things dry. That may change come winter, but for now, it felt perfect. Outside, she studied the shadows of other buildings against the night sky. Everything was dark. So very, very dark.
How high up was she? A dozen stories? More?
Wrapping her arms around her sweat-soaked body, she drew a deep, stabilizing breath. Indigo’s arrows had taken so much out of her. The infuriating fool. Putting the girl out of her mind, she ran a hand over the places on her body where the arrows had pierced her. Pleased with the healing taking place while she slept, she felt better. There was scarring, and some scabs, but otherwise the flesh felt warm. Not hot or itchy, and certainly not biting or sharp with the sting of infection.
The hole in the side of the studio apartment concerned her, though. You could drive a car through the opening, that’s how big it was. Standing up, letting the cool air wash over her nude body, there was nothing to spare her from the elements. Is that why they brought her here? To keep her overheated body cool? Turning, she looked toward the sounds of One and Carver, and smiled. They’d taken care of her. Got her to safety. She drew a deep breath, let the cool, clean air fill her, then released it in an exalted sigh. With a slight breeze teasing her renewed body, she actually felt good.
Now the question of where she was. She held no awareness of arriving there and that bothered her. Unconscious meant not in control, and not in control meant vulnerability.
Eyes scanning the pitch black city, she could find no significant landmarks, nothing she could use as reference data.
Where the hell am I?
She fought to remember what happened, how she got there, but her mind was weak, blank. No, not her mind, her database.
Should she wake Carver? One? No, not yet. She was too naked to wake either of them. And she felt too good to risk becoming upset with them for letting her pass out. Not to mention the fact that Carver left her in the bed alone.
Moving toward the sounds of them, she realized One was asleep on a couch, and Carver was in the corner sleeping on the floor. He had a blanket wrapped around him, a pillow in between his head and a wall.
The bed could have held them all, but they chose other accommodations? A couch? The floor? She shook her head and let out a low, disappointed huff.
“What are you doing?” One mumbled, sleep making gravel out of her voice.
“Savoring the benedictions of this world,” she said softly. “Now be quiet and go back to sleep.”
She searched around in the dark enough to find her clothes. With less self-assurance than she’d expected, Maria dressed herself in the dark then headed downstairs, exploring what amounted to a roasted, half destroyed apartment tower.
As she scouted and surveyed the building from the top down, she encountered auditory evidence of a few creatures—rats most likely—and the sleeping sounds of a few squatters who’d taken mostly to the middle floors.
To her, this was nothing alarming.
She quietly made her way in to the rooms of those sleeping, being careful not to make any noise. Most of the vagrants were weak, or female, so she killed them quietly in their sleep. A couple of them she tossed through blown out windows or exploded openings in the building itself. These she didn’t bother killing first. It was more interesting that way. She continued floor by floor right down to the apartment’s front lobby where she kicked aside a few brazen rats and the trash they were living under.
When she breezed outside in to the street to look around, she saw a magnificent sight. Tall buildings all around her, somewhat empty streets, a world full of promise. Would this be the start of her kingdom? Is this where she’d amass her army?
“You’re out past your bedtime,” a voice from behind her said.
Turning around, she spotted several men standing only a few feet away from her. They were leaning against the wall of the apartment towers, packs on their backs and shadows for faces. These four drifters were obviously traveling under the cover of night.
“Lurk much?” she said, adjusting to the starlight.
The four of them exchanged looks, cautiously laughing between them like they couldn’t believe what they found. She could hardly believe what she’d found. Four solid men.
“Where are you fellas staying?” she asked, taking a more formal tact.
“Around,” one of them answered.
Another said, “And you?”
She turned and motioned to the building. “Right there. That is my home. It could be yours, too, if you need a place to stay.”
Again, there wer
e shared looks and snickering between them. Like she didn’t realize the trouble she was in. She smiled though, because not every man was a rapist or an opportunist. This was the apocalypse, but people still had the capacity to be decent. Perhaps they would be decent, too.
“Are there lots of guys like you out here at night?” she asked, wondering how folks were traveling now. “Or maybe even during the day?”
“Would you like to come with us and find out?” one of them asked, a balding man with a big hunting blade at his side. She caught the tone in his voice, felt the nuance wash over her in a warning. It was a request before it became a demand.
“Who is the most skilled fighter between you?” she asked, taking a step toward them.
The smaller of the foursome said, “That would be me.”
“Are you the leader then?”
“He’s the defacto leader when none of us want to trade blows with some moron with an ego,” baldy said, prompting laughter from the small one, the fighter.
Maria felt herself brighten.
The fighter said, “I like to scrap and they like to watch, so really, none of us leads the other. We’re just…us.”
“I’m putting together an army,” she announced. “Men I can have by my side who will go to war with me if it means controlling not just this city, or this state, but the new America.”
This caused a hearty snickering between them, one she didn’t understand. Finally the small guy stepped off the wall and took a step toward her. She felt something change in him, the merriment turning to a more serious note. “I like your idea of starting an army, but I think maybe you should leave the fighting to the men, and the peacocking to the women.”
Maria answered him with an uppity chortle meant to make a statement. The little fella looked back at his friends, almost as if to say, “What gives with this broad?” which caused one of them to shrug his shoulders, like he didn’t get it. This much taller guy had a full head of hair and looked the most reasonable.
“You realize four on one isn’t a fair match,” he said, his tone darkening.
“I agree,” she said, “Not for you, anyway.”