Enslaved

by N. W. Harris

  “We can’t go out the front gate,” Shane replied. “Don’t want to draw their attention.”

  “The freeway’s there,” Maurice pointed. “We can drive through the fence.”

  “Let’s do it.” Shane glanced across the faces of the teens and Jones, looking for objection. They seemed to take his inquiry as a call to action. Led by Steve, they loaded into the back of the truck.

  The front end and cab of the vehicle looked the same as some of Leeville’s school buses, and he expected he might be the best person to drive it. Other than its color, the truck wasn’t any different from the civilian model. Tracy scrambled back in behind the wheel, not giving him a chance.

  With no time for objection, he trotted around to the passenger side and climbed in.

  “Keep her near an idle,” he said. “We don’t want to make too much noise.”

  “Got it,” she replied, shifting the truck into gear.

  “It’s army olive, so you gotta drive it,” he said.

  “Something like that.” She chuckled.

  The lot sloped away from the buildings, and the truck coasted toward the fence with one rev of the engine. They weren’t moving too fast when they hit it, but the chain link barrier flattened under the truck’s bumper.

  “Keep it slow in this grass,” he advised, remembering how she’d gotten stuck in the median with the school bus. He didn’t blame her, but that misadventure cost Matt his leg and then his life. “The tires might sink.”

  Rain had saturated the overgrown yard surrounding the outer fence of the armory. Instead of sinking, the truck slid.

  “Easy on the brakes,” he said, worried the heavy vehicle might flip and kill the passengers clinging to the stake sides of the flatbed behind them.

  “I got this,” she replied, turning the wheel.

  She couldn’t straighten it out, but she kept the truck from getting sideways. After taking out a signpost, the front tires dropped off the curb onto the street. Shane’s teeth slammed together, the bounce jostling him. With all tires safely on the asphalt, Tracy sped up and turned down the street that would take them to the on-ramp.

  Looking through the small window behind their heads, Shane saw they hadn’t lost anyone. One hand holding his rifle and the other clinging to the four-foot-tall side, Steve returned his gaze with wide eyes and a what-the-hell expression. Shane raised his eyebrows and nodded toward Tracy. Steve gave a slight grin and shook his head.

  “Everyone alright?” Tracy asked.

  “Yeah. A little pissed, but they’re fine,” he replied, returning his attention to the street ahead.

  He looked down the road as she turned and saw a crowd of the teens with the blank expressions jogging toward them.

  “No need to keep quiet anymore,” he said, looking into the side mirror. “Step on it!”

  He resisted the urge to jump out of the truck to try to rescue the slave soldier in red armor. What if it were Kelly? Driving away felt like he might be abandoning her.

  Tracy gunned the diesel. The four-lane street had plenty of room for her to swerve around abandoned cars, but she was forced to drive over the decaying bodies. Two blocks passed, and she steered them up the on-ramp. They headed out of Charleston, leaving the blank-faced teens and their Anunnaki slave soldier commander behind.

  Kelly marched north with an army of new recruits surrounding her. They met with little resistance once they left Atlanta, and each time her soldiers encountered the deranged kids not under Anunnaki control, they assimilated them within seconds.

  On a hilltop, her slave persona stopped and glanced back. Instead of leaving a path of destruction, spent recruits who dropped out of her army collected rubble and dragged bodies into piles. Further back, she saw the mounds of trash mixed with the deceased burning. Funeral pyres dotted the landscape, and it appeared the Anunnaki kept their promise to save the humans, to clean up the world, and free them from their deranged state so they could fight this common enemy that had supposedly killed their parents. If she didn’t know the aliens caused all this damage in the first place, she’d also believe they were here to help.

  It made her wonder how much the robotic kids surrounding her comprehended. As she well knew, just because their bodies behaved in one way, it didn’t mean their minds weren’t trapped inside, looking out with no control.

  Pelros’ transport caught her eye, speeding in from the east just above the treetops. He’d promised to visit twice a day, splitting his time between the armies of slaves spreading across the North American continent. On his last visit, he supervised her slaves while she ate and slept in the back of the transport. Although she had to wait on her slave persona to do something about it, Kelly suffered from hunger pangs the same as when she controlled her body. She hoped the commander brought her something for breakfast. Her growling stomach distracted her from her attempts to regain control.

  From the time her slave persona told Pelros about her vision of the hidden base, Kelly spent her fleeting bursts of strength fighting for her body. In the moments when she lost focus, she slipped into a tar pit of despair. She’d made no progress and began to believe there was nothing she could do to escape her prison.

  She headed straight toward Leeville. Her slave persona seemed to be remembering more and more, and she adjusted her course to try to find the hidden base. Would she remember Nat? If she did, Kelly feared things would get worse. Her slave persona trusted the Anunnaki came to Earth to help her, to rescue and avenge the humans. If she remembered her sister and that she was at the hidden base with what she believed was the enemy, she’d be all the more motivated to find it.

  The transport nosed up and climbed the hill, coming to a hover above her.

  “Make a hole,” she ordered.

  The new recruits dragged the unconscious ones they’d just injected out of the way, and the craft landed. Kelly removed her helmet and came to a position of attention, crossing her right fist over her chest in the Anunnaki salute. The ramp on the rear of the transport lowered, and Pelros stepped out. As usual, he wore his armor without the helmet. He’d been promoted to commander and had the Shock Troop emblem on his breastplate now. The alien hadn’t fought since the football stadium in Atlanta, his human slaves doing all the work for him. He returned her salute and ordered her at ease.

  The side compartments on the transport opened, and Kelly ordered her recruits to refill their supply of syringes so they could continue the harvest.

  “Any new memories resurface?” he inquired, sounding more arrogant than before.

  “Yes, sir,” her slave persona replied with excitement. “I’m getting the sense that there is an important town north of here.”

  “What happened there?”

  The commander tried to jog her memory, but she sensed he was also a bit apprehensive about her condition. Maybe he feared she would recall who the real enemy was.

  “I don’t know,” she said, frustration in her voice. “I can’t remember any people or the significance of things, but physical places are vivid to me. I have this inexplicable feeling this town will lead us toward the enemy’s hidden base.”

  Pelros waited for more, studying her with his piercing brown eyes. Kelly didn’t look away and said nothing else.

  “I’ve just come from Jules, and she had similar revelations in a dream while she slept last night.” The commander surveyed the landscape around them as he spoke. “I’ve turned her west so your paths will intersect. You’ll find this hidden base together.” He looked at her.

  “Yes, sir,” Kelly said, the news bringing a smile to her face.

  “This will sustain you,” Pelros said, handing her a food bar and a liter bottle of water. “I’ll see you in twelve hours.”

  On this cue, Kelly came to attention again. She saluted the commander, and he returned to the transport. Lifting off, the craft continued west, headed toward the next army of recruits led by one of the enslaved Aussie boys who’d been on her team.<
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  After munching the bar down, she drank the water. It tasted a little salty, and she guessed the Anunnaki had added something to it to keep their slaves hydrated for longer than simple water could. The drink and the bar gone, Kelly donned her helmet and ordered her recruits to continue north, guiding them down the hill onto the freeway.

  As she closed in on Leeville, she grew increasingly tormented by painful memories. Kelly dreaded seeing any part of her hometown, afraid to encounter the dead bodies of the people she’d known and loved. When she came to the intersection that led into town, her slave persona didn’t stop. At first, she was grateful, but concern displaced the feeling. She guessed her slave persona had remembered the farmhouse to the north where they had first met the rebels. Like a hound dog following a scent, she drew closer to the hidden base and to her sister.

  She continued on, pushing her recruits to move faster. By late afternoon, they made it to the farmhouse. Jules’ group met her there.

  “The commander said you were remembering things too,” Kelly said.

  “Yes,” Jules replied. “I had a strange dream. When I woke, I remembered lots of things.”

  “This is good,” Kelly replied. “Do you remember how to get to the base from here?”

  “Vaguely,” Jules said. “At least I have a general idea of what direction we should go.”

  “Then we should continue,” Kelly said urgently, turning and walking across the farm toward the woods.

  “There was something else I remembered,” Jules said hesitantly, falling in step next to Kelly. “Something I didn’t report to the commander.”

  Kelly perked up. Jules’ slave persona sounded like she might be having reservations about the Anunnaki.

  “Why would you withhold information from him?” Kelly said without stopping. “They’re helping us.”

  “Yes, but in my dream,” Jules explained, “I got the feeling that we believed the Anunnaki were the enemy, that they had killed the adults and caused the kids to go insane.”

  “That’s craziness,” Kelly replied, sounding agitated. She stopped and pointed to the south. “Have you seen what is happening behind us? They are cleaning up the dead and providing food and shelter for those we’ve rescued.”

  “Which is why I didn’t tell the commander. I didn’t want to insult him,” Jules replied. “I think we were misled by the enemy.”

  Kelly studied her with narrow eyes, and then seemed to conclude the omission was justified. She continued her brisk walk, entering the forest at the edge of the pasture with a wave of hers and Jules’ recruits ahead of her.

  “There was something else,” Jules said, keeping pace with her. “People we care about.”

  “I know,” Kelly replied. “I remember bits and pieces about them too.”

  “I fear they’re in danger,” Jules said with concern.

  “All the more reason we must hurry,” Kelly’s slave persona replied.

  Kelly’s worst fears were coming true. She screamed inside her body, bucking her consciousness into her extremities. She couldn’t stand by as they found Nat and the other kids, but she had no power to stop them. All she could do was watch and wait, steeping in terror as she and Jules worked their way through the forest toward the area where they thought the base might be hidden. She hopelessly prayed they’d never find it and wondered what she’d done, what the human race had done, to deserve this horrible ending.

  On the quiet road between Charleston and Columbia, they made good time. When they neared the capital of South Carolina, the number of wrecked and abandoned cars on the four-lane highway increased.

  Three thumps came from the roof of the flatbed’s cab. Startled from a reverie about the best parts of the dream he had of Kelly, he looked over his shoulder out the back window. Through the metal grate, he saw Steve pointing to the right, indicating he should look down into the industrial buildings they passed.

  The truck moved at ten-miles per hour, crawling along the shoulder to get around a pileup of cars. A group of kids climbed the hill that supported the freeway, staying low and quiet like animals stalking their prey.

  “We have nut-jobs at three o’clock,” Shane said, immediately regretting using the derogatory name for the kids. It wasn’t their fault their minds were unhinged.

  “It’s alright,” Tracy replied. “It’s clearer up ahead.”

  Shane stuck his barrel out the window, and the side mirror showed the back of the truck bristled with the guns of his friends. Apparently realizing their stealthy approach had failed, the kids charged up the hill, shouting and waving their weapons in the air. A gunshot went off, and buckshot pelted the side of the truck.

  “Damn it,” Shane cursed. “I hate it when they have guns.”

  “You’re going to hate me for this,” Tracy said, her voice filled with concern.

  “What?”

  “We’re out of fuel.”

  “That’s not good,” Shane said, glancing at the fuel gauge. The needle rested on the lower stop.

  “Sorry,” Tracy replied. “I was so damn busy dodging obstacles that I haven’t looked down since we left Charleston.”

  “Try to get away from these kids, and we can siphon some from one of these abandoned trucks,” Shane said, hoping the flatbed had a few gallons in reserve.

  “I’ll conserve every drop.” Tracy eased the truck up to speed.

  Shane looked in the side mirror, and the kids ran up onto the highway. The deranged teenagers chased after the flatbed, howling loud enough for him to hear them over the engine. The truck pulled away from them, and the kids stopped. They parted, and one of them dropped to his knee, raising a dark tube to his shoulder.

  “No way,” Shane exclaimed. He grabbed the wheel and jerked it to the right, swinging the flatbed around an abandoned cement truck.

  “What the hell?” Tracy demanded.

  The rear of the cement truck exploded, fragments of cured concrete and metal raining down on them.

  “They’ve got a flipping rocket launcher,” Shane shouted. “These kids are packing.”

  Tracy hammered the accelerator, and the diesel screamed. Shane twisted around to check on his friends in the back. Petrov swatted his head, getting a hot ember from his crew cut. Otherwise, by some miracle, no one appeared injured. Returning his attention to the mirror, he saw the fire engulfing the cement truck die down. The flatbed roared up the freeway another two hundred yards, and then its engine sputtered.

  “No,” Tracy groaned.

  The diesel gone, the engine died. Tracy shifted it to neutral and made use of their momentum to get a few more yards before it came to a stop. The kids who’d fired the rocket came around the cement truck and sprinted after them, appearing spurred on by the dying flatbed. Jones raised his rifle, taking aim at their pursuers.

  “Do not shoot at them,” Shane growled, leaping from the cab before the truck came to a stop. “Everybody out. Run!”

  To Shane’s relief, Jones lowered his weapon. One of the kids pursuing them fired a shot. The gun’s weak report sounded like it came from a small-caliber rifle, but the Russian boy standing next to Jones on the truck fell back, blood trickling from his forehead.

  “Damn you,” Petrov yelled, glaring at Shane. He raised his rifle and fired into the approaching kids.

  Shane was stunned. He’d been so worried about Jones killing teens for fun, that he’d distracted his team at a critical moment. He’d gotten one of them killed. Before Shane recovered, the freeway fell quiet. His friends fired less than three shots each, and the deranged teens all fell dead. Shane leapt up onto the flatbed and dropped to his knees next to the bleeding Russian.

  “Now you see,” Jones said quietly, using the healing pen on the boy’s forehead in a hopeless attempt to revive him. “We hesitate, and we will die.”

  “What was that?” Petrov stood over Shane.

  He came to his feet, unflinching, and waited for the big Russian to punch him.
/>   “I’m sorry,” Shane said. “I didn’t want him to kill unnecessarily. I thought we could outrun them.”

  “I don’t care if their brains are scrambled and it’s not their fault,” Petrov growled. “If they attack us, they are the enemy.”

  Shane didn’t reply, keeping his eyes locked on Petrov’s. The Russian glared at him a moment longer before shaking his head and climbing off the truck.

  “It was an unlucky shot,” Jones said, his usual stoicism replaced with a disappointed tone. He stood, looking down at his patient. “The boy is dead.”

  “We’ve gotta keep moving,” Tracy said. “That firefight will draw attention to this area.”

  Shane glanced down at her. Her eyes pleaded with him to keep it together. She’d made it clear she needed him. They all needed him. Tracy nodded toward the truck, stepping closer and removing the cap on the fuel tank. Shane thought of Kelly and cleared his mind. Climbing down from the truck, he scanned the area for some siphoning equipment.

  After finding a hose and a bucket from an abandoned pickup, he silently worked on retrieving fuel from a semi. In a daze, he kept reliving the moment when he’d yelled for them not to shoot, and the Russian boy had been killed. After pouring the first bucket into the flat bed and then starting to fill the next, he stopped thinking about the boy. Numbness more absolute than what he’d experienced after his aunt died soaked into him, displacing everything else. Aside from the fuel transfer and scanning the area for potential threats, he stopped thinking and stopped feeling anything. He became a machine with one purpose, save Kelly—no matter the cost.

  Tracy put a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at her. Her expression showed her concern. She seemed to know something had just died in him. It was for the better. The next time anyone threatened his team, he’d kill them.

  In glum silence, his team guarded the truck until Shane refueled it. Then they climbed in and continued up the road, passing beyond Columbia onto the relatively empty stretch of freeway to Ashville. Shane kept the safety off on his gun and had it pointed out the window the entire way.