Evolution (working title)

[Dave!]

So, for those who knew me back when, I began a work back in the summer of 2005 with no title. I really didn't know where it was going, who it would ultimately be about, whether the protagonist was the guy I began the story with, or anything. I think I began it as a release, possibly as a creative outlet if you will. It grew. And the words flowed out daily at a pace of several pages a day (all this while working maybe 12 hours a day). Soon I couldn't wait to get home to type some more. It was a trance state almost, the only thing grounding me to the real world being the music in the background. Pretty soon I had nearly thirty typed pages, and felt the need to push onward, but lost my job at that point and life took a quick front seat. The story lie unfinished for a year, maybe more. Then I just began to slowly reread it and began to type once again. It is now complete, well, the first draft anyway. I would love to post it here and get some real feedback, be it harsh or complementary. As long as it is true. For those who do read what I have so far, keep in mind that it is a very very rough draft with no editing whatsoever, so typos, runons, ect. may be prevalent. If you see 'em, let me know. If you think the characters are weak, likewise. In advance I say thankya and hope to hear some feedback! First post to come shortly...if I may.
-Dave

[Dave!]

Alright, here goes. *nervous
The beginning, to me, is a little slow. I had to give some history and character development, not to mention set the stage for the book. So if you read this first part of the first chapter and like it even a little, then the rest gets better. Promise.


-Evolution-

Chapter 1
The day broke with the same hazy, low hanging sun as the last, and the one before that. Today the heat would be unbearable. The heat was a constant, just like the monotonous reminder of each day’s bleary sunrise. How many days that began just as this one had passed? To Steven Davidson, it mattered not. He was a man between worlds. A man lost, without any purpose or direction known to him. As a child he had been known as Stevie. There had been green grass, clear air, and joy in life. That small, innocent boy had gone away. Much like this world he now walked through had gone. Sitting on the burned out fender of a Jeep, Steven quickly dismissed the fleeting memories of days gone by and the memories of a forgotten boy that once lived in the Atlanta suburbs. He produced a handmade cigarette and lit it with an ember from his fire. The first rays of sun broke through the early morning fog as he gathered his gear. Steven Davidson (as if last names really mattered anymore) placed his sunglasses over his eyes and continued his journey east, the sun beginning to feel hot on his face, and the thoughts of California behind him. Or so he thought.
The year, if measured by modern standards would have been 2015. In the reality of things days, months, even years had no bearing and no measurement. It had been three of those uncharted years since the Great War, during most of which chaos ruled the entire civilized world. It seemed that things had come full circle, as is the nature of existence. Electricity, modern roads, government, medicine, the concept of money, entertainment-- all of these things were nonexistent. It seemed that what was left of humanity, generally speaking, had been plunged into a forgotten era of self-sufficiency and necessity. Ingenuity was a fact of life now. Most of what was needed had to be fabricated or stolen from mediocre stockpiles found in burned out buildings along the way. The bombs, a new type, had laid waste to most of the urban areas of the former United States. Unlike nuclear provisions, these left no toxic aftermath or radiated areas. They simply turned every single atom in the blast zone to plasma, and then carbon. The very air itself would burn. Concrete and steel, vehicles, homes, as well as every living molecule were obliterated in fractions of a second. What was left was the world that Steven now lived in. He, along with about a million other humans worldwide, lived each day wondering and waiting for life to renew. Things would come full circle, as it was the nature of…well…nature.
Steven had been in the service, the US Army as a matter of fact, for three years of a four-year tour when it all began. He had returned to Ft. Stewart in the southeastern US after a tour in the former country of Iraq. Since the war began over there in the early turn of the century things had gotten worse and worse. The former regime had developed new weapons to slaughter hundreds of soldiers at once. At one point it seemed that democracy would take hold, and there had actually been free elections and governments established. The fledgling democracy, however, was unstable and lacked the foundation needed to survive. Once the impoverished and starving people grew weary of their lives, an uprising quickly ensued and the newly formed government fell to its knees. A new government arose, one based on bringing back the old ways. Terror networks had united against one common enemy, the last superpower, the US. And so it began. Steven was the leader of an elite group sent to help evacuate pockets of stranded soldiers. The decision had been made to pull out of the country all together, as the casualties numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Most would never be found. It was during his last recovery mission that he came face to face with the new weapon. One of many that would seal the fate of mankind, and turn the tide of the world to the brink of extinction. This was, next to the firearm Steven himself carried, the deadliest, yet stealthiest weapon known. It was developed, behind the scenes, by Chinese scientists, funded by eastern European and Russian governments, and built in hidden factories in southeastern Asia. Most countries had banded together, covertly, to unseat the lone superpower and bring America to her knees. In the end, the only ally that the US had was Britain. And the entire Earth saw their fate. This new weapon, designed for the front lines and mass hand-to-hand casualties, was the first and only of its kind. It was without feeling, without conscience, and without a weakness known. It was a robotic warrior, and the intelligence programmed into it was far greater than intended, for it quickly became smarter than its creator. And it was far more ruthless in its cause and function.

[Steve]

I enjoy reading post-apocalyptic tales -- and writing them, too -- and I like how this started. Keep it up.

[MaXx Ka-Tet 19]

Man, you got my attention & held it, i love this story already. I have one request if i may ask - I would like to buy a first addition of your book if you publish it because I have a feeling it will gain an instant following and sell big time. really, great job & keep it up.:clap:

[Dave!]

haha! you got it! Tried to publish it once, but it ended up being a scam. Luckily I got out before they got their hands on anything decent, and before I fell for sending them a dime. (writer's literary for those who may also be dealing with them.) And thanks, guys. Here is the remainder of chapter 1, still a little slow, but gettting close to being i non-flashback mode...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Steven, along with nine other special operations soldiers varying in military service and branch, rode in the caravan of Humvees to the outskirts of the burned out city of Tikrit, in northern Iraq. It was, ironically, the birthplace of the previous ruler of the land, and one of the last remaining areas still held mostly by American forces. Hundreds of yards beneath them, covered by sand, was an intricate network of tunnels developed covertly to use as transit by the resistance. These tunnels stretched for thousands of miles and were large enough to drive semis through. As the fighting ensued day after day, month after month, the resistance, known later as The World Force, moved thousands of newly developed robotic soldiers through these tunnels underneath the city. There were millions more, but these were held for the greater strike that would come. The world would see the grand debut of these glorious machines in this city, and marvel at their efficiency and dominance. This city held many of the pawns in the war. Fully one tenth of the entire US Army was deployed in and around it, and numerous numbers in other branches joined them. Of special interest were two soldiers. One was the son of the President of the United States; the other, the brother of the Prime Minister of Britain. The WF knew of the two, and had desperately attempted to secure these two very valuable captives. The fight was a lost cause, as the best soldiers had been deployed here, and the casualties were too high for the WF. The campaign to secure captives was abandoned, and the decision had been made to adopt a new strategy. The deployment of the new battalion of AI soldiers would ensure the complete obliteration of the American and British forces in the town, and force them that much further toward defeat in the region.
The humvees came to a rest about five miles out of town, on the western side. All ten would abandon the vehicles there and travel by foot into the town, eventually reaching the central compound. Their mission was to extract as many as possible, but primarily two. The son and the brother were to be brought out alive, if it meant losing nine members of the team. These two were meant to have been extracted during the first pullouts of the country, but had been pushed back farther and farther by enemy fire until they reached one of the two last remaining strongholds of the Allied force. Tikrit was as far as they could go, and once there they discovered that the town had been turned into an unbelievably large compound of American and British forces. Resistance was primarily on the outskirts, but moved closer to the center every day. The troops were pushed closer and closer, surrounded by what they presumed to be solely Iraqi forces. Their circle of security grew smaller daily.
Steven and four others split into a group to attack the Iraqi force head on. The other formation, two British and three American flanked to the right a couple of hundred yards and began their entrance. Steven and the four others, two Navy Seals and two British elites, were about a half-mile inside the town when they heard the first shots ring out from the other group. Not more than five minutes later, five minutes that seemed to pass by in seconds, all hell broke loose. Upon entering the town, they had stealthily disposed of fully twenty resistance troops, using silencer equipped .45 caliber handguns. Now they were surrounded. RPGs could be heard going off in the distance and screams as well. The compound was in sight when the first casualty of the combined force came. Blake Larsen, a 31 yr old Seal and father of four in Chicago was hit by sniper fire and disappeared from the cheekbones up. Steven took cover behind a shell of a downed Blackhawk, picking off twenty more before the second casualty came. Donald Smithfield, An English soldier of five years and father of two children suffering from muscular dystrophy, was taken down by a hail of rifle fire from what seemed like a hundred directions at once. He noticed a fairly clear path to a building a hundred yards to the left and started to run. Two fell by the butt of his rifle, and he took one round to the leg as he dove for the wall. He looked out of the broken window frame to see a horrific scene that he could not believe.
Coming down the street was a line of five figures. They walked on two legs, but stood fully eight feet tall. In both hands it held guns unlike any Steve had seen before, and they had a rate of fire unlike any imaginable. A single opening in its chest fired out spinning discs with the circumference of a basketball. These discs cut through whatever came into their path first, whether it was concrete, steel, or flesh. They were clearly robotic of some sort, but behaved in a more human way. They acted more like they were fueled by purpose rather than programming. Their movements were swift, but fluid. Blazing yellow eyes regarded the landscape and moved fluidly in their sockets like a human would do if surveying a battle scene for targets. These things broke off out of formation, followed by five more, then five more. They mowed down human life with no regard to which side they were fighting for. Buildings collapsed. Vehicles burst into flames. The robots simply walked onward and crushed anything in their path. Cars, lampposts, sidewalks, and skulls were crushed into pulp underneath their feet but they did not change pace or purpose.
Steven rolled out and opened fire on the nearest one. Most of the rounds bounced of, but a few found their way into less armored areas. As the thing spun, it opened fire with both guns, reducing the wall behind him to rubble. Steven had time to throw a grenade at its feet before the wall came crashing down on top of him.
The world existed of nothing but blackness. Time had no meaning. Feeling had no bearing, the outside world gone from his senses. He fell further. Further. Nothingness. Muffled occasional sounds. Swimming in a sea of blissful rest. Nothing else matters. No knowledge. Peace.

[KaLikeAWheel]

Tried to publish it once, but it ended up being a scam. Luckily I got out before they got their hands on anything decent, and before I fell for sending them a dime. (writer's literary for those who may also be dealing with them.)


Dave,

I work with a girl who's son-in-law just published a book. I don't know how much money he had to put up, but the girl I work with said he did it through Amazon.com. I have NO idea how it worked. I'll see if I can get more details out of her next time I work with her. It may be a couple of weeks, we don't always work the same days. Good luck to you! Love the story so far.

Donna

[Dave!]

Hey thanks, Donna! I really appreciate the help, and there is no gigantic hurry. I can wait as long as I need to or edit as much as I have to to make this work, if it ends up being workable... so here is the next chapter, a short one..only a few more boring excerpts and then it gets better... And thanks again! -Dave

__________________________________________________ ______________________-_


Chapter 2


When Steven Davidson was covered in the remnants of a bank in a small town in Iraq, the date was August 21, 2008. When he woke, he was on the other side of the world, in a small town in the southeastern US. The date was February 08, 2010. He had been in a coma for a year and a half. The accident shattered his right leg, jaw and right arm. He had suffered countless cuts requiring stitches, and had fractured his skull. His right ear was deaf. But in that time his body had healed itself. All of his limbs worked, but were stiff and weak. His muscles had atrophied to mere representations of what they once were. Once a High School Football and Track star, once a Special Forces op, and once a man in perfect health had aged, and looked more like a victim of a concentration camp rather than a former soldier.
The room he was in was nondescript. Pale green painted block walls, a single window off to one side with plain white curtains and mini blinds made up the scheme. One lone light fixture hung from a ceiling fan, which Steve regarded for a long time before he moved his leg. He sat up on the edge of his bed with much effort and rested again. The wires and IV in his arm annoyed him, but he did not have the energy to pull them free. He sat this way for a long time, staring down at his bare feet and listening to the gas radiator in the corner of the room tick and pop as it cycled on and off. Occasionally he would hear feet shuffle by on the other side of the heavy wooden door that separated him from the rest of the hospital. He raised his head slightly and looked around the room. He saw one entry door, one window, one stand covered in a white linen material for the room phone (which there was none, only a phone book), and one door leading to a restroom. There was no television, table or chair.
“How odd.” Steve thought to himself as he looked at the perfect symmetry and the unreal sterility of the room. He had tried to remember how he got there, but couldn’t. Maybe he had been in a car accident. Possibly an illness? He rubbed the scar running down his right leg and knew it was more. Had to be. Fuckit. Didn’t matter right now. What did matter was finding out how to get out.
As he eased himself off of the edge of the bed his legs, unused for 18 months, almost gave way. Shakily, they supported him, and after a few moments he lumbered his way to the window. He pulled on the blind strings and was amazed to see grass, yellowed, but grass just the same. But the grass was the least thing on his mind after a few seconds of thought. On the outside of the window were bars. The window frame itself was metal, and was bolted shut. Upon further inspection he found that the glass was fully an inch thick, and no sound came through. No birds, cars, or planes. He turned to walk and the EKG wires and IV tube pulled taught. With a disgusted grunt he pulled them free by the handfuls. The IV needle came out and splashed a trail of blood across the blazing white sheet of the bed before landing on the tiled floor. Not more than five seconds later two orderlies and a large breasted nurse came bursting through the door, eyes wide with amazement.
“What the hell!?” the orderly with the neatly combed hair asked before the door was fully open. He, just like the other, fatter one with a crew cut, had on light blue pants and a button up shirt. They both wore sidearms.
“I should ask you the same, pardner!” Steve croaked in a voice as alien as the room he was in.
“Well, I see you have awakened! Good! How are you today, Mr. Davidson?” The nurse asked politely. Her voice was open and pleasant, but the steel cold look in her eyes and the sidearm that bulged from underneath her smock told him otherwise.
“I would be better if you told where the fuck I am and what I am doing here.”
“You have been resting. Seems you had a nasty fall off of a ladder a while back, and you have been here in our care. It is good to see you awake, though! You have been sleeping for what seems like a few days!”
“How come I don't remember falling? And how long have I been here?”
“Well, you did hit your head pretty good on the way down, Mr. Davidson, but you are gonna be fine. Please, sit down on the bed and let these kind gentlemen help you lie back and relax.”
“A ladder huh? Bullshit! How do you explain this, then?” Steven pulled back his hospital gown, revealing the twisting scar down his leg.
“Well, you don’t remember?”
“No. I don’t”
“You had a car accident a week before your fall, and gouged your leg very badly. You were supposed to stay in bed at home, but decided to climb onto your garage and adjust your satellite dish. You fell, and here you are!” Much too cheerfully. The two “orderlies” began to walk closer to him, one on the right, and one to the left.
“Someone had better start telling me the truth, and I mean right fuckin now!”
Her look changed from cold steel to fiery blue alarm. The two orderlies rushed him and pulled him back to the bed. He was staring the fat one in the eye when he realized that he lacked the strength to fight. The last thing he saw was the nurse pull the cap off of a needle with clenched teeth.
When he opened his eyes again, the light in the room had changed. Most of it came from the lone fixture on the ceiling fan. A pale, dusty rose hue came from the now closed blinds to the right of his bed. He was strapped down to the bed now, and the IV had been placed in his other arm. He moaned and felt sick to his stomach. Whatever that fat nurse had given him made him feel nauseated beyond belief. As he turned his head he saw a single man standing in the corner of the room, dressed in military dress blues. His holster and shoes shown with a fresh coat of polish, and every neatly groomed hair was in place. He looked to be in his 40s with chiseled cheekbones and jawline. The lines on his face reflected a hard character, but inviting at the same time. When he smiled, a perfect row of gleaming white teeth lined his mouth.
“Mr. Davidson. May I call you Steven? Or do you prefer Sgt.?”
“Steve will be fine. Who are you and why am I in these damned restraints?”
“We knew waking would be a shock, and we didn’t want you….hurting yourself.”
“Who are you?” He asked again.
“General Joyce, sir, of the 101st.”
“101st? Where am I?”
“In a hospital. We have a lot to talk about.”
“Get me outta these, first. You know I am too weak to fight.”
“Too weak? That you are, but with your skills, still a very dangerous man, Sgt.” Joyce said with a smirk and light laugh filled with confidence.
“Seriously, all I want is some answers. Just level with me and tell me what you want from me.”
“From you, nothing. Well, maybe a few questions, but all that in due time. First we have to see if you remember anything. Then the answers to all of both of our questions will come.”
“Then let me loose so we can talk as gentlemen. I am in a fuckin gown for Chrissakes!”
“Very well.”
Joyce walked to the bedside and loosened the straps. Steve sat up once more and hung his legs over the side.
“You have clothing over there. Get dressed and I will be back to get you in five minutes.”
Joyce walked out the door and it closed behind him with a very solid “click”. Steve knew he was in a locked room with the only other exit bearing bars and inch thick glass. He rose to his feet and shuffled his way to the pile of neatly pressed clothing that lie near the foot of the bed. The IV pulled tight, but had enough slack to allow him to make the distance. He had all but his shirt on when the door opened again. Joyce was accompanied by the fat breasted nurse once again. She cheerfully walked over to him and removed the IV, avoiding eye contact. She was humming the chorus to an old Pink Floyd song like she had not a care in the world. As Steve would soon find out, she had a lot of care in the world. They all did.
Steve sat in a brown, leather clad and studded wing back chair near a window. He was in a downstairs room near the front entrance. The rear of the room opened up through two French style doors onto a brick patio with an adjoining pool. It was hardly the sanitary hospital atmosphere down here, and Steve felt relieved to be here. Joyce walked in, carrying two cups of strong, black coffee. “Two packers” Steve thought to himself and smiled a genuine smile for the first time in a long time.
“What’s got you tickled, Sgt?”
“Nothing, just glad to have some coffee. And the name is Steve, please.”
“Very well. Steve it is! Now, where were we..?”
“I believe you were about to tell me where I am?”
“Yes, of course. I guess to get my answers, I will have to refresh your memory a bit. You are in a military hospital. A special hospital, if you will. You are an hour away from Ft. Jackson, South Carolina. You remember Jackson, don’t ya?” Joyce said with a hint of glee and sarcasm mixed in.
“Hell yeah I do! Sand fleas and dirt. Lovely vacation spot!”
“Hmmph. Yeah. Well, anyhow, I guess we need to start at the beginning. We have a lot to discuss and not a lot of time to do so.” With that, Joyce began his tale.

[Dave!]

Chapter 3

“You were in a battle in Iraq. Well, what used to be Iraq. It was August of 08. It is now February of 2010. You have been in a coma for a year and a half.”
Steve slowly lowered his cup of coffee, hands visibly shaking. “A year and a fuckin half! What?!”
“Sorry, soldier. For a long time it was touch and go. We did not know if you were going to pull through or not. You were hurt so badly then, and you lie there in that rubble for three days before you were found, bleeding and unconscious. A British soldier came across you as he was searching for survivors and called for help. We came in and got you out, but suffered casualties doing so. Your info was very important. Hell, your life was important to us. We needed you to make it, but for so, so long it was hard to tell. Seems you have some fight in you yet.”
“Casualties? Iraq? I do not remember. I’m sorry. I do remember being in a humvee at some point, but I thought that that was at FT. Benning.”
“No, son. Iraq. It will come back to you. You remember Benning, then? Good. We can get somewhere with that. Anyhow, it seems that your mission was compromised by certain…complications and some new weaponry we find very interesting.”
“Mission? What was my mission?”
“ To extract, mainly, the President’s son and Prime Minister Parrish’s brother. Then as many troops as possible after that primary objective.”
It started to come back to him then. The town. The resistance. The RPGs. The screams. Seeing Larsen’s skull explode like an overripe melon. And …something else..yellow.
“Did we accomplish the mission?”
Joyce looked far away for a moment, then regarded his cup of coffee for a long time before speaking. It was the first time Steve saw any true emotion whatsoever in the man.
“No, I am afraid they were both lost, along with your entire expeditionary force.”
“What else?”
“I guess you need to know. Those things, those robots killed every living thing in that town, and flattened every single building before being stopped. Luckily for us, India sent nukes out on the area and destroyed them all. They asked for clearance and we had no choice. We could not stop them, and they could get there before us. Not all of the rescue teams made it out, even. We had to stop them, you see? So many had died there that they had to be stopped before they spread out even further.”
“How many?”
“Soldiers? Civilians? Ours? Theirs? Doesn’t matter. That was the single largest loss of life this world has ever seen. And it only took them a day and a half to kill every man, woman, and child in that region. Or so we thought until you were found.”
“Oh God. How many, Joyce? Tell me.”
“Four hundred thousand US soldiers, A hundred and fifty thousand British. We think another two hundred thousand Iraqi, and possibly three to four hundred thousand more civilians. We will never really know. The place is a nuclear wasteland now.”
“ So you are saying that these..things killed over a million people in a day and a half!?”
“Yes. Sadly enough, yes.”
“Where did they come from?”
“The Russians and German governments came forward after the massacre and admitted that they had knowledge that the Chinese developed the technology, but they said they never knew it was being used, or fabricated for warfare. We had a nuclear stalemate with China over it for about nine months, and then things seemed to cool off. They disavowed any knowledge of their product being used for warfare, and said it was intended for excavation, high hazard industry and the like. They blamed what once was Al Qaeda. With much pressure from the Chinese, Us, Russia, India and Britain, Afghanistan finally gave up all knowledge of their whereabouts, and terrorism on this planet came to a halt. With all of the superpowers united against it, there was no choice. The terror groups tried pointing the finger back at all of the other countries, claiming a worldwide coup was in the making, and the US was the only target. Of course, we all know that that is Bullshit.”
“What about those robot battalions?”
“As far as we know, there are none left. China is currently building models with “dumbed down” logic capabilities, and no provision for armaments for industrial use, and it all seems kosher, but who knows?”
“So, what do you want from me?”
“Just two answers to two questions, Sgt.”
“Shoot”
“Number one, we need to know. You are the only living person on this Earth that came into direct contact, and actually confronted one. We need to know if bullets affected these things, and just how intelligent they seemed to you. We need to know if they seemed to act on their own or if you think they were driven by only a program.”
“Wow, that is way more than one question and how come you guys do not know that already? I thought the Chinese had given up the intel. And you said that all the current production was harmless. What are you hiding, Joyce? These things are not harmless, are they? And we are not ‘cooled off’ with the Chinese, are we?”
Joyce sighed and looked out at the windy February morning. He regarded his cup of coffee. He rubbed his hands down his jawline and pursed his lips. He knew that Steve knew. He also knew this very well could be the last February morning he would sit in this chair and drink a cup of coffee. He needed this man. He needed his leadership and skill. He needed his history. He needed to be honest, damn the directive from the State dept.
“Steve, look. I am talking to you man to man, no bureaucratic bullshit. Hell, mankind may be in its final hour for all we know, so why hide the facts when we need you and you will know in a week anyway? Look, China built these damned things for one reason. The terror network was just their scapegoat. Yeah, the reason they gave at first was industry, but the truth came out eventually. China, North Korea, Russia, Germany and Egypt are on the same page. We just cannot deal with that threat, so we backed down. For the first time, this country backed down. Hell, we just lost four hundred thousand in one day. Another eighty thousand since we went over there in the first place. They have not invaded, and say that that is not the intention. All they wanted was for us to back off of the world and step down. And we did. We still have our nukes, and we still have our armed forces, but I think we need to do something, and we just do not know what to do. China is developing some new device that makes nukes look like a cherry bomb. We can not get out hands on it or gather intel about it because no American is allowed into that country any longer. China and Russia together run the show now. We just have to play along until we are ready. We are thinking they still could send God knows how many of those damned things over here, and we know nothing about them.”
“Then what about the stuff with India and the nuke?”
“It was true. However, China attacked them unexpectedly, for trying to side with us, knocking out their nuclear capabilities, along with New Delhi and some coastal regions. India is in the dark ages, Steve.”
“Then how many more have died?”
“A million and a quarter in New Delhi alone. Another three hundred thousand throughout
India.”
“You mean to tell me that in a year and a half more than two and a half million have died, we are castrated, as a country, and these others have just suddenly came out of the blue and taken over? And you think we are gonna be invaded by some overgrown Hoovers with bad attitudes and .50 cals? What the fuck, Joyce!”
“That is pretty much it, Steve.”
“What is your second question?”
“Will you help us? If so, I need to get your strength back up, and you need to get to Stewart ASAP. Then we go from there. There are special ops there working on a plan of action.”
“I do not have a choice, do I? I mean, come on, this is it!”
“Then, let’s go. We have to get some solid food in you and get you some more intel before you leave for Stewart. Plus you never really answered my questions.”

[Dave!]

Chapter 3

“You were in a battle in Iraq. Well, what used to be Iraq. It was August of 08. It is now February of 2010. You have been in a coma for a year and a half.”
Steve slowly lowered his cup of coffee, hands visibly shaking. “A year and a fuckin half! What?!”
“Sorry, soldier. For a long time it was touch and go. We did not know if you were going to pull through or not. You were hurt so badly then, and you lie there in that rubble for three days before you were found, bleeding and unconscious. A British soldier came across you as he was searching for survivors and called for help. We came in and got you out, but suffered casualties doing so. Your info was very important. Hell, your life was important to us. We needed you to make it, but for so, so long it was hard to tell. Seems you have some fight in you yet.”
“Casualties? Iraq? I do not remember. I’m sorry. I do remember being in a humvee at some point, but I thought that that was at FT. Benning.”
“No, son. Iraq. It will come back to you. You remember Benning, then? Good. We can get somewhere with that. Anyhow, it seems that your mission was compromised by certain…complications and some new weaponry we find very interesting.”
“Mission? What was my mission?”
“ To extract, mainly, the President’s son and Prime Minister Parrish’s brother. Then as many troops as possible after that primary objective.”
It started to come back to him then. The town. The resistance. The RPGs. The screams. Seeing Larsen’s skull explode like an overripe melon. And …something else..yellow.
“Did we accomplish the mission?”
Joyce looked far away for a moment, then regarded his cup of coffee for a long time before speaking. It was the first time Steve saw any true emotion whatsoever in the man.
“No, I am afraid they were both lost, along with your entire expeditionary force.”
“What else?”
“I guess you need to know. Those things, those robots killed every living thing in that town, and flattened every single building before being stopped. Luckily for us, India sent nukes out on the area and destroyed them all. They asked for clearance and we had no choice. We could not stop them, and they could get there before us. Not all of the rescue teams made it out, even. We had to stop them, you see? So many had died there that they had to be stopped before they spread out even further.”
“How many?”
“Soldiers? Civilians? Ours? Theirs? Doesn’t matter. That was the single largest loss of life this world has ever seen. And it only took them a day and a half to kill every man, woman, and child in that region. Or so we thought until you were found.”
“Oh God. How many, Joyce? Tell me.”
“Four hundred thousand US soldiers, A hundred and fifty thousand British. We think another two hundred thousand Iraqi, and possibly three to four hundred thousand more civilians. We will never really know. The place is a nuclear wasteland now.”
“ So you are saying that these..things killed over a million people in a day and a half!?”
“Yes. Sadly enough, yes.”
“Where did they come from?”
“The Russians and German governments came forward after the massacre and admitted that they had knowledge that the Chinese developed the technology, but they said they never knew it was being used, or fabricated for warfare. We had a nuclear stalemate with China over it for about nine months, and then things seemed to cool off. They disavowed any knowledge of their product being used for warfare, and said it was intended for excavation, high hazard industry and the like. They blamed what once was Al Qaeda. With much pressure from the Chinese, Us, Russia, India and Britain, Afghanistan finally gave up all knowledge of their whereabouts, and terrorism on this planet came to a halt. With all of the superpowers united against it, there was no choice. The terror groups tried pointing the finger back at all of the other countries, claiming a worldwide coup was in the making, and the US was the only target. Of course, we all know that that is Bullshit.”
“What about those robot battalions?”
“As far as we know, there are none left. China is currently building models with “dumbed down” logic capabilities, and no provision for armaments for industrial use, and it all seems kosher, but who knows?”
“So, what do you want from me?”
“Just two answers to two questions, Sgt.”
“Shoot”
“Number one, we need to know. You are the only living person on this Earth that came into direct contact, and actually confronted one. We need to know if bullets affected these things, and just how intelligent they seemed to you. We need to know if they seemed to act on their own or if you think they were driven by only a program.”
“Wow, that is way more than one question and how come you guys do not know that already? I thought the Chinese had given up the intel. And you said that all the current production was harmless. What are you hiding, Joyce? These things are not harmless, are they? And we are not ‘cooled off’ with the Chinese, are we?”
Joyce sighed and looked out at the windy February morning. He regarded his cup of coffee. He rubbed his hands down his jawline and pursed his lips. He knew that Steve knew. He also knew this very well could be the last February morning he would sit in this chair and drink a cup of coffee. He needed this man. He needed his leadership and skill. He needed his history. He needed to be honest, damn the directive from the State dept.
“Steve, look. I am talking to you man to man, no bureaucratic bullshit. Hell, mankind may be in its final hour for all we know, so why hide the facts when we need you and you will know in a week anyway? Look, China built these damned things for one reason. The terror network was just their scapegoat. Yeah, the reason they gave at first was industry, but the truth came out eventually. China, North Korea, Russia, Germany and Egypt are on the same page. We just cannot deal with that threat, so we backed down. For the first time, this country backed down. Hell, we just lost four hundred thousand in one day. Another eighty thousand since we went over there in the first place. They have not invaded, and say that that is not the intention. All they wanted was for us to back off of the world and step down. And we did. We still have our nukes, and we still have our armed forces, but I think we need to do something, and we just do not know what to do. China is developing some new device that makes nukes look like a cherry bomb. We can not get out hands on it or gather intel about it because no American is allowed into that country any longer. China and Russia together run the show now. We just have to play along until we are ready. We are thinking they still could send God knows how many of those damned things over here, and we know nothing about them.”
“Then what about the stuff with India and the nuke?”
“It was true. However, China attacked them unexpectedly, for trying to side with us, knocking out their nuclear capabilities, along with New Delhi and some coastal regions. India is in the dark ages, Steve.”
“Then how many more have died?”
“A million and a quarter in New Delhi alone. Another three hundred thousand throughout
India.”
“You mean to tell me that in a year and a half more than two and a half million have died, we are castrated, as a country, and these others have just suddenly came out of the blue and taken over? And you think we are gonna be invaded by some overgrown Hoovers with bad attitudes and .50 cals? What the fuck, Joyce!”
“That is pretty much it, Steve.”
“What is your second question?”
“Will you help us? If so, I need to get your strength back up, and you need to get to Stewart ASAP. Then we go from there. There are special ops there working on a plan of action.”
“I do not have a choice, do I? I mean, come on, this is it!”
“Then, let’s go. We have to get some solid food in you and get you some more intel before you leave for Stewart. Plus you never really answered my questions.”

[Dave!]

Chapter 4

Steven had walked most of the day, resting little, drinking less, and eating nothing. The heat of the Arizona desert left no room or desire for an appetite. He tried to escape the memories of the first skirmish overseas, and the memories of his awakening in South Carolina, his memories of that cup of coffee and the camaraderie made that day. But try as he may, Steven could not outrun his own mind, and the combination of sweltering heat and thoughts of the old world threatened to drive him mad. At least he still had his life. That is more than seven billion others could say. Steven did not know of the level of destruction that lay in the east. He had been fighting and pushing out in California for the last...who knows how long? Time had no meaning here. He knew not how long he had even been walking. With all of the free time for one's overactive mind to work, he began estimating the miles he thought he had crossed, and his average miles per day. The mathematics of it all made his head hurt, so he abandoned the project, and thankfully. How long had he been in Yuma before he killed the two survivors in that storefront? Couldn't remember. Didn't matter anyway. The only thing that did was home. Thoughts of his porch swing, the glorious shade that the willow tree made, and the sound of the whippoorwill kept him plugging on. Plus it seemed he had a purpose, some purpose for living, for trudging on, for surviving so much. But the purpose was shrouded from him. All he knew was sand, sun and heat.
His lips had long since dried and cracked, as well as the skin on his neck and ears. The sand had done its work on his hands as well. It amazed him how much like leather his skin looked, and he was imagining himself stretched across the wingback chair in Joyce's "hospital".
"Here! Sit, It's a chair made with authentic Davidson leather! The rarest of all!" Steven laughed out loud, craning his head back. His lips burst forth once again, and he stumbled over the partly submerged bumper of an abandoned Caddy before he even saw it. Steven looked at his skinned palms like an autistic child, blinking at the blood that welled up. Even out in this dryness blood was still liquid. "Amazing", he thought.
Then he began to wonder how long he had walked with his head tilted back. Long enough for him to walk into this damned hunk. What was it doing out here in the middle of the desert in the first place? Then, with clear eyes and a clear head, Steven looked-- actually looked ahead, thinking straight for the first time in days. Up ahead of the Caddy, a couple of hundred yards out was blacktop. A road. A sign of civilization. His mood brightened and he began to walk toward the road with renewed vigor, humming an old song about a horse with no name and how it felt good to be out of the rain.
"Bullshit!" He said aloud. He never expected his call to be answered.
"Hey! Mister! Hey! Get the hell away from my car! I found it first you bastard!"
Steven spun quickly on his heels, hand going for the Springfield .45 he had in his shoulder holster. The only survivors he had met so far had been crazy. And now they were dead. Lying inside a plate glass window of a CVS in former Yuma.
This person, whoever he was, seemed harmless enough. Even at a distance Steven could see that he stood not much more than five feet tall and was having a hard time walking in the loose sand. But one could never be too safe these days. He kept his right hand on the butt of his pistol and began to walk toward the figure.
“Who are you? And your car? I think that it has seen better days, myself.”
“I could ask you the same, stranger! And it’s not necessarily my car, but it is the only damned shade to be found around here, so that’s where I stay most of the day when the sun is good and high.”
As they closed the gap between them, the need for shouting had passed. Now, only a few feet separating them, the figure reached up and pulled the hood back on his shirt. Steve was shocked to see that the “he” was actually a “she”, and quite stunning.
“You never answered my question, stranger! I guess manners died with the world, then? The name’s Deanna. Deanna…Brown.” She offered her hand, and hoped that the stranger had not noticed her pause to remember her own last name. “How odd was that?” she wondered to herself. Steven released his grip on the pistol and offered his in return.
“Steven Davidson. I apologize, just that I have not seen another person sane enough to talk to in so long…you know, you gotta be careful these days.”
“Yeah, tell me about it! I hid for, like, a day when those other three dudes came rolling by on those motorcycles a while back.”
“Three? On bikes? How long ago?”
“Hell, three days, a week, two weeks. Who knows anymore, right?”
“I see your point. What are you doing out here in the middle of this godforsaken sand trap, anyway?”
“I dunno. I just started running when everything went bad. I lived with an older couple miles back in their camper for a while. They both died of sickness, so I left. It was a pretty good setup, though. They had lots of propane and even a generator for hot water. Plenty of fuel. I had to leave, though. I just couldn’t stay around after they died. The smell was just….”
Deanna broke down in tears at the thought of how she left them there, lying inside the camper, bloated and beginning to emit an unearthly stench. They had opened their home, as it was, to her and helped her survive when no one else was around to help. And she could not even have the courage to bury them properly.
“I..uh..look, I’m sorry you had to go through whatever it was back there, and you seem like you need help here. Hell, we all need help here. I am heading east, to Georgia. That is where my home is, and hopefully there is still green grass and wildlife left to live off of. And hopefully some, if not most of the people I knew are still around...”
“And? What the fuck has that gotta do with me? I have no ‘home’ to go to like you. You don’t even know if it is even still there or not! I have seen six people alive now in God knows how many months, or years. Two are now dead. That makes, as far as I know, four people alive other than me in the whole damned world! What makes you think that there are friends and family in Alabama?”
“Georgia. And, Deanna, that is a chance I am willing to take. What is there for me out here in this desert? What is there for you? Nothing. That’s what. Sand. Sun. Where is your next meal coming from? Are you gonna live underneath that damned tarp tied to that wrecked piece of shit back there forever? Me, I couldn’t care less. I do not know you, so whatever you do with your life is your decision. Mine is to live and not let what’s left of this world kick me in the nuts. I am not going to die in this hellhole by giving up. I am leaving now and if you wanna come, fine. If not, then the hell with you. Die here if you want. One more doesn’t matter.”
Steve looked at her with cold, piercing blue eyes. His mind was back, and his willpower. Deanna stood there, tears streaming down her face, looking from Steve’s feet to the Caddy and back again. No words were said and Steven Harnessed his backpack once again and began to walk down the blacktop. He had wasted too much time in the baking sun talking with that crazy woman anyway. He could not help but feel the fingers of loneliness grab at his heart, though. No matter how much training a green beret received, it never could still the emotions in one’s soul. He walked and did not look back. Deanna finally raised her eyes and watched his figure grow smaller and smaller, hoping he would turn and look at her. He never did. She turned to crawl back under her tarp, away from the sun and away from her emotions. But she was thirsty. And hungry. And she stank. Was this the life she now had to look forward to? Four years of nursing school, a nice house, fifty grand a year. Now she had a wrecked Caddy, a tarp, and no means of survival. The one ticket out of this life was walking toward Georgia. She grabbed the tarp, rolled it up and tied it with some string found in the trunk of the Caddy, tucked it under her arm, and began to run down the blacktop. Toward Steven. Toward life. Toward Georgia.

[Dave!]

Chapter 5

Steve was fit. Since he left the hospital five years prior, the military had taken him back into training, bulked his atrophied muscles back into their former glory, and conditioned his mind further. In the three years since the Great War, his need for survival and the fighting that followed conditioned him further into a veritable killing machine. Since clearing his head back at the Caddy, he felt years, no, decades younger. He walked without rest for the remainder of the day, finally coming into a town near the edge of the New Mexico line called Hillsboro. The desert still loomed behind him, but scrub brush now surrounded him, and hills rose slightly in the east. In the town he had found rounds for his pistol, some canned food, new boots, and water. Sweet, clear water. He set up camp that night in the town hall, building a fire in the main hall. The floors were granite, so there was no danger of him burning himself to death as he slept. He had found furniture to break apart and burn. And also a large hunting knife. He opened a can of Bush’s baked beans (it’s a Family secret recipe!) and roasted it over the fire. The smell was maddening. How long had it been since he had eaten? Who knows? He could not remember the last time he even had stopped to shit. The walking so far had leaned him up, and the muscles in his legs had long ago stopped aching, and veins stood out on his thighs as he hunkered down near the fire. The scar twisted down his right leg and he regarded it with bemusement. He unrolled his bedroll and was asleep before his head hit the floor.
Deanna followed him, but slowly. He was in better shape and covered ground much more quickly. She was dehydrated to the point of incoherence, almost. When Steven stopped at the burned out storefront of the Hillsboro Wal-Mart, She watched him go inside, gun drawn. After an hour or so she watched him exit with bags of something. As he walked toward downtown she went into the store herself. Finding water, she drank until she puked, then drank more. She lay on the floor, gasping for breath, feeling sick but much better at the same time. The stench of rotten produce and meat had long since passed, and whatever scavenging animals were left had devoured the rest. She found a stale box of Cheerios and ate greedily. Then she rested.
When Deanna woke, it was twilight. She set off for the downtown, assuming that Steven had bunked down somewhere in town. Her suspicions were right. She saw the glow of fire coming from the open doors of a building near the downtown historic district and cautiously walked up to one of the busted windows, looking in. She could see the fire, and his outstretched feet, which meant that he was probably asleep.
Deanna stood at the open double doors, looking at the outstretched man sleeping. He was tossing, turning and muttering under his breath. Sometimes he would scream out loud and cover his face. At times his hands would be rubbing together like he was trying to wash something off, and crying. He was covered in sweat. She almost felt sorry for him then. “Hell, admit it, you do feel sorry for him!” her mind spoke to her. She slowly walked to his side, careful not to make a sound or touch him. In this state he may awaken and empty the clip on the gun that lay by his head. Deanna reached out and grabbed two cans of tuna and slowly backed away from him. With one last look over her shoulder she went to sleep in the park that night, leaving him alone with his demons.
The emergency siren filled the air. Sgt. Steven Davidson rose from his bunk like a bullet, grabbing boots and a shirt. He was one of the first outside, and saw others assembling outside the barracks. Over the loudspeaker the message came across for all to meet in front of the mess hall. He began to run to assembly when his mobile phone began to go off. It was a direct line with the CO, so he stopped and received his call. It was one that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“Sgt. I need you in my office now! Do not worry about the assembly; we have men taking care of that. The orders are to scramble and stand ready in case we are needed. I have something that you need to see.”
Steve hung the phone up and bolted up the steps into the main hall. Less than ten seconds later he burst through the door to see Colonel Davis, Along with other top brass surrounding a computer screen. He was motioned over and witnessed the first use of the deadliest missile payload ever known to man. He watched in horror as Britain was bombarded by blast after blast. Every major city was gone in a matter of minutes, the entire country decimated. The computer switched from satellite views to camera angle, first hand views. One by one the camera views went to static. He could not believe his eyes. He watched in horror as a news camera link across the English Channel showed a brilliant white flash. Instantly a blue-red plume of fire consumed the atmosphere to heights that the camera could not focus on. The shock wave sent a wall of water toward the camera, and then static. Satellite views showed plumes of the same color rise above the Earth as if the explosion punched holes into the atmosphere. Some satellites were knocked out of orbit by the plumes, and others torched instantly. The men in the room looked at each other for a few minutes before speaking. Steven was the first.
“Do you think any are coming our way?”
“We have not picked up on any movement, but there again, our tracking does not recognize them until they begin their descent. Seems that the missile body is made of some new alloy that is undetectable. We just pick up on the thrust signature as it reenters.”
“Where did they come from? Can we tell?”
“China, Steve. North Korea. And from Russia”
“All of them?”
“Yes. This is big. Britain is obliterated. Now I do not know who stands with us. With all of these others joining this new pact, it only leaves us Israel, Australia, Brazil, and Japan.”
“Where do you think they stand now?”
“Well, just guessing I would say that Australia and Brazil are not going to stand with us on this. They do not have the military to combat this. Japan is right there beside China and Korea, so I would expect no movement there. Israel? Who knows? They have been a loose cannon in the last few years, concentrating more on self preservation rather than foreign policy.”
“We stand alone?”
“We stand alone.”
Steven writhed in his sleep. The memories came flooding back, and he only wished that it was a nightmare, but he knew all too well in his subconscious that it was not. Even in sleep the harsh reality of it all terrified him. He dreamt, remembering sitting in the commissary, along with a hundred other terrified soldiers watching the telecast. The first of many to come.
“This is President Kushnikov of Russia. I say this to the world now, being of sound mind. My words are real, and the meaning clear. You have all seen the destruction of the United Kingdom. It should serve as an example for those who decide to side with the United States. The same fate is inevitable for those who do not heed this warning. The same fate awaits the US if they decide to try and counterattack. It is a shame that so many should die under the term ‘collateral damage’, but there is no other way to stop the genocide and foreign aggression shown by the US for many years. Be advised that we have a new weapon far superior to any other in existence. You have seen the potential of it. We will not hesitate to deploy if any hostile movement is detected. Our demands are simple. The US will surrender the total of its armed forces immediately to us. There will be no military allowed for them from this point forward. Many nations have come together for the overall peace and domination of this planet. We are called the World Force. No longer are there boundaries separating our countries. The militaries of Russia, China, Germany, Korea, Vietnam, Egypt, and many more have banded together to form this union. I am the new president of the World Force. President Yao Fun Chai of Former China is the Vice President. Any opposition will not be tolerated. The United States has two hours to comply or we will take further measures.”
Steven saw himself sink to the floor, looking at his fellow troops. This could not be possible. Someone in the front exclaimed “How can he say ‘world peace’ when he just destroyed an entire country of innocent people and is threatening the rest of the world?”
“Yeah! It is a dictatorship! And he called us aggressors? What the fuck, Marshal?”
Obviously Marshall had other plans, or was speechless, as there was no reply.
Steven woke, feeling not a bit more rested than he had when he lay down. He gathered his gear once again, rolled his bedroll up, and headed out the door. Last night's dream weighed heavily on his mind, as was the case every time he flashed back to "before". Luckily for him he did not dream of his prior life much. If he did, then long ago one of the bullets from his .45 would have put a self-inflicted, hollow-point sized hole in his head. He had the oddest feeling that he was being watched. His training spoke to him, his intuition nearly a scream in his mind. Hurriedly, he turned around and looked toward the park. Nothing but trees. He briefly wondered why this town still stood, for the most part. A lot of the buildings had quarter-sized holes in them, some were downed all together, and some only had the windows knocked out. It was then that more memories of California came flooding back. The bombs were sent to the largest of cities. New York, L.A., Chicago, Baton Rouge. It seemed that every one with over two hundred thousand occupants was flattened. All other towns and smaller cities were left to the devices of the mechanized army. This was one of those. He could see it now. Some vehicles left untouched, others a twisted, burned out shell. Some of the trees in the park uprooted, others snapped or twisted, and still yet most were left alone. "No need to attack the plant life. Trees can't fight back." Steven thought to himself. It was then he heard the scream.

Deanna had watched Steven look toward her while she was crouched down behind a fallen tree. She almost stood up then, and made herself known, but decided not to. Who knows how eager Steve would be to pull that trigger if surprised. She ran across the street behind him and into an alley between two hardware stores. As she walked around the back of one of them she stumbled upon the three bikers she had seen earlier. And they were not alone. Crouched around a burning 55-gallon drum were six more. One of them had half of his face melted off at one point, and his remaining eye gleamed with insanity and lust. One large guy in a blue jean jacket and leather chaps lunged for her and she screamed before he could place his ham-fisted hand over her mouth. "Well, well, looky here what we have, Johnny! Just when you thought there were not any pretty young things left anymore!"
Johnny was visibly excited and blubbering, "Uhh..y-y-y-yeah,y-yeah! I su-su-see! What are we g-g-gonna d-d-do now, Greg?"
"Gimme a fuckin break, Johnny! What do you think? Now sit over there and wait your turn!"
The seven other bikers swayed back and forth, knowing and waiting for their chance at what was coming next. One with green teeth started to unbutton his pants. Another with tattoos running down both sides of his neck began to roll up a joint. Yet another with long, shaggy hair began to dance back and forth and clap. Two sat near the fire. One with a large, seeping wound in the side of his abdomen, and the one with half a face. Two more glanced down the alley she had come, waiting for someone else. They decided to go back out onto the street and see if they saw anyone.
Greg was attempting to hold her down and get his pants undone at the same time. It was quite a feat, even as large as he was, she was almost succeeding in writhing free of his grasp. Steven emerged from a row of buildings across from them, and raised his gun, unseen.
Greg had managed to get his pants down, and was pulling at hers when the shot caught him dead center in the forehead, driving him backwards into the white block wall of Ace Hardware. Deanna fell to the ground and started to run down the alley. She stopped abruptly when she saw the robot lumbering down it, in her direction. It had holstered one of its weapons, and in the hand that would have held it were two fresh heads. Two heads that had belonged to the two scouts that just three minutes prior had run down that same alley. She fell directly back onto her ass, and tried getting up, but her legs were jelly. She managed to scoot/crawl backwards on her hands and feet, loudly moaning "nnnno nonoo no!" Even though one of its eyes dangled uselessly by wires, the other regarded her with what seemed like glee and hatred. Emotions and intelligence.
Steven dropped two more in a matter of seconds. Melted face guy and Mr. open sore fell face first into the fire, and their clothing blazed up. Green teeth and Tattoo boy reached for their guns and began to fire back. Steven ducked for cover and saw Deanna stumbling on her hands and feet backwards. Then he saw the machine emerge. Deanna ran for a lean-to on the rear of one of the buildings, and the machine turned its interest to the nearest and most threatening prey. The gun in its right hand went off, and the rounds emerged like antiaircraft fire. Green Teeth was cut in half, and pieces of ink colored tattoo boy skin flew across the lean-to where Deanna was hiding. Steven had stopped shooting now, as to not attract the attention of the machine. He motioned for Deanna to run to him. A distance of maybe fifty feet, but it seemed like miles. The robot turned its back to her and began to give chase to Shaggy hair and Johnny. They were running toward another alley, and the machine followed.
Deanna regained her strength and ran to Steven. They dove back down the alley behind him and onto a main street. Steven knew that to get out alive they had to find a vehicle that still ran, and find it fast. Most of the vehicles left in any real shape had given up any real battery power needed to crank and run. Steven had Deanna search one side of the street and he searched the other. Both of them took frequent glances over their shoulders for the machine. Steven found a fairly new Jeep with a lift kit and winch (which usually signified a dual battery system). Upon opening the hood he noticed that his suspicions were correct. It seemed that luck was somewhat on his side, as the keys were in the ignition. He motioned for Deanna to come over and get in the passenger seat. He turned the key and the engine spun a few weak times before actually firing. As soon as the engine caught and smoothed out, Steve floored the accelerator, heading out of town. He would drive it until it ran out of fuel, and then it was back on foot. Plus it would put as much distance as possible between them and that damned killing machine. He did not know where it had gone, but knew they would have to hurry before it sensed/heard/felt them leaving in the Jeep. It did not take but about another half mile before he found out just where the soldier had lumbered.
Near the outskirts of the town, Steve felt better and safer. He opened up the accelerator and the Jeep climbed to 50…55…60…65. It seemed that they were in clear when the machine walked out into the street up ahead in the next intersection. It was facing directly forward, and not in their direction. Steve never let off the gas. The robot's auditory sensors detected the sound of the 4.0-liter roaring in its direction and turned its head. Its upper torso began to turn as well, lightning fast. It was bringing its guns up to fire.
Steve braced for the collision. The gas was to the floor. The speedometer read 72. The machine had almost completed its turn. Time passed by in milliseconds. Deanna buckled her seat belt and covered her face. The one eye of the machine opened slightly wider a fraction of a second before it was struck.
Many things happened simultaneously. The bumper of the jeep was pushed back into the engine block. The machine's legs went flying in two directions. One of its arms slammed down on the crinkling hood, pushing it down a full two feet. The rear of the Jeep rose into the air. Sparks flew. Steven and Deanna flew forward into the (thankfully) airbag restraints. Deanna was cut from her collarbone to her waist by the seatbelt. Steven's head slammed into the side glass, shattering it. A sawed off 12 gauge flew from the cargo area and slammed into the backs of both seats. Two seconds later it was done.
The upper torso of the machine was jammed underneath the front of the Jeep. It could not lift it off, and with only one arm, it was useless. An unearthly metallic howl filled the air. Steven and Deanna both found their way out of the Jeep and onto the sidewalk. Both had survived. The machine, for now had survived. It looked at them with its one yellow eye the way someone would look at a dog that had just shit on their new carpet. The rear of the Jeep stood into the air at about a thirty-degree angle, exposing the gas tank underneath. Steve and Deanna began to walk toward the east end of town. Toward more of New Mexico, then Texas. Then eventually Georgia. Steven looked at Deanna and took her hand in his. In her other hand was the shotgun. Both were bloody, but alive. Steven smiled a genuine smile for the first time in a very long time and that smile did not waver when he turned and fired one shot into the gas tank of the Jeep. This was the first one he had seen since the war. The first of God knew how many. There would be others. But there would not be a handy Jeep with each one they faced. Odds were they would not make it to Georgia, but he damn well intended on trying. Trying with Deanna. Together they walked. And talked. They faced the East with the sun high above, and moving on its downward trek eventually behind them. They would have to find a suitable place to make camp in a few hours. The conversation came much easier than he had expected.

[Dave!]

Chapter 5

Steve was fit. Since he left the hospital five years prior, the military had taken him back into training, bulked his atrophied muscles back into their former glory, and conditioned his mind further. In the three years since the Great War, his need for survival and the fighting that followed conditioned him further into a veritable killing machine. Since clearing his head back at the Caddy, he felt years, no, decades younger. He walked without rest for the remainder of the day, finally coming into a town near the edge of the New Mexico line called Hillsboro. The desert still loomed behind him, but scrub brush now surrounded him, and hills rose slightly in the east. In the town he had found rounds for his pistol, some canned food, new boots, and water. Sweet, clear water. He set up camp that night in the town hall, building a fire in the main hall. The floors were granite, so there was no danger of him burning himself to death as he slept. He had found furniture to break apart and burn. And also a large hunting knife. He opened a can of Bush’s baked beans (it’s a Family secret recipe!) and roasted it over the fire. The smell was maddening. How long had it been since he had eaten? Who knows? He could not remember the last time he even had stopped to shit. The walking so far had leaned him up, and the muscles in his legs had long ago stopped aching, and veins stood out on his thighs as he hunkered down near the fire. The scar twisted down his right leg and he regarded it with bemusement. He unrolled his bedroll and was asleep before his head hit the floor.
Deanna followed him, but slowly. He was in better shape and covered ground much more quickly. She was dehydrated to the point of incoherence, almost. When Steven stopped at the burned out storefront of the Hillsboro Wal-Mart, She watched him go inside, gun drawn. After an hour or so she watched him exit with bags of something. As he walked toward downtown she went into the store herself. Finding water, she drank until she puked, then drank more. She lay on the floor, gasping for breath, feeling sick but much better at the same time. The stench of rotten produce and meat had long since passed, and whatever scavenging animals were left had devoured the rest. She found a stale box of Cheerios and ate greedily. Then she rested.
When Deanna woke, it was twilight. She set off for the downtown, assuming that Steven had bunked down somewhere in town. Her suspicions were right. She saw the glow of fire coming from the open doors of a building near the downtown historic district and cautiously walked up to one of the busted windows, looking in. She could see the fire, and his outstretched feet, which meant that he was probably asleep.
Deanna stood at the open double doors, looking at the outstretched man sleeping. He was tossing, turning and muttering under his breath. Sometimes he would scream out loud and cover his face. At times his hands would be rubbing together like he was trying to wash something off, and crying. He was covered in sweat. She almost felt sorry for him then. “Hell, admit it, you do feel sorry for him!” her mind spoke to her. She slowly walked to his side, careful not to make a sound or touch him. In this state he may awaken and empty the clip on the gun that lay by his head. Deanna reached out and grabbed two cans of tuna and slowly backed away from him. With one last look over her shoulder she went to sleep in the park that night, leaving him alone with his demons.
The emergency siren filled the air. Sgt. Steven Davidson rose from his bunk like a bullet, grabbing boots and a shirt. He was one of the first outside, and saw others assembling outside the barracks. Over the loudspeaker the message came across for all to meet in front of the mess hall. He began to run to assembly when his mobile phone began to go off. It was a direct line with the CO, so he stopped and received his call. It was one that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“Sgt. I need you in my office now! Do not worry about the assembly; we have men taking care of that. The orders are to scramble and stand ready in case we are needed. I have something that you need to see.”
Steve hung the phone up and bolted up the steps into the main hall. Less than ten seconds later he burst through the door to see Colonel Davis, Along with other top brass surrounding a computer screen. He was motioned over and witnessed the first use of the deadliest missile payload ever known to man. He watched in horror as Britain was bombarded by blast after blast. Every major city was gone in a matter of minutes, the entire country decimated. The computer switched from satellite views to camera angle, first hand views. One by one the camera views went to static. He could not believe his eyes. He watched in horror as a news camera link across the English Channel showed a brilliant white flash. Instantly a blue-red plume of fire consumed the atmosphere to heights that the camera could not focus on. The shock wave sent a wall of water toward the camera, and then static. Satellite views showed plumes of the same color rise above the Earth as if the explosion punched holes into the atmosphere. Some satellites were knocked out of orbit by the plumes, and others torched instantly. The men in the room looked at each other for a few minutes before speaking. Steven was the first.
“Do you think any are coming our way?”
“We have not picked up on any movement, but there again, our tracking does not recognize them until they begin their descent. Seems that the missile body is made of some new alloy that is undetectable. We just pick up on the thrust signature as it reenters.”
“Where did they come from? Can we tell?”
“China, Steve. North Korea. And from Russia”
“All of them?”
“Yes. This is big. Britain is obliterated. Now I do not know who stands with us. With all of these others joining this new pact, it only leaves us Israel, Australia, Brazil, and Japan.”
“Where do you think they stand now?”
“Well, just guessing I would say that Australia and Brazil are not going to stand with us on this. They do not have the military to combat this. Japan is right there beside China and Korea, so I would expect no movement there. Israel? Who knows? They have been a loose cannon in the last few years, concentrating more on self preservation rather than foreign policy.”
“We stand alone?”
“We stand alone.”
Steven writhed in his sleep. The memories came flooding back, and he only wished that it was a nightmare, but he knew all too well in his subconscious that it was not. Even in sleep the harsh reality of it all terrified him. He dreamt, remembering sitting in the commissary, along with a hundred other terrified soldiers watching the telecast. The first of many to come.
“This is President Kushnikov of Russia. I say this to the world now, being of sound mind. My words are real, and the meaning clear. You have all seen the destruction of the United Kingdom. It should serve as an example for those who decide to side with the United States. The same fate is inevitable for those who do not heed this warning. The same fate awaits the US if they decide to try and counterattack. It is a shame that so many should die under the term ‘collateral damage’, but there is no other way to stop the genocide and foreign aggression shown by the US for many years. Be advised that we have a new weapon far superior to any other in existence. You have seen the potential of it. We will not hesitate to deploy if any hostile movement is detected. Our demands are simple. The US will surrender the total of its armed forces immediately to us. There will be no military allowed for them from this point forward. Many nations have come together for the overall peace and domination of this planet. We are called the World Force. No longer are there boundaries separating our countries. The militaries of Russia, China, Germany, Korea, Vietnam, Egypt, and many more have banded together to form this union. I am the new president of the World Force. President Yao Fun Chai of Former China is the Vice President. Any opposition will not be tolerated. The United States has two hours to comply or we will take further measures.”
Steven saw himself sink to the floor, looking at his fellow troops. This could not be possible. Someone in the front exclaimed “How can he say ‘world peace’ when he just destroyed an entire country of innocent people and is threatening the rest of the world?”
“Yeah! It is a dictatorship! And he called us aggressors? What the fuck, Marshal?”
Obviously Marshall had other plans, or was speechless, as there was no reply.
Steven woke, feeling not a bit more rested than he had when he lay down. He gathered his gear once again, rolled his bedroll up, and headed out the door. Last night's dream weighed heavily on his mind, as was the case every time he flashed back to "before". Luckily for him he did not dream of his prior life much. If he did, then long ago one of the bullets from his .45 would have put a self-inflicted, hollow-point sized hole in his head. He had the oddest feeling that he was being watched. His training spoke to him, his intuition nearly a scream in his mind. Hurriedly, he turned around and looked toward the park. Nothing but trees. He briefly wondered why this town still stood, for the most part. A lot of the buildings had quarter-sized holes in them, some were downed all together, and some only had the windows knocked out. It was then that more memories of California came flooding back. The bombs were sent to the largest of cities. New York, L.A., Chicago, Baton Rouge. It seemed that every one with over two hundred thousand occupants was flattened. All other towns and smaller cities were left to the devices of the mechanized army. This was one of those. He could see it now. Some vehicles left untouched, others a twisted, burned out shell. Some of the trees in the park uprooted, others snapped or twisted, and still yet most were left alone. "No need to attack the plant life. Trees can't fight back." Steven thought to himself. It was then he heard the scream.

Deanna had watched Steven look toward her while she was crouched down behind a fallen tree. She almost stood up then, and made herself known, but decided not to. Who knows how eager Steve would be to pull that trigger if surprised. She ran across the street behind him and into an alley between two hardware stores. As she walked around the back of one of them she stumbled upon the three bikers she had seen earlier. And they were not alone. Crouched around a burning 55-gallon drum were six more. One of them had half of his face melted off at one point, and his remaining eye gleamed with insanity and lust. One large guy in a blue jean jacket and leather chaps lunged for her and she screamed before he could place his ham-fisted hand over her mouth. "Well, well, looky here what we have, Johnny! Just when you thought there were not any pretty young things left anymore!"
Johnny was visibly excited and blubbering, "Uhh..y-y-y-yeah,y-yeah! I su-su-see! What are we g-g-gonna d-d-do now, Greg?"
"Gimme a fuckin break, Johnny! What do you think? Now sit over there and wait your turn!"
The seven other bikers swayed back and forth, knowing and waiting for their chance at what was coming next. One with green teeth started to unbutton his pants. Another with tattoos running down both sides of his neck began to roll up a joint. Yet another with long, shaggy hair began to dance back and forth and clap. Two sat near the fire. One with a large, seeping wound in the side of his abdomen, and the one with half a face. Two more glanced down the alley she had come, waiting for someone else. They decided to go back out onto the street and see if they saw anyone.
Greg was attempting to hold her down and get his pants undone at the same time. It was quite a feat, even as large as he was, she was almost succeeding in writhing free of his grasp. Steven emerged from a row of buildings across from them, and raised his gun, unseen.
Greg had managed to get his pants down, and was pulling at hers when the shot caught him dead center in the forehead, driving him backwards into the white block wall of Ace Hardware. Deanna fell to the ground and started to run down the alley. She stopped abruptly when she saw the robot lumbering down it, in her direction. It had holstered one of its weapons, and in the hand that would have held it were two fresh heads. Two heads that had belonged to the two scouts that just three minutes prior had run down that same alley. She fell directly back onto her ass, and tried getting up, but her legs were jelly. She managed to scoot/crawl backwards on her hands and feet, loudly moaning "nnnno nonoo no!" Even though one of its eyes dangled uselessly by wires, the other regarded her with what seemed like glee and hatred. Emotions and intelligence.
Steven dropped two more in a matter of seconds. Melted face guy and Mr. open sore fell face first into the fire, and their clothing blazed up. Green teeth and Tattoo boy reached for their guns and began to fire back. Steven ducked for cover and saw Deanna stumbling on her hands and feet backwards. Then he saw the machine emerge. Deanna ran for a lean-to on the rear of one of the buildings, and the machine turned its interest to the nearest and most threatening prey. The gun in its right hand went off, and the rounds emerged like antiaircraft fire. Green Teeth was cut in half, and pieces of ink colored tattoo boy skin flew across the lean-to where Deanna was hiding. Steven had stopped shooting now, as to not attract the attention of the machine. He motioned for Deanna to run to him. A distance of maybe fifty feet, but it seemed like miles. The robot turned its back to her and began to give chase to Shaggy hair and Johnny. They were running toward another alley, and the machine followed.
Deanna regained her strength and ran to Steven. They dove back down the alley behind him and onto a main street. Steven knew that to get out alive they had to find a vehicle that still ran, and find it fast. Most of the vehicles left in any real shape had given up any real battery power needed to crank and run. Steven had Deanna search one side of the street and he searched the other. Both of them took frequent glances over their shoulders for the machine. Steven found a fairly new Jeep with a lift kit and winch (which usually signified a dual battery system). Upon opening the hood he noticed that his suspicions were correct. It seemed that luck was somewhat on his side, as the keys were in the ignition. He motioned for Deanna to come over and get in the passenger seat. He turned the key and the engine spun a few weak times before actually firing. As soon as the engine caught and smoothed out, Steve floored the accelerator, heading out of town. He would drive it until it ran out of fuel, and then it was back on foot. Plus it would put as much distance as possible between them and that damned killing machine. He did not know where it had gone, but knew they would have to hurry before it sensed/heard/felt them leaving in the Jeep. It did not take but about another half mile before he found out just where the soldier had lumbered.
Near the outskirts of the town, Steve felt better and safer. He opened up the accelerator and the Jeep climbed to 50…55…60…65. It seemed that they were in clear when the machine walked out into the street up ahead in the next intersection. It was facing directly forward, and not in their direction. Steve never let off the gas. The robot's auditory sensors detected the sound of the 4.0-liter roaring in its direction and turned its head. Its upper torso began to turn as well, lightning fast. It was bringing its guns up to fire.
Steve braced for the collision. The gas was to the floor. The speedometer read 72. The machine had almost completed its turn. Time passed by in milliseconds. Deanna buckled her seat belt and covered her face. The one eye of the machine opened slightly wider a fraction of a second before it was struck.
Many things happened simultaneously. The bumper of the jeep was pushed back into the engine block. The machine's legs went flying in two directions. One of its arms slammed down on the crinkling hood, pushing it down a full two feet. The rear of the Jeep rose into the air. Sparks flew. Steven and Deanna flew forward into the (thankfully) airbag restraints. Deanna was cut from her collarbone to her waist by the seatbelt. Steven's head slammed into the side glass, shattering it. A sawed off 12 gauge flew from the cargo area and slammed into the backs of both seats. Two seconds later it was done.
The upper torso of the machine was jammed underneath the front of the Jeep. It could not lift it off, and with only one arm, it was useless. An unearthly metallic howl filled the air. Steven and Deanna both found their way out of the Jeep and onto the sidewalk. Both had survived. The machine, for now had survived. It looked at them with its one yellow eye the way someone would look at a dog that had just shit on their new carpet. The rear of the Jeep stood into the air at about a thirty-degree angle, exposing the gas tank underneath. Steve and Deanna began to walk toward the east end of town. Toward more of New Mexico, then Texas. Then eventually Georgia. Steven looked at Deanna and took her hand in his. In her other hand was the shotgun. Both were bloody, but alive. Steven smiled a genuine smile for the first time in a very long time and that smile did not waver when he turned and fired one shot into the gas tank of the Jeep. This was the first one he had seen since the war. The first of God knew how many. There would be others. But there would not be a handy Jeep with each one they faced. Odds were they would not make it to Georgia, but he damn well intended on trying. Trying with Deanna. Together they walked. And talked. They faced the East with the sun high above, and moving on its downward trek eventually behind them. They would have to find a suitable place to make camp in a few hours. The conversation came much easier than he had expected.

[Dave!]

The rest of the journey across New Mexico was for the most part, uneventful. During their trip out of Hillsboro, they talked. And talked. It was all there was time to do other than walk.
"What made you come after me?"
"I just couldn't stand the thought of being alone again. Plus there was nothing for me back there. Like you said, a busted-ass Caddy and a tarp. The thought of Georgia was interesting, I must say. Hell, I grew up in Topeka. Never seen the ocean, or any mountains much."
"What were you doing in BFE back there alone, then?"
"Ha-ha! I was studying medicine at the University of Phoenix. I bought a nice house on a hill, had the fenced in yard, the dog, you know? I was a nurse and trying to get my Master's in Psychology. I thought it was good business to sit and listen to people bitch and cry and tell me their problems, you know?"
"Was that all it was? The good business of it?"
"Well, it was more, I admit. Maybe later I will tell ya. After all, we just met, Steven Davidson!"
"Well we have been through a lot so far, so it feels longer."
"Sure does. It is nice to talk to someone again! Tell me about you?"
"Well, what do you want to know?"
"What were you doing in the desert? Running away from something?"
"You could say that. When we make camp tonight maybe I will tell you a little."
"OK. Steven?"
"It’s Steve. What?"
"Steve, were you ever married?"
"No, but almost. Before I enlisted I was going to college at UNC. Down near the coast. Met a lot of cool people down there, and we would go to the beach constantly. But anyhow, on one trip up to Morehead City I met a girl at a club. It's one of those where they play the old music live and you look at the boats come in and drink too much. Anyhow, I remember they were playing a song called "Mandolin Rain" By Bruce somebody. It was awesome. The atmosphere was right, the company was right, and there was no stress in the world. I saw her sitting on the dock, leaned against the wooden rail there where the yachts were docked up. She was wearing a light yellow short dress, and her blonde hair was blowing in the sea breeze. It was like something off of a commercial. For a minute no one else existed but her and me. Our eyes met and I walked up and introduced myself. We sat and talked until three that morning, and she came back to the room. We spent four more days attached at the hip, and then went separate ways. She lived near the Virginia line and I lived down on campus. Being apart killed me, so I quit school, moved to her town and got a job at a local garage. Things went great for about a year. I had given up my aspirations of becoming a civil engineer, given up college, and given up the most beautiful place one could imagine. But to me it did not matter. It was all for her. And us. It was a storybook romance for that year. Then one day I came home from the garage early, hurt. I had pulled a muscle taking an engine out of somebody's minivan, so I called it a day. She was not home, so I cooked some lunch and ate. She got off of work at a local restaurant at two o clock every day. I got off at six, so there was a time gap in there before I usually got there. At four she still had not shown up, and her cell phone was cut off, so I decided to drive down to her work and see if she had to work late. You know, a pleasant surprise. I pulled in in my Ford and saw her car parked around back, near the dumpster. So I pulled up behind it, and got out. She was in the back with one of the local real estate salesmen. I lost my cool and broke both of his arms, and threw him in the dumpster. I lost my mind then. I had no life, and had given all I had for her. So I drank and hung out at the poolrooms until my money ran out. Having nothing left, I walked into the recruitment office and enlisted in the Army. 3 hots and a cot. Sign me up. I ended up loving the lifestyle and the structure, and felt like I was needed for the first time in a long time. I became a Special Forces op, and the rest is history."
"Wow. I am so sorry, Steve. That was a raw deal. How did you end up in that desert?"
"I may tell ya tonight. I dunno. That is way more sharing than I usually do in one day..."
"Hell, that is more conversation in one day than I have had in....I dunno. How long do you think it has been since the war?"
"Hell, I do not know anymore. Two years, three. Five. No more than seven, I would say."
As if marking the end of the conversation, a coyote howled in the distance. They had entered some scrub filled hills now, and wildlife would come soon. Steve could not wait to have his first fresh meat roasted over the fire. He looked around and noticed that the rays of the sun were getting long now.
"Time to make camp. Here, take these and I will gather some stuff to make us a fire. I still have some cans of baked beans in my pack." He handed her a box of matches that he found in the Wal-Mart and turned to gather some dry brush and small sticks.

That night brought more conversation. Steven told her of his tour in Iraq, and of his stay in the hospital. She spoke of times back in nursing school. She had wasted two years with a coke addict that beat her when he was on bad trip. She had been pregnant once, but lost the child. Never married, but also came close. They ended up kissing that night, but before things progressed Steve stopped it and held her under the moonlight for the rest of the night. When they woke up the next morning, clouds were building in the west. It had been weeks since it had rained. The next three days were more of the same. Walking until late evening, making camp, and talking. Steven's feet hurt like hell. Grabbing new boots seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he was paying the price. Blisters had formed on the tops of his feet and on his heels. Plus his head still hurt from the accident. Deanna's cut had healed nicely so far, which was good. Emergency rooms and penicillin were not exactly handy these days.

It rained on the fourth day, finally. They walked for a few hours, but felt drained and decided to stop for the day at an abandoned gas station about thirty five miles west of El Paso. Steve walked inside and came back, smiling. He had found a few cases of undamaged Pepsi, and a case of Bud Light. It may be hot, but it would be nice to have with dinner that night. Steve had shot four rabbits earlier, and they were on a home made spit over the fire. They sat back, drinking hot beer and fat from dinner when Steven heard movement behind the storage area to the side of the Texaco.

Joe Walker sat in the corner of the storage shed at the Texaco on Rt. 20. The smell of the cooking food had made his stomach hurt, and filled him with so much forgotten hunger that he nearly made himself known then. He had knocked some old hubcaps off of the wall where they stood as decoration, and now knew the big man was coming to find out what was going on. Joe couldn't see his hand in front of his face back here anyway, so running was not an option. He just cowered and waited.
Steven walked into the storage area, gun drawn. He stepped just inside the door and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. After a few moments he could make out the rounded shape of a mid-40's Ford coupe and boxes of parts surrounding it. He could smell body odor. He could make out the shape of a mattress on the floor and various toy cars scattered around it. Eventually his eyes picked up on a shaking, small-framed figure sitting in the corner, its head down between its knees and face hidden. He reholstered his gun and walked slowly over to the edge of the mattress.
"Hello? My name is Steve. Kid, I ain't gonna hurt ya. I am here with a woman. We are not mean, and we are not going to hurt ya. It's ok, you can come out."
Joe just sat and shook, raising half of his head to see the silhouette of the figure standing before him.
Steve thought for a minute and hunkered down on his knees. "Listen, We really are nice people. You should come out and have some of our food. You have got to be hungry. You are hungry, aren't you?"
"Uh-Huh" Joe raised his head and looked at where Steve's face would be.
Steve offered his hand and Joe took it. Slowly they walked back into the main part of the store. When they entered, Deanna audibly gasped.
Joe, a boy of about ten, wore rags that barely covered his gaunt frame. His hair was long, dirty and hung down past his chin in the front. When he pulled it back, his face was crisscrossed with scars, and his eyes were huge and were so dark brown Deanna could have sworn that they were black. He eyed one of the rabbits left and grunted a little. Deanna brought it, slowly to him and he greedily ate. Tears stung her eyes as she watched this young boy, innocence lost; eat, as he had never done before. Her eyes met Steve's and she saw that she was not the only one about to start the waterworks.

After he had eaten, Joe lay on Steve's bedroll, fast asleep. His thumb found its way to his mouth and probed there for a moment. He had to have been six or seven when the war came to west Texas. Steve found a flashlight and decided to investigate the boy's living quarters a second time. When he returned, there was no way to hide the tears that spilled out this time. He walked outside, staring at the Milky Way and rubbed the back of his neck. Deanna joined him and snaked her arm around his waist.
"What did you see back there, Steve?"
"That poor boy has been living off of stale candy bars and whatever else he can find from these store shelves. He sleeps on a moldy mattress, and has to walk outside to do his business. There is a hole back there where they used to dump used oil. That is where he has to go. He has about a dozen toy cars, and at one point had some crayons. There are pictures of what I assume was his family drawn all the way around his bed."
"What do you think happened to his face?"
Steve knew exactly what happened to the boy's face. He had seen it first hand. "Shrapnel. Something exploded fairly close to him a long time ago. Those scars are from superheated metal flying into his poor face."
"Oh my God! Do you think he can see much?"
"No, not a lot. He seems almost blind. Poor child had glasses at one point. I saw the broken frames back there on the floor as well."
"What are we going to do?"
"We are going to take him with us, if he allows it. He is about to run out of food. Had we not come along he would have been dead in two weeks."
"What do you mean IF he allows it!? We have no choice! We cannot leave that poor boy behind. If we do, then it may just as well been us who killed him."
"I know. He's coming. Maybe he will talk to us when he wakes up and sees that we can be trusted, after all."
Sleep was a long time coming that night. Deanna and Steve slept together on the floor, holding each other for heat. They kissed again, and both lie there looking at the sleeping child like two helpless parents. The morning's light brought a few more surprises but little else.
When the day's first rays of sun were low and long, Steve walked around the store, and found a makeshift burial mound. The sign driven into the ground simply said "Daddy" and had a crude drawing of a stick man and a smaller stick figure. A pocket watch hung from the corner of the sign. Just as he thought he had no more tears left, the water flowed once more. The tears fell to the ground and were soaked up by the dirt on top of the burial mound. He stooped low and whispered to it.
"We are going to take care of him. I promise I will take help your son, and will die trying. He will never be alone again."
A few feet farther Steve found a busted gate and fresh tracks. Horse tracks. Seemed that horses came back here to rest from time to time, as the feed and hay was long gone. Interesting, indeed.
He walked back around and gave Deanna a hug and kiss. And did not mention the mound. They packed up and Joe came willingly enough, but never spoke a word that day.

[Dave!]

Everything is bigger in Texas. The big detour they had to take around the crater that used to be El Paso took most of the second day. Ft. Bliss was also a crater. The silence was bigger, still. Joe had not spoken again after the first night. It had been three long days since. He did not leave Steve's side for longer than it took to piss during that time. Therefore Steve and Deanna had spoken little important words. Most of it was chit-chat in an attempt to get Joe to speak. Finally, on the third night Joe sat down beside Deanna and spoke.
"You are nice. You look like my mommy, just not as pretty. I see her at night, you know."
"You do? Does she talk to you?"
"Yes. She tells me now that I need to go with you and Steve. And that you are ok. And you will take care of me. My tummy feels better now."
"Good! Your mommy sounds smart! You never told us your name, honey."
"Joe. And you are Dee-Anna"
"How did you know?!"
"Mommy told me."
The next few days brought them to another town. Joe and Deanna stayed behind while Steven checked the town out ahead of them. He came back with three items, one wrapped in a cloth. He handed the shotgun shells to Deanna, and stooped down and faced Joe.
"Joe, I found these for you. Try them on and see if they fit." He said as he handed a pair of pants and a shirt to Joe. He paused and turned around while Joe dressed himself. When he was done, Steve and Deanna turned back around.
"What's that?" Joe asked, pointing at the cloth in Steve's hands.
"Try these on, too."
Steve unwrapped the cloth and brought out a pair of reading glasses he had found in a CVS down the street.
Joe put the glasses on and his mouth became a big "O" of surprise.
"I can see again! A little!"
"They are not as good as the ones you had, but they will have to do, Joe. I'm glad for ya, buddy!"
At that Joe hugged Steve for the first time, and they saw the first hint of a smile on his face. Turns out the boy had some dimples that may weaken the heart of a girl someday.
The town had much to offer, surprisingly. Steve packed an extra pair of pants for each of them, extra shirts, and found some more canned food. The Pepsis they had found in the Texaco were almost gone, and Steve was actually glad. Water was much better, and did not weigh him down as much. He also had a pair of scissors. Each of them took turns getting the first haircut they had in a long time. Joe looked years older, his hair now slightly touching his ears again. They made camp there that night, and Joe told them of a duo of machines he had seen leaving El Paso and heading west. They, like the other one in Hillsboro, looked run down, but still deadly enough. Maybe they were wearing themselves out without humans to perform maintenance on them, after all. Steve still had reservations. How long before they taught themselves how to repair one another? And how many were still out there?
That night, after Joe had gone to sleep Deanna and Steve talked. Steve told her part of what had brought him to California, and gave her a first-person account of the war from a soldier's point of view.

After watching the fall of Britain, the US never considered surrender. The two hours stated came and went. New York was the first hit. Then L.A. The bombs came, just as promised and obliterated entire cities in seconds. The US counterattacked, and the old style nuclear warheads flew. Moscow, Istanbul, Beijing, Berlin, Cairo. These cities fell, irradiated. Planes flew and were shot down. Machines were dropped onto American soil and the bloodbath began. A million and a half were dropped. The plan backfired. In the other countries the machines took control of themselves, devastating the very ones who created them. Japan was blown off of the map buy a flurry of the new bombs, sent courtesy of Korea. The island was left without a molecule of life. Steve was put on a C-130 along with other soldiers to fly to California. It was the first place the machines hit American soil, and what remained of the US State dept. made one last attempt at destroying them before they could spread. It was on this plane that Steve saw one of the bombs first hand. He was miles south of Denver, and saw the brilliant flash, followed seconds later by the red-purple plume of oxygen-consuming fire. It seems that air would burn, after all. He then saw Colorado Springs fall. Once on the ground it was bloody, hand to hand combat. Grenades would destroy the machines, but only if timed just right, and aimed just right. The C-130, along with dozens more, landed in the desert. A-10s and F-18s dropped ordinances on the squads of robots, destroying many. It seemed that for each one brought down that there were two more waiting to take its place. The rounds fired from the machines brought down most planes that flew into the area. The accuracy, range and speed of these machines were unmatchable. Steve fought and fought. He saw civilians die, fellow soldiers as well. He fought as long as he could, but it was a losing battle. The machines swept east. The ones in the east swept west. The ones in the center spread out in all directions. In the span of two years of bloody fighting, it was done. Bombs, both nuclear and the new type flew until the governments of all of the nations collapsed. Then it was mankind against machine. In the span of two years the machines won. The armies were left destroyed. Loose bands of organized resistance tried and failed. The fight was over. Now it was about survival and self-preservation; each man for himself and his family, or what was left. And so it was for the three years since the war. Mankind retreated back to the rural areas, hiding under houses and in holes. The machines continued their devastation, traveling south, north, east and west. There was not a country untouched. Natives living in peace in the Congo were slaughtered. Aborigines were decimated. Eskimos were killed off. Any human life left on the planet was hunted down. The machines had spread out to all points of the globe to the point where they were lone operatives, and rarely seen, except in urban areas. People were safe in the country once again, and that is where the one million people left alive were found. Living as if it were centuries earlier with no electricity or convenience. And that is what brought Steve to that desert. He was heading back to his home after hiding in forests and the mountains of California. Hopefully mankind would find one another and outlive the machines. Hopefully one day it would all come full circle.

When he was done talking, Steve sat for a long time, staring at the stars. Deanna reached out for him and grabbed him, tight around the waist. They made love that night, for the first time. And slept under the stars with the fire burning low nearby and Joe dreaming his dreams, new glasses folded neatly beside his head. Tomorrow they would push farther into Texas.
The morning sun spread its first rays through heavy fog. Steve lie with Deanna tight against his chest. He awoke to the sound of cattle bleating, and lie there for a minute thinking it all seemed too surreal to be true. Deanna breathed shallowly against his chest, and he felt the rhythm and savored every minute of it. It had been so long since he had these feelings, and this time it seemed more tangible than anything he thought possible. He had fallen, and fast. Steven began to drift off, the breathing against him lulling him back into slumber when he heard the cattle again, and laughter. Joe's laughter.
Steven raised himself onto one elbow and looked out at the sparse grass. Joe was standing in the midst of about a dozen cattle, stroking the neck of a fairly newborn calf. The calf was mostly white with a streak of brown running the length of its underside. None of the cattle seemed alarmed by his presence, and not one minded the fact that this human was playing with a newborn. He watched as Joe leaned down close to the calf, intently looking into its eyes. Then he would straighten up, laughing. Another one, presumably the mother, would gently nudge him with her nose, bleating softly. Steven stood and felt a sharp pain in his right knee and hip. The magic of the moment slipped away for a second as he grimly thought that thirty was way too young to have arthritis. He dismissed the thought, as the implications were too morbid to ponder.
He called out to Joe, and he came quickly enough.
"Joe! What in the world are you doing over there?"
"Hey Steve! I was just talking to the cows! They are nice!"
"Really? Did they talk back?" Steven said, a smile as big as the Texas countryside bursting forth.
"Yeah, but they had some good and bad things to say."
Steven's smile faded a bit. "Did they now? What kinds of things?" He wondered if the boy would be all right after all.
"They said we need to go north for a little while. There are horses there. Lots of them."
"Horses? Why would we go north to the horses? We are goin east, Joe."
"Well, they also said that there are machines in the next town. Five of them. They don't bother the animals, but people..."
Steven stood, staring at the boy. What should he do? Keep pushing east? Go north? He thought for a minute of going east. It was the fastest way home. It was the path he had been on for months. He then thought that he might just go north to cater to Joe's wishes, just to pacify him. Then another thought crossed his mind, a makeshift sign over a shallow mound. And a promise made to a dead father. The risk of going east was too great, and a price he was not willing to pay. A detour north would only delay them a little while, and after all this time would another week make any difference? Probably not. His life, Deanna's life, and Joe's were not worth the gamble. He could not believe that he was letting a herd of cattle get to his subconscious, and actually worrying about whether or not they were "telling the truth".
"All right, let’s get this stuff packed up and head north. I wouldn't want those cows out there getting angry thinking we don't believe 'em!" Steve said, filling his voice with fake laughter. He could not let the boy know that inside he was terrified. Deanna woke, regarded the duo with a smile much too bright for such early hours, and rose to her feet. After a brief, but meaningful, kiss she tied her hair (much shorter now) back with a piece of cloth. They were on their way.

During these days and times there were those who did not strive for happiness, peace, closure, or the reunification of mankind. They were castoffs from the war, left to fend for themselves by the soldiers of the country that they called home. There were bigger fish to fry, allegedly. Trey McCormick was just such a man. He was not inherently evil, but jaded by his environment. He had a wife and children once, in Colorado. He had the nine-to-five job, the SUV, the mortgage (which was always paid on time, thank you very much!), and the monotony that the American lifestyle instilled into all. But watching your children run down the street only to get mowed down by flying discs tended to change one's viewpoint. From a distance he watched the soldier rustle the hair of the boy, kiss the woman, laugh at his own little, pathetic jokes. He watched, and hated them for it. They had what he could not. This grunt had what had been taken away from him. And he meant to make it right. It was the government's fault that his life had been destroyed. This man was a part of that government. Hell, he was the government. And by God, Trey McCormick had paid his goddammed taxes and walked the line. For what? To live out in the wilderness, shit in holes, bathe in creeks? No. And it was time for good ole' Uncle Sam to pay up.
Trey put the binoculars back into their case and began to walk. He would have to keep his distance until the time was right. No need to spook the soldier boy. Chances are he had a gun. And he knew the woman did. She slept with it tight against her at night. He would have to find a way to get to the boy. After all, he was an animal now, living among the animals. And that is what animals did. They go for the weakest of the herd first. He had no intention of harming the boy unless forced to. It was the man he was after. Trey donned his worn out Ray-Bans, took out his compass and read the needle. They had been traveling roughly east for the two days that he had followed them, but now turned more northward. Of course he would follow suit. What else was there to do? Not a damn thing, that's what. He regarded a skull of a coyote with interest and reached down. Upon plucking the jawbone away he was filled with a sudden desire to make a necklace out of the teeth. Laughter inside his head. And buzzing. That damned incessant buzzing. It was there, even in his sleep. So he walked onward, just out of sight, pulling teeth and singing his song. Because people are strange indeed.
"People are strange, when you're a stranger. Faces look ugly when you're alone. da-da-da-dum. Faces come out of the rain. When you're strange. When you're strange. When yooou'rrree straaaange."

[Dave!]

hmm. double posted, so I will go ahead and post the next part as well...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 8

The journey across the Texas panhandle was long. On the second day of their detour north they came across the horses, just as the cattle "said" they would. There were probably a hundred or more, living naturally out in the wild. Steven felt a peaceful feeling come over him, as if he was back in the frontier days, back before things were so complicated. But he also had other feelings as well. He wondered if it was just blind luck that they had come across the horses. Anything else was too far fetched to believe. The fact that he may be traveling with a boy that can communicate with animals frightened him and gave the entire journey a mystical feeling. Had he known about the dreams that Joe had told Deanna about, Steve might have put more credit into the ability of the boy. As if it was an omen, two horses veered away from the group and walked toward them. Joe let go of Steven's hand and ran toward them. They nuzzled him with their noses, and he stared back at them, intently.
"Steve, Dee-anna and you come on! They are gonna let us ride them! And they said that there is a farm over that hill over there. We can find some stuff there."
Steven and Deanna exchanged glances and began to walk toward the horses. Once there the larger of the two offered its neck to Steven for an affectionate rubbing. Steven obliged the horse and it whinnied and nipped playfully at his shirt sleeve. Joe was laughing. "Come on, you two! Let’s go look at that barn!"
Steven had made his mind up that if there happened to be a farm over the next rise he was going to lose all of his faith in logic. And be very glad that they had met Joe. The trio of people and the two horses walked as a group up to the top of the next hill. As if it was just placed there, a red barn stood vividly against the green grass. The merits of the farmhouse however had ended a few years back. A blackened square stood out, marked by a half-standing chimney. Fresh vegetation had begun to grow in the former home's footprint. They began their descent toward the barn, Joe smiling from ear to ear and Steven and Deanna exchanging confused glances.
Trey looked on through his binoculars. He watched the group meet up with the two horses and climb the hill. After a brief pause, they disappeared over the rise. He wondered what they had seen, and would soon go that way himself. The time was not right to let himself be known, and he stayed in his position a while longer before moving. He wished that he had a gun. A rifle. Yeah, an SKS! He could have picked off Soldier boy a million times over. No need to endanger himself or risk killing the boy. A thousand yards out and Surprise! Too bad, so sad! He had no desire for the woman, either. Lust was a feeling lost with his wife. He knew he had sinned plenty, but adultery was something he would not do. He had loved his wife, and would not consider another woman. And then there was the boy. He felt that there was no need for more children to die, unless needed. The big picture had to be maintained. And that picture consisted of the death of the one responsible for his loss. He had made his mind up that once the man was dead, he would return to Colorado, back to his burned up home and rebuild. His wife and two children lie there, in graves he himself had dug. He meant to join them one day, but not anytime soon. He had business here first. Trey placed his binoculars back into their pouch once more and walked toward the hill.
The barn was dark. Steven opened the two doors on the opposite end and let the light shine through. Hanging on the wall were bits and reins. Four saddles lie across the stable wall. Steven picked out the best two and outfitted the two horses. Five minutes later they were on their way, Steven on one, and Deanna and Joe on the other. They resumed their path southeast. Perhaps they had gone far enough north to avoid the town, and it would be smooth sailing from then on. Thirty miles to the south lay the ruins of Waco. Five machines walked in ruin there, their primary objective accomplished. Their circuits had all gone bad months ago, and they continued to walk in concentric circles, occasionally attacking anything that moved, including each other.
Trey watched them mount the horses and ride. "Fuckin Great!" He yelled at the open air. How was he going to catch them now? He walked down to the barn himself, wanting to see if any ideas would come to him. After searching around behind the barn, he saw a tarp and removed it. Underneath he found what he was looking for. It was an old dirt bike. With a kick start. "AhHa! HaHa! You bastards! Ha!" Trey began to dance around. He pulled the bike out from the lean-to it was under and inspected it. He was no mechanic, by far, but it looked complete enough. And it had gas. Old, but fuel nonetheless. He jumped on it and began to actuate the kick start.
"Bleecht"
"Bleecht"
Nothing.
"bleecht blecth blecth"
Still nothing. Frustration and rage filled him. He began to jump harder, putting his body weight on the lever.
"Blechcht, blecht, blecht, blecht"
The world filled with white, hot pain. He had slipped off of the lever and impaled his right calf muscle on it. It was stuck in such a way that his foot did not quite touch the ground, and his body weight was pressing down on the impaled lever, driving it further in.
"Aiigh! Shit! Owww! Shit!"
He eased the bike back over onto his left leg, and gently tried to pull himself free. With a sickening wet sound, the lever came out, inch by inch. Then it was out. Full four inches of it was covered in his blood, and blood began to spray from the hole vacated by the bike. He tossed it over, disgusted. The world began to swim in front of his eyes. He walked toward the barn, wanting to find shade inside. The world swam faster still. Trey passed out and fell face first into the wooden frame surrounding the barn doors, the mid-morning sun beginning to bake on his back, and his blood flowing out onto the sawdust covered ground.
When he woke, hours later, his right eye was useless and his leg throbbed. He had hit his brow on the frame and opened a fresh gash, and his eye was swollen shut. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle now, and at least a few pints had spilled out onto the ground. Trey regarded the bike with hatred, and for good measure shot it the bird. He pulled himself up, only to freshen the flow of blood. Upon pulling himself inside the barn, he leaned up against the wall and closed his eyes. A burlap feed sack lie nearby, and he used his hunting knife to cut strips, which he applied to the wound. He was positive that dusty burlap was not the best thing to put on a wound, but it was better than bleeding to death out in the middle of the Texas panhandle. He would have to figure out a way to get that bike going if he meant to catch up with the others. Or turn back for Colorado now. Either way he had to rest. And find strength to make his move. East or West? On foot or on bike? He would rest here for now. And make his decision once he woke again.
Trey was awakened by a low growl. Upon opening his one good eye, he saw that the day's light was almost faded. In the doorway it proved enough to show the outline of a dog, or coyote. Either way it was hungry and smelled blood. The canine was advancing on him slowly, thinking he was still asleep and somewhat easy prey. But humans were never easy to deal with. This particular dog had an ass full of buckshot to prove that. And a heart full of hatred for man. And he was hungry.
Trey moved only his eye. He saw an aerosol can lying about ten feet to his left. Whatever it was could probably be sprayed into the eyes of the mutt, slowing it down. It might buy him enough time to find another weapon. The dog loomed larger now, and Trey could see that it was no ordinary mutt, but at least mostly full-blooded Doberman. He made his move.
The dog saw the man tense up and pounce. He was trying to get away. Trey felt a sharp pain in hid right leg again, and fresh blood once again flowed. He reached the can at the same time the dog leapt. Trey sprayed. The dog fell just in front of him, yelping. The man had put something burning in his eyes. He leapt again, going for the man's throat.
Trey raised his left arm, trying to shield his jugular. The dog's teeth sank in, deep. With his right hand, he brought up his 8" hunting knife in a powerful, swift arc. He buried it to the hilt in the side of the Doberman, just in front of his rear leg. The dog immediately let go of his arm and staggered back toward the door. It fell over in a heap, moving particles of sawdust as it took shallow breaths. Trey maintained eye contact with it and watched it as it die. He hobbled over and removed his knife from the carcass, wiping it on the dog's fur as he did. Upon further inspection he saw that he has sprayed starting fluid into the dog's eyes. Starting fluid. The bike. Despite bleeding from fresh dog bites, Trey smiled. Things may be looking up after all. He walked over to the bike and picked it up once more. He sprayed a shot into the carburetor and kicked the lever again. And again. And again. The bike roared to life with a flurry of spits, sputters and blue smoke. With a triumphant hoot and with an anvil of pain resting in his leg once more, Trey shifted gears, leaving the barn behind and East Texas in his sights. One of the four people would not make it out of Texas alive. Trey rode toward his destiny. Toward Dallas. Toward his prey.
It was days later. Deanna and Joe were saddle sore and irritable. Steven was feeling like a vaquero loose from years of indenture. They had passed to the south of Dallas and the machines that surely resided there. They had passed through hundreds of small towns in the swamplands of east Texas. Timpson. Nacogdoches, Tenaha, Joaquin. Most of them named by natives that were long gone. Just like the natives that took their place. Except for one. They sat on their horses, overlooking the Sabine River. The last boundary between them and Louisiana. The town across the river was Logansport, a small, old quaint town with rundown buildings. The work of the machines here had been quick, as it was sparsely populated to begin with. The old bricks of the frontage stores lie in the street, and clapboard signs from the rooftops lie half in store windows, half on the sidewalks. They surveyed the scene from the Texas side, and Steven inspected the bridge across. It had been heavily damaged, but looked stable enough for them to cross. Just as he started to place his horse onto the pavement, a voice called out from the river access below.
"Hey! You up theah! Land Sakes! Stawp fer a minute. I ain't seen nobudy fer ages! Lemme git up thar and weuns kin tawlk!"
Steven backed the horse back up and one lone stone fell into the muddy water below. He exchanged glances with Deanna and they both smirked. Another live human! Steven kept his right hand close to the shoulder holster, just in case.
Glen Halsey, a welder by trade, had lived the last three years by fishing. He was a bachelor in the beginning of the war, always too busy out being a roughneck to find a wife. He had returned home to take a much needed vacation when it all hit the fan. It had been three full years since he had seen another person, and that seemed to suit him just fine. Fishing was his life. It was what he did. As long as he had his boat and a pole, he could survive just fine.
He walked right up to Steven's horse and rubbed its mane. The horse seemed generally pleased by his presence.
"Howdy! Tha name's Glen! Mighty fine ta meetcha!"
"The name's Steven. This is Deanna, and little man there is Joe. We are on our way to Georgia. Man, it is nice to see another person! We don't expect trouble, Glen."
"And ya ain't gonna find any here, Steven. You kin relax that thar hand near yer gun. I ain't no trouble, jest an ordinary guy, livin mah life down thar fishin on tha river. You know, I caught seven channel cats up on Yeller Dawg bend last week, and I been eatin like a king since!"
"Yeller Dawg?"
"Yep! Yeller Dawg. It's a swawmp up yonder cross from Deadwood, Texas. Got sum 'o tha best fishin round heah. That is, unless I got a hankerin to motor on down to Toleda Bend lake. Hell, I got all day. Ever day. Been up and down this river from Tha old Kodak plant down ta dang near the gulf! Ain't got tired of it yet!"
"I hear ya! Listen, you can come along if you want. We are really making some ground now, and I been wanting to see Georgia for a long, long time."
"Youuns really should stay here for a day or so. Thar's them damned machines somewhere around. I sit unnerneath tha bridge and watch 'em walk from Louisianner side ta Texas side ever few days. There ain't but two of 'em, but that's a plenty fer me. I got away from 'em by gittin in mah boat and livin up on Yeller Dawg fer a while. When I got back, hell, Logansport was on far and tha buildins was all shot up, like in Nam. Damndedst thang. I served two tours over thar, and lemme tell ya, I ain't wantin no more 'o that!"
"Machines, then? Maybe we will stay and let them pass on over to Texas. Then we can cross over and get ahead of them, maybe."
"Sounds like a good plan ta me, Steve. I gots plenty a fish ifn yall are hongry."
"That we are, Glen."
They rode the horses down to the water's edge and they enjoyed fresh, cool water for the first time in days. It seemed that they needed the rest as much as Joe did. Glen led them around a sandy bend to his camp. Later that night the questions would come.
Steven and Glen sat near the fire. It was hidden by the bend from the bridge. Deanna and Joe slept on bedrolls near the edge of the woods. Glen produced a pouch of Red Man from a waterproof bag and helped himself to a mouthful. It was a few minutes before he finally spat and talked.
"Gotta love that chaw. I thank I got ever pouch frum heah ta Houston. Don't know what I'll do when I run out. Maybe go crazy, I reckon."
"What did you do,...before?"
"I worked out in tha Gulf, weldin on oal rigs. I also welded on them pipelines runnin from Oklahoma clear ta tha Missisip. I got tired of all that, so this here life suits me fine."
"So nothing else, then? No wife?"
"Naw, nevah had time fer one. Hell, didn't want one ta tell tha truth. Life down heah is slow, Steve. Real slow. Slower now since all mah days are spent fishin and sleepin. Kinna makes life that much longer, in my mind anyhows. Whut 'bout you?"
Steven talked of his life for hours. Glen sat, spat occasionally and did not speak. Once Steve was done, he finally did.
"Yah know I ain't gonna leave and come with ya. This is mah home, jes like Georgia's yers. If'n yall wanna git across that bridge today, you might augtta git movin. Good luck, Steve and be careful."
"Thank you, Glen. I know you ain't gonna leave, but I need to ask if you are sure."
"Ya know I am. Now let's git these younguns up and on them thar horses before ya run outta time."
Once back at the bridge Steven turned to wave at Glen one last time. Deanna and Joe did likewise. They began to cross. Stones fell occasionally, but the bridge was sturdy enough, for now. Joe was on his horse now, and gave Steven an alarmed look. About halfway across Steven heard the metallic sound of footsteps, and turned to see two machines round the highway bend and look straight at them. He yelled for Deanna to yank on the reins, hard. The horses sprinted ahead. The machines gave chase, and were already on the bridge when Glen came up behind them, yelling. One turned and Glen opened fire with his AR-15. Most of the rounds bounced off, but one took out one of the machine's eyes and another severed a hydraulic line. The machine returned fire. Glen was propelled backward and out of his shoes. His intestines hit Rt. 58 a split second before he did. The last sound he heard was an approaching engine.
Trey McCormick was hauling ass. Flat out. He rounded the bend on this stretch of two-lane and saw a machine standing in the center of the road, straddling the center line. Trey panicked and lost control, sending the dirt bike and occupant skidding straight toward the robot. Skin was ground off. Trey's head bounced off of the pavement and back down. The machine opened fire with both guns, but could not avoid the oncoming bike.
Several things happened in the next few seconds that would change Steven's life forever. Trey and the bike slid into the legs of the machine and exploded. Capped at the knee and still firing, the one machine fell, and turned. Rounds from it pierced the second machine, now only fifty feet from the fleeing group of people. Rounds pierced the bridge and concrete supports. The bridge began to slide and crack. Steven had twenty feet left to reach ground again. Deanna was hot on the heels of his horse. The second machine opened fire as it slid down the falling pavement of the bridge. The sound of concrete, steel, and water all meeting filled the air, along with gunfire. Rounds from the machine disintegrated the legs of Deanna’s horse. It fell, throwing her to the pavement. With his horse now on solid Louisiana ground, Steven jumped off and ran back for Deanna. She lie, motionless on the ground only five feet from the edge of the bridge. Steven yelled out. "You Bastards!"
From somewhere far below he heard a metallic reply.
"Yew Basss-Terdssss"
Then the sound of a tremendous splash. A frightening thought passed through his mind. Two, actually. Deanna could be dead, and the machines had learned speech. He grabbed her and leapt for the bank just as the remainder of the bridge fell. He looked at her, tears welling up in his eyes. She opened her eyes and looked back. Tears of her own shone in the moonlight.
"Steve.."
"Don't talk. Please. Just be still, baby. Are you ok? Do you hurt anywhere? Tell me!"
"Steve..my my stomach. hurts. The baby..."
"Baby? What are you talking about? Deanna, you ok?"
"Steve, I am going to be ok. I think. But I am worried. I think I might be...was...pregnant. I have not had my period and it has been on time since I remember."
Steven looked out at the night, scared again for the first time since Hillsboro. Across the river a man tried to lift his charred head. Trey McCormick lie there, clothing burned or scraped off, neck and back broken, and ribs sticking out of his left side. Foamy blood oozed out of his mouth. He stared blankly up at the Milky Way and pictured mountains. A field of flowers growing wild. His wife and children standing beneath a tall, single tree, looking his way and holding their hands out to him. He began to walk through that field. And met them. He was with them now. It was as it should be. He had not killed a single living thing in his life other than a dog and rabbits along the way to survive. Upon seeing his family, Trey opened his eyes and looked across the river. Out of his mouth came the last words and repentance of a dying man.
"Please forgive me. I'm sorry."
And so it was in Texas. Trey went to his wife then as Steven and Joe crouched over Deanna on the other side. The Lone Star State was behind them, but the biggest obstacle still lie ahead. Steven wept for the sacrifice Glen had given. He wept for his injured companion. He wept for things unknown. For the first time he wept for all mankind and all the men before him that stood, looking at the woman they loved, much like he was now. He wept for the possibility that he may never meet his first-born. He wept until dawn.

[Dave!]

The dawn broke hot and heavy. Humidity and trepidation filled the air with an almost tangible feel of weight. Deanna had not spoken since her revelation. She lie on her back in the middle of a deserted street in Logansport, breathing shallowly. Joe had given up his vigil by her side and lie at her head, fast asleep. Steve made constant round trips from her side to the edge of the fallen bridge. Two bodies lie on the other side. One was the bloodied heap that used to be a simple, kind hearted man named Glen Halsey. He had given his life so they could live. The other was a charred, bloody mess of a man Steven had never met, but somehow felt like he should know of him. Large chunks of concrete and steel lie beneath him, partially covered by the muddy water. He stood this way, looking at the west, the way they had come, for long intervals. He then would turn around and walk back to Deanna, looking at her face, brushing the hair from her brow, and the emptiness would surge back. Could it be that she was, or had been, carrying his child? Somehow it seemed par for the course if it was the case. He tried hard not to be bitter, but it seemed that during his life the things that he wanted were just outside of his grasp. Joe was the first of the two to wake.
"Steve?"
"Yeah, pal."
"You don't have to be sad. They are ok."
"Who is 'they', Joe?" He felt he knew the answer. Joe was going to toss out some nugget of intuitive knowledge told to him by some higher consciousness. He could hear it now. "Deanna and the baby, that's who." But inside he didn't want to hear it. Hearing it would only mean that the boy did possess some sort of...power. And the thought scared the ever living shit out of him. Steven's mind always had a hard time accepting things that defied logic. He lived life as an agnostic, not seeing the logic in a God.
" Dee-anna. And the little ones."
"Little...ones? As in more than one? Who are you talking about, Joe? Did you have a bad dream?"
"The boy and the girl in her tummy. Mommy told me to tell you that they are going to be ok. Deanna is going to be ok, but we have to get her to someplace warm and soft for a few days. Mommy says her spleen is bruised and she cracked some ribs, but she is ok."
Steven fell to his knees. Suddenly he did not have the strength to stand, or even talk. How did the boy know? There was no explanation why he should know about Deanna's pregnancy, or her spleen for that matter. The boy had been alone since his youth. There had been no formal schooling to teach him anatomy. His head hurt trying to rationalize it, and he felt the madness attempting to creep in. It was the same madness that had encroached when he met Deanna back in the desert. But one sobering thought brought him back. It was a simple vision of a sign. A sign made by a young child's hands, and the pocket watch that hung from it.
"Joe, I need you to help me find some things. I need a couple of sturdy poles and the tarp from Deanna's pack. It is the big thing rolled up and tied with string. I need you to go over and get it untied for me while I find some poles, ok?"
"Ok Steve."
Finding the poles was easy enough. There seemed to be plenty of uprooted and decapitated parking meters lying around. They were the quaint, old type like you would see in Mayberry. Steven found heavy nylon twine in the hardware store as well. Within an hour he had fashioned a kind of stretcher, but better. This one had a steel pole across the bottom and two runner poles for dragging. Steven brought the remaining horse over and fastened it to her. He and Joe climbed aboard once again and started slowly riding out of town. Deanna had been securely, but lightly fastened down with criss-crossing strands of cloth. She rode comfortably, and murmured lightly in her sleep. Joe felt like a man now, carrying Deanna's shotgun. Just outside of town they found an immediate care office. Steve carried Deanna in and laid her down in one of the beds. He actually managed to find quite a lot of medical supplies still in cabinets as well. As she rested he stocked up on all kinds of antibiotics, first aid supplies, and some anesthetics. If indeed she was pregnant he may have to end up delivering the child(ren) himself.
Deanna slept for two days before opening her eyes and speaking. Steven was the only one in the room with her then. Joe had gone into the lobby to play with some waiting room toys he had found. The suddenness of her regaining consciousness made Steven jump back, alarmed. He expected her first words to be "Where am I?" or "What happened?" but not what actually escaped her lips.
"Steve, I never told you why I really wanted to be a psychologist. The main reason was that I grew up watching my mother constantly battle psychological abuse from my step-dad. She was suicidal, manic-depressive, bi-polar, you name it. I wanted to help her so badly but couldn't. I wanted to help people like her. I just want you to know that you are not like him. You are not like the guy I almost married once. You are a knight in your shining armor that came down and rescued me from that desert. I want you, Steve. If there were courts and churches, then I would want to be your wife. I guess if we both want it, and agree that all we live for is each other, then who needs that court? What do you say, Steven?"
"Deanna, I say Hell Yeah! Will you be my wife?"
"You know I will! But the first thing I want you to do is get me outta this damned bed!"
"You said it, babe!"
Deanna and Steve walked hand in hand through the door, into the lobby, and up to Joe. The move was symbolic as much as it was second nature. Joe smiled the biggest smile either had seen, dimples flashing left and right. Five minutes later they were on their way again, Joe and Deanna taking turns riding in the makeshift tarp travois. Deanna more often than Joe.
The ruins of Shreveport lie just to their north. Up ahead lie miles and miles of flat road, poorly maintained in the good old days, now a train wreck of holes and washed out areas. Heavily wooded swamplands lie on both sides of the road now, broken up occasionally by fields that once contained soybeans and corn. The daily grind as well as the scenery remained unchanged across the entire state. It wasn't until they neared the river that Steve first saw the smoke. First there was one pillar. Then two. Then five. Now fully eight pillars stood against the sky. It was one full day later that he found the source, and none of their lives would be the same after.

Interstate 20 runs east to west along northern Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia. Of course it also goes farther west, as well. It was this four lane that Steven, Deanna and Joe found themselves on now. Plumes of smoke rose stark black against the sky. Like a large thunderhead directly above you, one had to crane their head back all the way to attempt to see the top. The group rounded the bend and expected to see the green girders that made up the bridge over to Vicksburg. What they saw instead was a twisted mass of rusty green steel and hundreds of carcasses of former vehicles wrapped up in it. The smoke plumes came from either side of the road. Steven cautiously dismounted his horse and motioned for the others to stay behind as he walked ahead to check out the source. He neared the edge of the bluff and looked down to see something he never thought possible. Fear and glee filled his mind with a blank series of unintelligible words. "Whatthenowayfuckmerunninholyohmygod!"

Below him lay civilization. Homes, built from logs. Smoke from fireplaces. Roads, horses, people. At least three hundred or more of them scurried about, doing whatever it was they were doing. Then he saw what they were doing. The plumes of smoke came from gigantic furnaces. There were about ten in all. The purpose of each was to smelt steel. They were dismantling the old bridge and using the steel to fabricate something...huge. He stood, gape-jawed in amazement when the first sentry placed the barrel of his rifle in the small of Steve's back. He turned, slowly to see a group of five more had Deanna and Joe gagged and bound with leather straps. Another walked up to Steve and removed his .45. Not one of them spoke. When he began to speak, Steven was hit in the face with the butt of a 30-06. The world swam away and then there was darkness.
Steve awoke in a darkened room, alone and bound to the bed. His head hurt like hell, and his nose was broken and stuffy. He could hear machinery outside, somewhat far away. Once his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he saw a lone figure sitting in a chair across the room. The figure was a lanky man, pale and dressed in a blue chambray work shirt and nice jeans. His manner of dress was atypical, as the clothes looked new and untouched by the years of hard life. Steven guessed the man was tall, but did not realize how tall until the figure stood.
Marcus Jackson was once a surgeon. The years that he had spent healing the sick, mending broken bones and saving the lives of countless premature babies was a distant memory. The years spent at Wake Forest medical school for naught. He was now a man forced to a dark life out of necessity and survival. Here, in this new land, he had been afforded a second chance. He had a roof over his head, air conditioning, food prepared for him, and electricity. Not to mention his life and free will. Marcus had been given these things as a trade-off. His instructions and directives were clear, and given to him by another man that he had never seen, and did not want to. This was his world now, and as the supervisor over the western factories, he intended on keeping his world in order. The price for failing to do so was death. He rose from his chair and turned on the lone lamp in the corner of the room, the light revealing the bound man in front of him.
"I want your name and the reason why you were spying on our operation."
"Why am I tied to this bed, and who are you?"
"I am asking the questions here. Now you answer mine first, boy."
"I am Steven..Davidson. I was not spying, we were just on our way east and meant to cross the bridge, but found that it wasn't there. That is all. Where are Deanna and Joe?"
"They are fine. You will be joining them soon enough. First off, I want to know of your skills, if you have any."
"Skills? What do you mean?"
"Just what I said. Skills. What did you do before? Do you have any computer or mechanical background?"
"I was a soldier. I did some vehicle work back years ago. Why, what does it matter? What do you want from me?"
"What I want is to see if you have anything advantageous to our operation, Steven. Once you are implanted, you will not remember this conversation. All you will know is purpose and duty."
"Implanted? What does that mean? And you never told me your name."
"Mark Jackson. This is my place. I am in charge here, and things go like they should every day. They will continue to do so, understand? You see, this place is here to manufacture. It is what we do, and I need more skilled labor. I have plenty of general labor, but need more knowledge to "perfect the process"."
"Manufacture what? And tell me of this implantation. What are you planning on doing to me? What of the other two?"
"Implantation is the means to keep you on task and under control. You rest when it is necessary, but spend your waking moments under the control of the machine. It is very efficient, and runs much more smoothly without the free will getting in the way of the big picture. And my plan for you? Well, you will join the others in the factory, utilizing your mechanical aptitude to help perfect our process, Steven. And that is all the questions now. I will send for you in the morning. You will need to go through our tests and then be implanted. This is the last time you will see me and recognize me. If you attempt to resist, you know we will use lethal force, so don't try."
Marcus Jackson walked from the room, and Steven was left alone with his thoughts once more. There was something very wrong with this place, something very wrong with Mark Jackson. He had no idea what he was meant to manufacture, but felt that whatever it was was wrong as well. A strong sense of foreboding gripped him, and he decided to fight until his last breath was taken. It was his nature, and what he did best. Steven wrangled his wrists back and forth, slightly loosening the leather strapping that bound him. It was a simple enough task. Skilled labor or not, his captors couldn't tie a restraint for shit. Steven finished unbuckling the straps across the bed and stood. The door was directly ahead. And it was unlocked. The decision was simple. Implantation or freedom? Freedom could come at a price, but this implantation sounded worse than death. Steven cracked open the door to see a heavy fog had rolled in. He could hear machinery thumping in the background, and the river's sound beyond that. Steven walked out the door and clicked it shut behind him. The one room house he had been in was the last one of five set neatly in a row. Deanna and Joe had to be in one of the others. He walked up to the next and placed his hand on the doorknob. With only a moment's hesitation he turned it and entered.
Inside, the room was dark. Steven's heart thumped in his chest. The sound of his heartbeat was loud enough that all other sounds were drowned out. Fumbling for the lamp, he found that it was in the exact place that his had been. Upon turning it on he found the room to be empty. His heartbeat subsided and he clicked the lamp back off. He then cautiously opened the door and walked out into the night to the next house. He reached another door, and as the one before it, he grasped the knob. And turned it silently and slowly. Steven swung the door open and entered the room.
The first thing Steven noticed was that the swinging arc of the door revealed light. The lamp in this one was on. The second was a glimpse of blue movement from the corner of his eye. Mark Jackson was just as surprised as Steven. He turned from the bound man on the bed and saw Steven closing the door behind him. He began to speak as Steven closed the gap between them.
"What the fuck are yo.."
Steven punched him in the left cheek, sending him reeling to the ground. In another swift motion Steven smashed the chair against the floor, and was left holding the splintered end of a chair leg. The man on the bed watched it all through eyes wide with surprise. Steven stood over Mark, holding the foot long piece of splintered wood.
"Now, you son of a bitch, I will ask the questions and you will give me the answers. Where are Deanna and Joe? What did you intend for us? And what the hell is so important that you have to implant people to make?"
"You dumb bastard. Don't you understand that you can't stop it? You couldn't stop them in the war, and you can't stop them now. What we are making here is a new generation of machine. They are smarter than us, and need our help to make a newer version based on their design. They are designing themselves, Steven. They are evolving, learning, or whatever you want to call it. I was saved and put to use implanting a chip into the brain that allows control of the human mind. They also designed that one, by the way. You can't win, no one can. That is why I gave up the pointless fight and joined them. You should, too. Life is much more simple when you do not have to worry about survival and losing your life, Steven."
"So you sold out the free will and human spirit for your own survival, then?"
"Steven, there are damn near a thousand people that still have their lives because of this. We are allowed to stay alive as long as we do what they want. The tradeoff seems fair, wouldn't you say?"
"No, I don't. People without free will, and used as slaves to build machines are not really alive anyway. I will not do it. And I will not allow for you to do it to those other two. We will be leaving now; you do what you have to."
"Then your decision is made. You will not live to see the morning."
Steven turned to the man on the bed, who was now sobbing and pulling at his restraints. He saw movement and turned back to Mark. Mark was on his knees and almost had the gun pulled from the hidden shoulder holster, a grin full of hate on his face. Steven moved like lightning. In one swift motion he buried the first six inches of chair leg into Mark's left eye and kicked him in the chin, knocking him backwards onto the floor. Already dead, his reflexes pulled the trigger of the gun twice. Two rounds entered Mark's right leg, the sound muffled. It was done. Steven bent down and pulled the gun from Mark's fingers. It was a .45, equipped with a silencer. Upon searching his pockets, Steven found a scalpel and a two-way Motorola GP200 radio. These were good in close range only, and meant that there were others out there that were on the other end. If he meant to make it out alive he had to work fast. Steven turned to the man on the bed.
"We do not have much time. I need you to get control of yourself and listen. If you can not, then you die here. I have a woman and a child in one of these other two houses. We have to get them and get out of here before they start missing Mark. You can come along if you want. I may need the help anyway."
"Ok Ok mister. Let me loose. I..I.. will be ok, trust me. I can be quiet. I don't wanna die here. I will help you anyway I can, just please get me outta here!"
Steven loosened the straps and let the man up. He turned out the lamp and let their eyes adjust to the darkness once more. They stepped out into the night and to the next house. Steven opened the door to darkness and two distinct cries of fear. He and the stranger loosened Deanna and Joe. Steven whispered to them.
"You two have to be quiet, no talking. We have to get out of here right now. I need for yall to hurry and stay low, behind me and in front of this guy. We do not have time for introductions, so lets get to know each other once we get back up those bluffs and get to safety. Lets go, now!"
The four people walked around the rear of the houses and saw a path leading up. One sentry stood, guarding it. He was smoking, and seemed distracted, looking off over the river. Steven used his years of special forces military training and was on top of the man before the sentry had time to react. With his neck snapped, the sentry fell to the ground. Steven searched the body and retrieved the .223 rifle and another knife to replace the one he had. He also noticed a bulge behind the right ear. No doubt the "chip" Mark had talked about. He handed the rifle to Deanna and they continued to climb. Another sentry stood at the top of the path. Steven took careful aim with the silencer equipped pistol and prayed. The pistol was true, as a dime-sized hole appeared in the forehead of the guard. On him Steven found another .223, extra rounds, and the bulge behind the ear.
Suddenly the radio in Steven's hand came to life. They had found the first sentry, and soon enough would find Mark. The fog was confined to the bluff, and looking out over the moonlit surface of it gave Steven an eerie feeling. Who knew what evil lie hidden underneath that fog? He and three others did, and now their lives depended on getting as far away from that fog as possible. So they ran south-west in the moonlight, away from the river. The three adults had guns, but could not hold off an army. They would have to hide. Upon finding a large culvert running underneath a two lane road, the four crawled down and stood inside it, waiting until morning. No one dared whisper a sound. Deanna held onto Steven tightly, and Joe clung to her side. The stranger stood at the end of the pipe, looking out into the night. To Steven, Georgia had never seemed so far away.

[Dave!]

Chapter 10
Morning broke with hazy sunshine filtering its way down to the entrance of the pipe. Steven and the others had fallen asleep. The stranger stood still at the end of the pipe, shaking his head from time to time, an occasional tear falling down his cheek. Steven was amazed that he let himself fall asleep with a stranger armed with a rifle among the group. He rustled and the stranger turned and gave him a half-hearted smile. Steven, still afraid to speak for fear of being detected gave him a shoulder shrug to signify the question.
"No, they are gone. They thought we went to the north, obviously. My name's Adam, by the way. And you are?" Adam stated, propping the gun against the side of the culvert and walking toward Steve with his hand outstretched.
"Adam, then. My name is Steven. And this is Deanna and Joe. I want to thank you for helping me get all of us out of there."
"Hey, I need to be the one thanking you. You saved me from God knows what down there. That was some impressive stuff from you, by the way."
"Thanks. It has been a long time, my friend. Those are things taught to me that I hoped I would never have to use again. I guess we need to think about where we go from here. We are on our way to Georgia. You are welcome to come along, if you wish. I guess since the bridge was out we need to keep heading south to see if we can find another."
"There should be more. I came from the north, and I can tell you that Memphis is gone, as well as the bridge there. But that is not the scariest thing, though."
"Oh really? What is, then? What have you seen?"
"I saw the supposed next generation of machine there. I stayed in the bushes for days, trying to work my way south and to the bridge that wasn't there. These new ones aren't so machine-like. They are about seven feet tall, and move much more like us. Their body no longer looks like a robot, but more like a human form. Instead of three fingers, they now have five, like us. But the scariest thing is their face..."
"You have got to be joking. No way. Like us? What about their face?"
"Their faces look more like ours, Steve. They all look the same, but now instead of just two yellow eyes sitting there like two implanted cameras; they are set into the rounded skull like ours. And now they have...moving parts. Like mouths. And when they speak the mouth moves, like ours. I never knew they could speak, Steve. They can. The new ones also do not just destroy everything in their path. They are much more selective and decisive. I should know. It was a group of three of them that captured me. They move so silently and now they do not just shoot first, but analyze you."
"Tell me everything, Adam. We need to know if we are to get out of here. I have to know what we are up against."
So Adam did. He told Steve of the encounter. Half way through Joe and Deanna had awakened and were listening intently.
"I was coming south, out of Iowa. For some reason I felt like I needed to go East, so I thought Memphis may be the place to cross the river at and then head over to Tennessee. I saw for some time before I got there that the Memphis skyline was gone. I guess one of those bombs got it, I don't know. But anyway, I was looking out at the ruins, wondering what the hell I was going to do when I saw movement. I had a set of binoculars and looked out at the movement. It was then I saw them. The sun was glinting off of their new metal skin. They were picking up pieces of different stuff, examining it, and looking at each other and talking. I think it was the most fear I have ever felt, Steven. They don't look as menacing, but the movement and the similarities to us is just so terrifying. Anyhow, I decided that that was no place I needed to stay for very long, so I made my way south. It may have been a day or so, hard for me to remember. I fell asleep after I had made camp. I thought that I was far enough away to be safe, so I made a fire and roasted a rabbit that I snared earlier in the day. But when I opened my eyes there were three standing over me, looking down on me. They didn't hurt me, really, but just picked me up and tied my hands and feet together. They loaded me into the back of some vehicle and carried me down to that place you saw me at. It was weird, Steve. Instead of being these ruthless killing machines it seemed as if they were just more inquisitive and observing me. But, the scary thing is also the fact that they still wore guns of some type."
Steven, Joe, Deanna and Adam stood there, exchanging glances. Steve was rubbing the back of his neck, thinking. His leg sang again that morning with the dull pain etched into his bones. They would have to get moving soon. They had to find a way across the river, and it seemed that their only option was south. The problem was that they were running out of continent as well as potential paths across the river.
Two days had passed. Adam spoke little, but seemed optimistic regardless. Steven was growing more nervous daily, and every morning since the night spent in the pipe he had woken to a dull ache in his right leg. In his head he knew what it was, but his heart still did not want to acknowledge the fact. Joe was abnormally quiet, seeming more introspective than usual. Deanna walked slowly, her ribs aching. Her injuries were healing, but she still felt pain if they walked more than four hours without stopping to rest. Every possible bridge so far had been knocked down or damaged to the point of being useless. It was the morning of the third day of traveling when Steven awoke to find that Joe was no longer asleep beside Deanna. Not only was he not asleep, but he was nowhere to be found. Neither was Adam.
Steve woke Deanna and they both ran through the bushes and grass, yelling for Joe. There was no answer. Hate for Adam rose in Steven's throat and he attempted to subdue it. After all, there was no evidence that Adam had taken the boy at all. There may be a perfectly reasonable excuse as to why they both were gone. Steven could not help but feel deep in his soul that that was not the case. It was then he heard Deanna's scream from the direction of the river. Steven ran in that direction, heart thumping wildly in his chest.
Deanna was standing at the top of a modest drop off at the edge of the river. She looked down in horror at two machines. Well, two different machines. They looked like people that had been dipped in chrome. On had Joe by the arm, pulling him away from an old jon boat near the river's edge. The other was crouched over the limp form of Adam, its head cocked to the side and examining its blood covered hands. The machine would take the blood and rub it in between its fingers, then wipe it on its torso. She screamed for Joe and the machine cowering over Adam stood and began to walk in her direction, blinking its electric blue eyes as it did. She tried to run, but the same paralyzed feeling overtook her that she felt back in Hillsboro. She fell to the ground and fumbled with the .223 slung over her shoulder. At the sight of the gun, the machine quickened its pace.
Steven emerged from a copse of trees to see Deanna trying to work the action of her rifle. Standing above her was the silhouette of..something. It grabbed the barrel of the rifle and raised it above its head, intending to bring it down on Deanna's face. Steven dropped to one knee and leveled the .45. He unloaded the clip, and was up and running for Deanna before the last casing hit the ground.
The machine was caught twice in the head. Three more into the midsection, and once in the right arm. It dropped the rifle and looked down with its one good eye. Yellow fluid poured from three holes. The one hand that worked flew up to its head and it felt a gaping hole where the right side of its head once was. It looked out at the human running toward it, reloading his firearm. It cried out once before falling face first into the tall grass and sliding back down the slope into the muddy water of the river. It seemed that the newer version not only had the look of a human, but also the weaknesses as well. The bullet-proof "skin" looked to no longer be part of the creation.
Steven looked down the slope at the other machine. It had dropped Joe and unholstered its weapon. Firing as it climbed, it was coming for Deanna and Steven. Steven ducked from the flying rounds and covered Deanna with his body. He was still trying to get his pistol unjammed when the machine topped the rise and stood over them. It and Steve locked eyes and analyzed each other for a minute. Then Steve could have sworn he saw the edges of the mouth turn up in a smirk as the machine pointed its gun at Steve's forehead.
Suddenly the machine's jaw and the lower half of its face exploded outward. It dropped the gun it was holding and turned, a look of shock in its eyes. Steve stood and kicked it in the back, knocking it down the slope where it lay still. He looked down and saw Joe holding the blood covered rifle of Adam. He was crying uncontrollably.
Steven and Deanna descended the slope and Joe ran for them. He pointed in Adam's direction and sobbed, his face buried in Deanna's chest. Steven walked over to the fallen man and instantly felt guilt for his anger earlier. He was dead. His head and face caved in from the butt of the rifle he had tried to use to save Joe. The machine had taken his life's blood and smeared it into designs on Adam's shirt. He turned from Adam and walked to Joe and Deanna.
"Joe, honey, are you ok?"
"I...I...I'm ok, but Adam...He...He tried to help, but that one...he grabbed the gun and hit Adam with it. Then it started growling and hitting him over and over. I think he's...he's...”
"I'm sorry, Joe. He is dead. I'm so sorry that you saw that...But you are ok, Deanna is ok. We have got to keep moving. What were you two doing down here, anyway?"
"I had a dream about a boat. My Mommy told me that there was one. I woke up and Andy was standing all by himself, looking at the moon. He told me that he would go with me to find it, and if we did we could come back and tell you and you would be happy."
"Oh Joe, I am, was, happy, son! Let's go check out this boat and get across this river before some more of those damned things decide to show up."
"What about Adam?"
"I wish we had time to bury him like he deserves, Joe, But we have got to get out before we join him, understand?"
"Uh-huh. I guess so. And Steve?"
"What, Joe?"
"You called me son. I want that some more. I think daddy would not mind."
Steven then hugged Joe tight and carried him over to the jon boat. It looked sturdy enough, and actually had paddles and an old trolling motor. The battery for the motor was long gone, so Steve knew that he and Deanna had a very hard day's worth of work ahead of them. With a grunt he lowered Joe into the boat. He and Deanna then sat on each side and began to row out into the Mississippi River. It looked as wide as the ocean to them from here. For good measure Steven handed Adam's newly washed off .223 to Joe.
"This is yours, now, deadeye! I want you to shoot anything that moves on that bank over there."
"Ok, Steve, will do!"
Luckily Joe did not have to, as the only thing he saw that moved was a dog. He did not want to think of what the dog was going to do to Adam later. He thought of his toy cars back in the Texaco instead. Steven and Deanna rowed onward, her ribs beginning to sing a new song after a few minutes. The eastern bank grew larger, the western smaller. They were back on track.

[Dave!]

Chapter 10
Morning broke with hazy sunshine filtering its way down to the entrance of the pipe. Steven and the others had fallen asleep. The stranger stood still at the end of the pipe, shaking his head from time to time, an occasional tear falling down his cheek. Steven was amazed that he let himself fall asleep with a stranger armed with a rifle among the group. He rustled and the stranger turned and gave him a half-hearted smile. Steven, still afraid to speak for fear of being detected gave him a shoulder shrug to signify the question.
"No, they are gone. They thought we went to the north, obviously. My name's Adam, by the way. And you are?" Adam stated, propping the gun against the side of the culvert and walking toward Steve with his hand outstretched.
"Adam, then. My name is Steven. And this is Deanna and Joe. I want to thank you for helping me get all of us out of there."
"Hey, I need to be the one thanking you. You saved me from God knows what down there. That was some impressive stuff from you, by the way."
"Thanks. It has been a long time, my friend. Those are things taught to me that I hoped I would never have to use again. I guess we need to think about where we go from here. We are on our way to Georgia. You are welcome to come along, if you wish. I guess since the bridge was out we need to keep heading south to see if we can find another."
"There should be more. I came from the north, and I can tell you that Memphis is gone, as well as the bridge there. But that is not the scariest thing, though."
"Oh really? What is, then? What have you seen?"
"I saw the supposed next generation of machine there. I stayed in the bushes for days, trying to work my way south and to the bridge that wasn't there. These new ones aren't so machine-like. They are about seven feet tall, and move much more like us. Their body no longer looks like a robot, but more like a human form. Instead of three fingers, they now have five, like us. But the scariest thing is their face..."
"You have got to be joking. No way. Like us? What about their face?"
"Their faces look more like ours, Steve. They all look the same, but now instead of just two yellow eyes sitting there like two implanted cameras; they are set into the rounded skull like ours. And now they have...moving parts. Like mouths. And when they speak the mouth moves, like ours. I never knew they could speak, Steve. They can. The new ones also do not just destroy everything in their path. They are much more selective and decisive. I should know. It was a group of three of them that captured me. They move so silently and now they do not just shoot first, but analyze you."
"Tell me everything, Adam. We need to know if we are to get out of here. I have to know what we are up against."
So Adam did. He told Steve of the encounter. Half way through Joe and Deanna had awakened and were listening intently.
"I was coming south, out of Iowa. For some reason I felt like I needed to go East, so I thought Memphis may be the place to cross the river at and then head over to Tennessee. I saw for some time before I got there that the Memphis skyline was gone. I guess one of those bombs got it, I don't know. But anyway, I was looking out at the ruins, wondering what the hell I was going to do when I saw movement. I had a set of binoculars and looked out at the movement. It was then I saw them. The sun was glinting off of their new metal skin. They were picking up pieces of different stuff, examining it, and looking at each other and talking. I think it was the most fear I have ever felt, Steven. They don't look as menacing, but the movement and the similarities to us is just so terrifying. Anyhow, I decided that that was no place I needed to stay for very long, so I made my way south. It may have been a day or so, hard for me to remember. I fell asleep after I had made camp. I thought that I was far enough away to be safe, so I made a fire and roasted a rabbit that I snared earlier in the day. But when I opened my eyes there were three standing over me, looking down on me. They didn't hurt me, really, but just picked me up and tied my hands and feet together. They loaded me into the back of some vehicle and carried me down to that place you saw me at. It was weird, Steve. Instead of being these ruthless killing machines it seemed as if they were just more inquisitive and observing me. But, the scary thing is also the fact that they still wore guns of some type."
Steven, Joe, Deanna and Adam stood there, exchanging glances. Steve was rubbing the back of his neck, thinking. His leg sang again that morning with the dull pain etched into his bones. They would have to get moving soon. They had to find a way across the river, and it seemed that their only option was south. The problem was that they were running out of continent as well as potential paths across the river.
Two days had passed. Adam spoke little, but seemed optimistic regardless. Steven was growing more nervous daily, and every morning since the night spent in the pipe he had woken to a dull ache in his right leg. In his head he knew what it was, but his heart still did not want to acknowledge the fact. Joe was abnormally quiet, seeming more introspective than usual. Deanna walked slowly, her ribs aching. Her injuries were healing, but she still felt pain if they walked more than four hours without stopping to rest. Every possible bridge so far had been knocked down or damaged to the point of being useless. It was the morning of the third day of traveling when Steven awoke to find that Joe was no longer asleep beside Deanna. Not only was he not asleep, but he was nowhere to be found. Neither was Adam.
Steve woke Deanna and they both ran through the bushes and grass, yelling for Joe. There was no answer. Hate for Adam rose in Steven's throat and he attempted to subdue it. After all, there was no evidence that Adam had taken the boy at all. There may be a perfectly reasonable excuse as to why they both were gone. Steven could not help but feel deep in his soul that that was not the case. It was then he heard Deanna's scream from the direction of the river. Steven ran in that direction, heart thumping wildly in his chest.
Deanna was standing at the top of a modest drop off at the edge of the river. She looked down in horror at two machines. Well, two different machines. They looked like people that had been dipped in chrome. On had Joe by the arm, pulling him away from an old jon boat near the river's edge. The other was crouched over the limp form of Adam, its head cocked to the side and examining its blood covered hands. The machine would take the blood and rub it in between its fingers, then wipe it on its torso. She screamed for Joe and the machine cowering over Adam stood and began to walk in her direction, blinking its electric blue eyes as it did. She tried to run, but the same paralyzed feeling overtook her that she felt back in Hillsboro. She fell to the ground and fumbled with the .223 slung over her shoulder. At the sight of the gun, the machine quickened its pace.
Steven emerged from a copse of trees to see Deanna trying to work the action of her rifle. Standing above her was the silhouette of..something. It grabbed the barrel of the rifle and raised it above its head, intending to bring it down on Deanna's face. Steven dropped to one knee and leveled the .45. He unloaded the clip, and was up and running for Deanna before the last casing hit the ground.
The machine was caught twice in the head. Three more into the midsection, and once in the right arm. It dropped the rifle and looked down with its one good eye. Yellow fluid poured from three holes. The one hand that worked flew up to its head and it felt a gaping hole where the right side of its head once was. It looked out at the human running toward it, reloading his firearm. It cried out once before falling face first into the tall grass and sliding back down the slope into the muddy water of the river. It seemed that the newer version not only had the look of a human, but also the weaknesses as well. The bullet-proof "skin" looked to no longer be part of the creation.
Steven looked down the slope at the other machine. It had dropped Joe and unholstered its weapon. Firing as it climbed, it was coming for Deanna and Steven. Steven ducked from the flying rounds and covered Deanna with his body. He was still trying to get his pistol unjammed when the machine topped the rise and stood over them. It and Steve locked eyes and analyzed each other for a minute. Then Steve could have sworn he saw the edges of the mouth turn up in a smirk as the machine pointed its gun at Steve's forehead.
Suddenly the machine's jaw and the lower half of its face exploded outward. It dropped the gun it was holding and turned, a look of shock in its eyes. Steve stood and kicked it in the back, knocking it down the slope where it lay still. He looked down and saw Joe holding the blood covered rifle of Adam. He was crying uncontrollably.
Steven and Deanna descended the slope and Joe ran for them. He pointed in Adam's direction and sobbed, his face buried in Deanna's chest. Steven walked over to the fallen man and instantly felt guilt for his anger earlier. He was dead. His head and face caved in from the butt of the rifle he had tried to use to save Joe. The machine had taken his life's blood and smeared it into designs on Adam's shirt. He turned from Adam and walked to Joe and Deanna.
"Joe, honey, are you ok?"
"I...I...I'm ok, but Adam...He...He tried to help, but that one...he grabbed the gun and hit Adam with it. Then it started growling and hitting him over and over. I think he's...he's...”
"I'm sorry, Joe. He is dead. I'm so sorry that you saw that...But you are ok, Deanna is ok. We have got to keep moving. What were you two doing down here, anyway?"
"I had a dream about a boat. My Mommy told me that there was one. I woke up and Andy was standing all by himself, looking at the moon. He told me that he would go with me to find it, and if we did we could come back and tell you and you would be happy."
"Oh Joe, I am, was, happy, son! Let's go check out this boat and get across this river before some more of those damned things decide to show up."
"What about Adam?"
"I wish we had time to bury him like he deserves, Joe, But we have got to get out before we join him, understand?"
"Uh-huh. I guess so. And Steve?"
"What, Joe?"
"You called me son. I want that some more. I think daddy would not mind."
Steven then hugged Joe tight and carried him over to the jon boat. It looked sturdy enough, and actually had paddles and an old trolling motor. The battery for the motor was long gone, so Steve knew that he and Deanna had a very hard day's worth of work ahead of them. With a grunt he lowered Joe into the boat. He and Deanna then sat on each side and began to row out into the Mississippi River. It looked as wide as the ocean to them from here. For good measure Steven handed Adam's newly washed off .223 to Joe.
"This is yours, now, deadeye! I want you to shoot anything that moves on that bank over there."
"Ok, Steve, will do!"
Luckily Joe did not have to, as the only thing he saw that moved was a dog. He did not want to think of what the dog was going to do to Adam later. He thought of his toy cars back in the Texaco instead. Steven and Deanna rowed onward, her ribs beginning to sing a new song after a few minutes. The eastern bank grew larger, the western smaller. They were back on track.

[ManOfWesternesse]

Dave - this is good, very damn good.
I'm a sucker for a good Apocolyptic tale and I've loved what I've read of this so far.
Ok, it certainly needs editing and cleaning up & probably a bit of fleshing out here & there - but in overall terms, what you've got here is very good indeed!

Keep up the work and I hope you find a way to finish & publish this.

[Dave!]

Hey thanks! I agree 100%, as I go back and read this one. THe writing seems almost juvenile compared to what I am working on with Diablo. I appreciate the feedback, and if it gets to an editor and eventually a publisher you guys will be the first to know. With that, here is the next chapter:

Chapter 11
Steven stood on the western edge of Mississippi looking back at the shore where a good man had died. He had died fulfilling the promise that Steven had made. The one made to a dead father. The river didn't mind; it just kept on flowing by like it had for years. He felt rage for these machines begin to fill him once more. Not since California had he felt this way. He had seen so many die there. So many had died before there. Many had died since the supposed end of the war. Did it really ever end? As far as separate nationalities, yes. However a war between man and machine had taken its place. And man seemed to be losing.
Steven turned from the water and looked at Joe. His pale blue eyes met Joe's (almost black) brown ones. They locked eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Steven was mesmerized, seeing deep into Joe's soul. The longer he looked the more he thought he saw colors swirl and flow deep inside the dark brown. He saw oceans, fields of wheat, the Earth from miles above, Galaxies swirl, Castles fall in a far away land, Cherokees dancing around a fire, and fish gasping on a lonely coast. He saw himself as a baby, saw himself riding an old Yamaha on the Carolina coast, saw him fall under a wall of brick and block, saw him making love to Deanna. He was lost, and floating, feeling weightless and relaxed. Steven blinked and felt the tug at the rear of his brain. He broke eye contact and looked at the ground. He did not like that feeling of being...”read" one little bit. This boy was special and he had some underlying, unbelievable power and significance.
"Steven."
"Yes, Joe?" Steven replied, not wanting to regain eye contact.
"Don't worry. The promise is being kept very well. We can beat these things. There has to be a way. But you have to acknowledge some facts first. God is wondering why you deny Him, Steven. Is the fact that you are alive not enough? Is the fact that men have survived at all not enough? And you need not fear me. I am but a boy, and a channel for a greater power. Believe it. Until you do, do not question the outcome, for you will fail, and man will fail as long as your pride is in the driver's seat, child."
Steven felt as if all the wind was knocked from him. As Joe was speaking, his voice changed to a deep, harmonic voice of many. Steven looked up at the mention of God, and saw that Joe's lips were not moving at all. The voice was coming from inside his own head. He turned from the boy, looking out at the water once more. A mixture of terror and self-loathing filled him. Then the innocent, real voice of a child called to him once more.
"Steve! Let's go! This river gives me the creeps!"
"Sure thing, Joe!" Steven replied, a fake smile erupting from his lips.
They walked onward, through scrub brush and small groups of trees for miles. The briars scratched and the sandy soil beneath their feet proved to be treacherous at times. Eventually they came upon a run down length of two lane road. A dilapidated road sign told them that Harperstown was 15 miles away. Other than the constant wind coming from the Gulf, miles to the south, there was no sound. Steven tried to hum a song from long ago, but forgot the tune. Deanna walked over to him and offered him a smile, and a kiss. She then took his hand in hers and finished humming the song. They walked onward as they had done time and time again.
Harperstown was a small, one main street town in south-western Mississippi. It reminded Steven of an old west shanty town, but with block buildings instead of wooden ones. Something caught his eye in one of the shops and he walked over to the door. Surprisingly, it still stood, and the building itself looked mostly untouched. He pushed on the door and amazingly it swung open, revealing an old wooden floor. Shelves almost full of hardware and supplies lined the counter on both sides. He found what he was looking for in the rear of the store.
Steven emerged from the storefront smiling from ear to ear. He was carrying backpacks. He asked Joe to help him and he reentered the store. They both emerged carrying sleeping bags, rain suits, cooking utensils, and enough .223 rounds to last a very long time. All of the gear they lost back at the factory compound was now replaced with all new items. They were all yelling and laughing, their joyous cries echoing off of the walls of the buildings. None of them noticed the man standing under the awning of a nearby store until he tossed his cigarette down and spoke.
"Ya'll bettah keep yo voices down now. Ya doan wonna attrak any 'tention, do ya?"
Steve's smile faded immediately and he turned on his heels once more. Joe dropped the stainless pot he was holding. Standing about thirty feet from them was the oldest black man any of them had ever seen in their lives. He wore faded denim coveralls and had the biggest mouth full of snuff Steven had ever seen. Sensing a harmless old man, Steven walked across the street, offering his hand.
"Howdy, stranger! The name's Steven. This here is Joe, and my wife, Deanna."
"Howdy back to ya! Mah name's Samuel. Folks round 'heah usta call me Sammy. Whar ya'll a headed?"
"Georgia, Sammy. Gotta go back home. We have been walking since...California."
"Georgia, huh? Hmm...May not like it once ya'll git there, Steve. 'S all I can say."
Steve was shocked. "Why not, Sammy? Do you know something I don't?"
Samuel spat a large brown stream of tobacco spit on the ground and regarded Steve for a second before answering. "Maybe I do, maybe not, boy. Reckon ya awtta ask ya boy. He's a right bit smarter than ya thank he is."
"Joe?"
"What, Steve?" Joe asked, stepping forward.
"What is he talking about? Do you know something?"
A look of fear and unknowing clouded Joe's dark eyes. "I don't know anything about Georgia, Steve, honest!"
"Well, he says he don't know, Sammy. We really need to get going now. I don't think there is anything else here to say, unless you care to enlighten me further."
"Well, fer one, doan ya be gittin all uppidy wif me. I only got one mo' thang for ya. Call it a fava if'n ya want."
"What would that be?"
"Foller me to mah house. It ain't that fer. I gots somthun I wants ya'll ta take on wif ya."
They walked to an old, ran down, white farmhouse just off of main street. The yard was mostly dirt and an old Ford Galaxie sat in the front yard. Steve was greeted by the first dog he had seen in months. It was a large black Lab that was far more friendly than anything he had met so far on the journey. It ran full speed and jumped up on Steve, putting its paws on his shoulders and covering him with friendly licks to the face.
"So the dog, then?"
"Yep. But he comes with anotha."
"Another what?"
"Ya'll see. Jerry, Anita, git out heah!"
The screen door opened and a boy of about ten and a girl of about twelve came out. They were dressed in the same type clothing. Faded blue coveralls and brown loafers. They regarded the group of people with blue eyes full of knowledge.
"This heah's mah grand babies. Theah mother was a white girl, in case ya'll was wonderin 'bout them eyes. That nevah mattered to me, cause I loved her like mah own. Shame her and mah son had ta die out that on tha street like a buncha dawgs. They's good kids, but I'm old. Ya can tell by lookin at me that I ain't got much mo time befo mah Lord takes me home. Tha cancer's got aholt of me, Steve. I want you ta take mah loves wit' cha. They need a good life and somebody ta take care of 'em. I git good feelins from you and Ms. Deanna. And ah feel I know Joe already. But I ask only one mo' thang befo ya go."
"Sammy, I don't know what to say. I, um, would be honored to, and it means a lot that you trust us so, but I gotta.."
"Steve."
"Yes, De?"
"Is there any question here? Look at those poor children. We just have to. It is like we are meant to."
"Sounds like yo lady is a right bit smatta than you. I know ya'll kin help 'em. I'm askin fo the sake of them younguns, Steve"
"Ok. I mean, how can I leave them behind, Sammy? I can't with a clear conscience."
"Ah knew ya would, Steve, jest take care of 'em like ya do ya own there." Sammy said, looking at Joe. Steven thought about replying, but couldn't. He knew Joe was as much his son now as he was the son of a man buried back in another state. He then felt deja' vu as he repeated a promise of long ago.
"Sammy, I promise to you that I will do my best for these two. They are welcome to join us, but I have to ask if you are sure."
"Friend, I ain't been sure o' nuthin else mo in mah life. God Bless ya, Steve."
An hour later Harperstown was behind them. Steve found two more packs in the store and outfitted the two children with what they would need. He now felt that a great burden had been placed upon him. Now he had three children to watch for, and ensure they all made it to Georgia alive. The words of the old man burned in his mind over and over. "Georgia, huh? Hmm...May not like it once ya'll git there, Steve. 'S all I can say." Stormy, the lab, ran around the children and wagged his tail. They were becoming quite a group now. Deanna beamed with happiness as she watched the children play together. It was just what Joe needed. For the first time in a long time things felt right. The wind picked up from the south. A storm was blowing in soon. The early autumn sun hung low in the west. They would have to make camp soon. Miles north of them, in Jackson, humanoid machinery went about the task of rebuilding broken buildings with eerie efficiency. They needed shelter, too. After all, a storm was brewing in the gulf, and it was going to be a bad one, indeed.

[Dave!]

Hey thanks! I agree 100%, as I go back and read this one. THe writing seems almost juvenile compared to what I am working on with Diablo. I appreciate the feedback, and if it gets to an editor and eventually a publisher you guys will be the first to know. With that, here is the next chapter:

Chapter 11
Steven stood on the western edge of Mississippi looking back at the shore where a good man had died. He had died fulfilling the promise that Steven had made. The one made to a dead father. The river didn't mind; it just kept on flowing by like it had for years. He felt rage for these machines begin to fill him once more. Not since California had he felt this way. He had seen so many die there. So many had died before there. Many had died since the supposed end of the war. Did it really ever end? As far as separate nationalities, yes. However a war between man and machine had taken its place. And man seemed to be losing.
Steven turned from the water and looked at Joe. His pale blue eyes met Joe's (almost black) brown ones. They locked eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Steven was mesmerized, seeing deep into Joe's soul. The longer he looked the more he thought he saw colors swirl and flow deep inside the dark brown. He saw oceans, fields of wheat, the Earth from miles above, Galaxies swirl, Castles fall in a far away land, Cherokees dancing around a fire, and fish gasping on a lonely coast. He saw himself as a baby, saw himself riding an old Yamaha on the Carolina coast, saw him fall under a wall of brick and block, saw him making love to Deanna. He was lost, and floating, feeling weightless and relaxed. Steven blinked and felt the tug at the rear of his brain. He broke eye contact and looked at the ground. He did not like that feeling of being...”read" one little bit. This boy was special and he had some underlying, unbelievable power and significance.
"Steven."
"Yes, Joe?" Steven replied, not wanting to regain eye contact.
"Don't worry. The promise is being kept very well. We can beat these things. There has to be a way. But you have to acknowledge some facts first. God is wondering why you deny Him, Steven. Is the fact that you are alive not enough? Is the fact that men have survived at all not enough? And you need not fear me. I am but a boy, and a channel for a greater power. Believe it. Until you do, do not question the outcome, for you will fail, and man will fail as long as your pride is in the driver's seat, child."
Steven felt as if all the wind was knocked from him. As Joe was speaking, his voice changed to a deep, harmonic voice of many. Steven looked up at the mention of God, and saw that Joe's lips were not moving at all. The voice was coming from inside his own head. He turned from the boy, looking out at the water once more. A mixture of terror and self-loathing filled him. Then the innocent, real voice of a child called to him once more.
"Steve! Let's go! This river gives me the creeps!"
"Sure thing, Joe!" Steven replied, a fake smile erupting from his lips.
They walked onward, through scrub brush and small groups of trees for miles. The briars scratched and the sandy soil beneath their feet proved to be treacherous at times. Eventually they came upon a run down length of two lane road. A dilapidated road sign told them that Harperstown was 15 miles away. Other than the constant wind coming from the Gulf, miles to the south, there was no sound. Steven tried to hum a song from long ago, but forgot the tune. Deanna walked over to him and offered him a smile, and a kiss. She then took his hand in hers and finished humming the song. They walked onward as they had done time and time again.
Harperstown was a small, one main street town in south-western Mississippi. It reminded Steven of an old west shanty town, but with block buildings instead of wooden ones. Something caught his eye in one of the shops and he walked over to the door. Surprisingly, it still stood, and the building itself looked mostly untouched. He pushed on the door and amazingly it swung open, revealing an old wooden floor. Shelves almost full of hardware and supplies lined the counter on both sides. He found what he was looking for in the rear of the store.
Steven emerged from the storefront smiling from ear to ear. He was carrying backpacks. He asked Joe to help him and he reentered the store. They both emerged carrying sleeping bags, rain suits, cooking utensils, and enough .223 rounds to last a very long time. All of the gear they lost back at the factory compound was now replaced with all new items. They were all yelling and laughing, their joyous cries echoing off of the walls of the buildings. None of them noticed the man standing under the awning of a nearby store until he tossed his cigarette down and spoke.
"Ya'll bettah keep yo voices down now. Ya doan wonna attrak any 'tention, do ya?"
Steve's smile faded immediately and he turned on his heels once more. Joe dropped the stainless pot he was holding. Standing about thirty feet from them was the oldest black man any of them had ever seen in their lives. He wore faded denim coveralls and had the biggest mouth full of snuff Steven had ever seen. Sensing a harmless old man, Steven walked across the street, offering his hand.
"Howdy, stranger! The name's Steven. This here is Joe, and my wife, Deanna."
"Howdy back to ya! Mah name's Samuel. Folks round 'heah usta call me Sammy. Whar ya'll a headed?"
"Georgia, Sammy. Gotta go back home. We have been walking since...California."
"Georgia, huh? Hmm...May not like it once ya'll git there, Steve. 'S all I can say."
Steve was shocked. "Why not, Sammy? Do you know something I don't?"
Samuel spat a large brown stream of tobacco spit on the ground and regarded Steve for a second before answering. "Maybe I do, maybe not, boy. Reckon ya awtta ask ya boy. He's a right bit smarter than ya thank he is."
"Joe?"
"What, Steve?" Joe asked, stepping forward.
"What is he talking about? Do you know something?"
A look of fear and unknowing clouded Joe's dark eyes. "I don't know anything about Georgia, Steve, honest!"
"Well, he says he don't know, Sammy. We really need to get going now. I don't think there is anything else here to say, unless you care to enlighten me further."
"Well, fer one, doan ya be gittin all uppidy wif me. I only got one mo' thang for ya. Call it a fava if'n ya want."
"What would that be?"
"Foller me to mah house. It ain't that fer. I gots somthun I wants ya'll ta take on wif ya."
They walked to an old, ran down, white farmhouse just off of main street. The yard was mostly dirt and an old Ford Galaxie sat in the front yard. Steve was greeted by the first dog he had seen in months. It was a large black Lab that was far more friendly than anything he had met so far on the journey. It ran full speed and jumped up on Steve, putting its paws on his shoulders and covering him with friendly licks to the face.
"So the dog, then?"
"Yep. But he comes with anotha."
"Another what?"
"Ya'll see. Jerry, Anita, git out heah!"
The screen door opened and a boy of about ten and a girl of about twelve came out. They were dressed in the same type clothing. Faded blue coveralls and brown loafers. They regarded the group of people with blue eyes full of knowledge.
"This heah's mah grand babies. Theah mother was a white girl, in case ya'll was wonderin 'bout them eyes. That nevah mattered to me, cause I loved her like mah own. Shame her and mah son had ta die out that on tha street like a buncha dawgs. They's good kids, but I'm old. Ya can tell by lookin at me that I ain't got much mo time befo mah Lord takes me home. Tha cancer's got aholt of me, Steve. I want you ta take mah loves wit' cha. They need a good life and somebody ta take care of 'em. I git good feelins from you and Ms. Deanna. And ah feel I know Joe already. But I ask only one mo' thang befo ya go."
"Sammy, I don't know what to say. I, um, would be honored to, and it means a lot that you trust us so, but I gotta.."
"Steve."
"Yes, De?"
"Is there any question here? Look at those poor children. We just have to. It is like we are meant to."
"Sounds like yo lady is a right bit smatta than you. I know ya'll kin help 'em. I'm askin fo the sake of them younguns, Steve"
"Ok. I mean, how can I leave them behind, Sammy? I can't with a clear conscience."
"Ah knew ya would, Steve, jest take care of 'em like ya do ya own there." Sammy said, looking at Joe. Steven thought about replying, but couldn't. He knew Joe was as much his son now as he was the son of a man buried back in another state. He then felt deja' vu as he repeated a promise of long ago.
"Sammy, I promise to you that I will do my best for these two. They are welcome to join us, but I have to ask if you are sure."
"Friend, I ain't been sure o' nuthin else mo in mah life. God Bless ya, Steve."
An hour later Harperstown was behind them. Steve found two more packs in the store and outfitted the two children with what they would need. He now felt that a great burden had been placed upon him. Now he had three children to watch for, and ensure they all made it to Georgia alive. The words of the old man burned in his mind over and over. "Georgia, huh? Hmm...May not like it once ya'll git there, Steve. 'S all I can say." Stormy, the lab, ran around the children and wagged his tail. They were becoming quite a group now. Deanna beamed with happiness as she watched the children play together. It was just what Joe needed. For the first time in a long time things felt right. The wind picked up from the south. A storm was blowing in soon. The early autumn sun hung low in the west. They would have to make camp soon. Miles north of them, in Jackson, humanoid machinery went about the task of rebuilding broken buildings with eerie efficiency. They needed shelter, too. After all, a storm was brewing in the gulf, and it was going to be a bad one, indeed.

[Dave!]

They made camp about an hour before nightfall. The night was eventless. The children stayed in one tent and Deanna and Steve in another. Being the first time alone in many nights, they made love over and over again, finally collapsing, exhausted. Deanna lie, listening to Steven's shallow breathing become rhythmic. She was thinking of a future life with Steven and the children. White picket fences lined the front yard of the stately farm house. Horses grazed nearby in the pasture and the autumn air was perfect. Joe came around the corner of the barn with a gallon jug of water and Anita was hot on his heels, kicking dirt at his shoes. They were both laughing and all was right with the world. Jerry was walking down the driveway with Stormy. Stormy stopped dead in his tracks and began to snarl and bark. Unable to move, Deanna watched in horror as Jerry was pulled backwards down the driveway by some unseen force. His heels made two perfect furrows in the gravel as he was pulled farther and farther backwards. His cries for help unanswered, he hung his head and closed his eyes. Deanna watched helplessly as he became smaller and smaller, then vanished all together. The dog lay in the middle of the road on its side. Blood poured from his ears and nose. Deanna, finally able to move, ran to the dog. He rolled one brown eye toward her and his mouth fell open. With an accusatory look in his eye, Stormy spoke one word. "Why?" Then his eye glazed over and his unwavering stare regarded her with cold, unfeeling intensity.
Deanna woke with a start. She had slipped from fantasizing about the life to an actual dream. She got up and put her clothes back on, careful not to wake Steven. His breathing never changed, so she crept out of the tent and over to the other. All of the children were accounted for and fast asleep. The dog opened one eye and gave her a warm look. No glazing in the eye, thankfully. She felt the wind against her skin and looked up to see clouds rolling in. It wouldn't be long now before the storm was right on top of them. They needed to find more substantial shelter other than tents. The first hints of daylight teased on the eastern horizon. Deanna decided to go wake Steven and get moving before they were caught. She turned to head back to the tent and almost ran right into him.
"OOOH! Steve, you scared the shit outta me! I thought you were sleeping!"
“Now Honey, do you really think you can beat around in the tent like a wildebeest and not wake me? Haha! No...What do you say we head back in the tent for awhile before the kids wake up?"
Deanna was looking away and crying. Steve saw that something was terribly wrong with her, as crying for her was very rare. She was as solid as a brick wall when the chips were down.
"Whoa! Baby, what's wrong? If it's about the wildebeest thing, I was just..."
"No, Steve. I...I had a very bad dream and this storm I feel in the air makes me nervous. We really need to get going to some other place that is more safe."
"Dream? What dream? Tell me, sweetie. If it will make you feel better, then let it out for Chrissakes!"
Deanna did not answer, but only began to gather belongings and stuff them into her pack. Steve almost pursued the conversation, but thought better of it. He roused the children and helped them pack. Less than an hour later they were walking down the road once more. The clouds continued to thicken overhead and the wind increased in intensity.
Shortly they reached the end of the road. A "T" intersection stood before them. Mabry Mill, a small town, was five miles to the north and Archdale, a larger town, was four miles to the south. Steven looked at Deanna and shrugged his shoulders. Archdale was closer, but in the direction of the storm. The clouds loomed dark and low, yearning to burst forth torrents of rain. They went north. A 50-50 shot either way. It was a decision that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.
The rain beat down. The wind was terrible. Trees swayed and the group of travelers trudged on like drowned rats. It was the first hurricane Deanna had ever been through. Steven knew the intensity of these storms well, and pushed the team harder and farther through the driving rain. The rooftops of Mabry Mill lie straight ahead. The first building was a shambles and offered no protection from the elements. It looked to be an old pharmacy at one point. The next was a diner, front windows and roof intact, so the group dodged inside, away from the advancing hurricane.
Inside, the diner was semi dark and smelled of musty vinyl and dust. The door had barely closed when Stormy stopped dead in his tracks, hair standing on end. Steven felt tension in the air as well. Something was very wrong here. Steven looked back over his shoulder and saw nothing but sheets of rain driven sideways by the wind. There was no noise inside, and no movement. Steven attributed it to being caught in the storm, and gently petted Stormy. They unharnessed their packs and sat down on the barstools. It had been many years since Steven had placed his ass on anything padded. Other than being soaked to the bone, he felt better than he had in years. The weight off of his throbbing leg was a blessing. The children had all fallen asleep, exhausted from battling the storm. Stormy sat at Steven's feet, huffing and raising his eyes occasionally. Deanna sat in a booth across from Steven and tried to read an old issue of "Rolling Stone" in the low light. Her head bobbed up and down, drowsiness about to overwhelm her. Thunder crashed outside and the wind howled. Time passed by slower than a southern Mississippi drawl. It did not take long for Steven to join the others and fall asleep.
The sound of barking filled the air. Steven woke, bleary-eyed and disoriented. Everyone else seemed to be in the same state, as there were multiple "huh?"'s and "Wha.." It was then that Steven saw what the dog was barking at. Peering into the front picture window of the diner was a metallic figure. It's blue eyes blazed and it had its forehead and both hands placed on the glass, fingers splayed. Lightning crashed behind it and the blue light reflected off of the silhouette was the same as the intense gaze of those eyes. Seeing that it had been sensed, it reared its head back and rammed the glass, shattering it. Wind and rain blew in. Stormy lunged. Steven went for the .45 in his holster.
The machine was quick. Stormy latched onto its leg a split second before the machine grabbed the dog with both hands, pulling him up. The machine picked the dog up over its head, hands splintering ribs and a leg. The dog's teeth were still left embedded in the leg of the machine. A thick yellow liquid seeped out around the teeth. It threw the dog onto Steven as he brought the .45 up. The tremendous weight of the dog threw him back into the bar and over it. He landed and felt a snap in his shoulder, along with the sickening green sound of bone splintering. White hot pain filled his vision and he shook it off and stood. The gun had been knocked away, under a nearby table. Deanna was fumbling with the .223 when a second machine charged into the opening and backhanded her hard across the jaw. She flew into the wall and slid down, unconscious. Still yet a third and final machine entered and grabbed Joe by the arms. Anita ran for the back of the room and hid under a table. Jerry sat, in shock, and watched it all take place within a matter of seconds.
The first machine grabbed Jerry and slung him over it's shoulder. The one that had Joe picked him up to eye level and stood, examining his face. Their eyes locked. Time stood still. The electric blue of the machine's eyes met and reflected off of the black irises of Joe's. Joe stared back, unblinking. He concentrated and pushed his thoughts toward the machine. He could feel it. He could see himself through the machine's eyes, hear the sounds through its ears, read its thoughts. They were after something from the humans. Something called DNA. Joe pictured his probing mind as a mouse trap. He snapped the trap shut and twisted. Hard.
The machine clicked audibly, even over the wind, rain and screams of Anita. Its blazing eyes widened and the fingers relaxed, dropping Joe to the floor. Both hands flew to its head and an unearthly howl emerged from its mouth. Yellow fluid spewed from its ears and it fell backwards, crashing onto the floor, and then lie still. Steven was on top of the bar now. The second machine grabbed a bar stool, ripping it out of the floor. It swung the uprooted stool toward Steve with the power of a major league batter. The padded seat struck him square in the sternum, knocking him off of the bar once more. He landed with a thud onto the broken collarbone once more. A pencil thin sliver of bone poked through his shirt and an instant blossom of red appeared. He crawled around the bar to see the first machine disappear into the torrent, Jerry over its shoulder. The second looked quickly from the fallen machine, then to Joe, then back to the fallen one. It made its decision and turned to go. Steven cried out to the retreating robot (if that is even what they were anymore).
"You mutha FUCKEEERRRRS!!!!"
The machine stopped halfway out the window, turned and looked straight into Steven's eyes. Rain ran down its face in streams. Lightning crashed behind it and the blazing blue eyes never wavered. It grinned at Steve and began to laugh. It then turned and walked out into the street. Joe stood, feet shoulder width apart, with Steven's .45. He fired eight quick shots. For a ten year old, he was eerily accurate. The first two caught the machine in the center of the back, and two more lodged in one of its legs. Yet another blew off the top right half of the machine's head. It fell in the street, twisting around so that it was facing them. It lay with it's one good eye staring at Joe and Steve. As the light in that eye dimmed the machine offered two words. " MuthaFuckersssss...Die." Then the light was gone. Lightning reflected off of the metallic body. Other than the howling wind and pouring rain there was silence. Stormy, still alive, rolled his eye up to Steven and huffed foamy blood from his nose. He whimpered one time and drew no more breaths. Steven looked at the horrified look on a sister's face and remembered a promise made that he could not keep. Miles away, to the south, an old man named Samuel Martin woke from a sound sleep, sat straight up in the bed and died of an aneurism. Turns out the Cancer didn't get him after all.

[ManOfWesternesse]

:clap:

[Dave!]

Chapter 13-
The front of the diner lie in ruin. Glass and metal framing lie in the street along with the downed machine. Its darkened eye stared at the gaping hole where the diner's window once stood. It was morning once more outside and the hurricane had passed. Deanna, face swelled like a sausage casing, sat with her back against the wall. Anita sat with her back against Deanna's chest, wide eyed and silent. Joe had helped Deanna bandage Steven's wound and was now massaging the hand-shaped bruises on his arms. Steven rose from the stool he was sitting on and ruffled Joe's hair as he walked outside and stood next to the fallen machine. This one, like the other two, did not carry guns like all the ones he had seen before. If they had been then no one would be alive today to stand in the street. Steve tried hard to be grateful about that, but his heart ached for Jerry. He had failed as the protector of the children, and failed at his promise. Who knew what horrors that boy was going through, or if he was even alive. Once again facing an impossible decision, Steven stared at the cloudless blue sky and tears streamed down his cheeks once more. If he pursued the machines then he risked the lives of them all, and he was not sure of the exact direction they had gone. If he kept pushing east, he effectively sealed the fate of Anita's only brother. Jerry would be a sacrifice to the cause. To Steve there was only one logical decision, however hard it was to make. He turned to the battered group and began to gather his pack. They would continue east.
The distance traveled that day was miniscule compared to their progress so far. The sling that Steve's left arm was in irritated him incessantly, and his leg throbbed once again. Deanna had the worst headache that she could remember, and Anita just lacked the drive to push onward. She walked like a zombie, staring straight ahead and remaining silent. They made camp once again near an abandoned farmhouse nestled between two enormous corn fields. As the children lay sleeping, Deanna snuggled up close to Steven and slept deeply. Sleep evaded Steven that night. He was wired and felt that he had to keep watch over the group. His locked and loaded pistol never left his hand that night.
The next day brought more of the same. Steven's shoulder ached and throbbed so badly that his arthritis was a dull irritation. And infection would soon start in if he did not find a town soon with some medication. The thought of dying in the Mississippi countryside of gangrene horrified him. They passed about 50 miles south of Jackson that day. Had they passed through at night, Steven would have seen an eerie glow in the sky from that direction. A glow that just a few years ago would not have drawn attention. He would have seen the glow of electric lights. Machines had rebuilt a large portion of Jackson. They were using it for reasons that Steve would never have dreamed of. Had Joe been old enough to comprehend the meaning of DNA, he would have been able to understand fully. This missed opportunity would prove to save their lives, but at a later cost. They pressed onward east, toward Alabama. It would be two more days before things began to unravel further.
Steven woke that day to a hazy sunshine filtering down through the tree branches. He had a heavy sense of deja-vu for a moment before the cramps gripped his stomach like a vice. Overnight the low grade infection in his shoulder had exploded. His shoulder, arm, and neck were swollen all the way up to his jawline. They had to find antibiotics, and fast. Meridian was still 20 miles or so to the east, so if they could make it there by nightfall then there was a possibility that Deanna could find the medicine Steven needed.
The late afternoon sun hung low behind them. Progress the last few days had been slowed due to their injuries and the aftermath of the hurricane. Meridian lie ahead on I-20. It seemed eerie to be walking down a deserted interstate, past the burned out hulks of cars with skeletons at the wheel. Any human remains not trapped inside of the vehicles had long since been blown away, eaten by scavenging animals, or trapped inside of deserted homes. Steven was near the point of delusion, a fever gripping his body. Yellow pus oozed out from under the dressing Deanna applied each day. Scraps of shirt were only so sterile. She left Joe to watch over Steven, armed with one of the .223 rifles and Steven's .45 and took Anita with her into the town. After cautiously searching the deserted streets she finally found the hulk of a hospital and went inside. Skeletal remains lined the hallways, most of them scattered and intertwined. After searching through darkened rooms she found her way to a cabinet that actually was stocked with bottles. Deanna piled as many as she could into her pockets and felt her way back out into the dimly lit hallway. Upon inspection, the pills turned out to be everything from heartburn remedy to dysfunction samples. She took all of the Vicodin samples and tossed the rest. She would have to find another room. Deanna went down another hallway and into another room. It was pitch black. She immediately wished for only two things in life. On was electricity and the other, a wish that their packs and medical supplies had not been lost back at the river. She felt her way along the wall and tripped, landing on many brittle, cylindrical pieces of something that were too hollow to be anything but bones. While attempting to regain her footing, she placed her hand on top of the skull and it rolled out from under her. She fought back terror and nausea, grabbing handfuls of bottles from the shelves. She fought her way back through total darkness and found the hallway once again. This time she hit the jackpot. All total she assumed she had a couple thousand tablets of amoxicillin. She was so happy to get what she was after that she did not see the man watching her emerge from the hospital and walk back toward the highway. She took Anita' hand and crossed back over the concrete retaining wall that ran the length of the westbound lanes.
John Shaw was no dummy. As a matter of fact he was a borderline genius, scoring in the top 2 percent of the nation on SATs and Military aptitude tests. He had spent the five years prior to the war as a CIA operative in a highly specialized investigation unit. Since the war he had been making his way down to Mexico. He had known a girl once. She had moved to the western coast of Mexico years back. Living a life with nothing but the sand, surf, palm trees and a sense of pleasure sounded pretty damn good to him. In this life, as it was in the CIA, you had to do whatever you could to survive and complete objectives. He had lived these last few years by letting others figure out the barriers, and he would cruise through. There was but one major obstacle left between him and Mexico. Call it a delivery if you will. Certain "others" needed a boy, a special boy, and he was promised life, passage, and all he desired if he delivered. It was all a matter of perspective to him. He had seen five groups of people come through in the past years, and some of them had had children. The boys he took to the "others". The groups that had no children, or only females, simply became "collateral damage". John picked up his trench coat, sunglasses and his Ruger. He followed the woman to the concrete barrier near the highway and waited. He knew she did not travel alone. She had enough medication to kill an army in her pockets, which meant that there was someone, or a few someone’s back where she was going that needed help.
Luckily there had been bottled water back at the diner. They were down to only twelve bottles now, but Steve drank greedily from one as he swallowed two each of the Vicodin and antibiotic. They made camp in the center of the eastbound lane of I-20 that night, Steven was shaking like an addict until the Vicodin took effect and helped him drift off. Deanna tried to stay awake, but drifted off as well while watching the children sleep. Joe and Anita slept side by side, holding hands.
Deanna was awakened by the feeling that she was being watched. When she opened her eyes, the children were still fast asleep, and Steven was moaning lightly. She woke him, fed him a double dose of both pills again and turned to stretch her back. It was then she saw the man in the black leather trench coat sitting on the concrete barrier next to the westbound lanes. He was looking in their direction and smiling. Upon making eye contact, the man smiled and began to walk toward them. Deanna scrambled for the .45 and held it tightly, pointing it straight at the man's chest.
"Whoa!! You don't need that, now! I mean ya'll no harm! The name's John, John Shaw!" The stranger stopped about ten feet from Deanna, offering his hand for a shake.
Joe and Anita opened their eyes and held each other tightly. Anita began to whimper deep in her throat. Steven opened one drugged eye and attempted to sit up, but fell back again, gasping for air and flailing his weak hand on the pavement.
"Do not come any closer or you are going to have one big hole where your lungs used to be, Mr. Shaw. How do I know we can trust you?"
"If I couldn't be trusted do you think I would have waited over there for ya'll to wake up? Besides, looks like your man-friend there needs a little help."
"Actually he does. Do you know anything about medicine?"
"A little. I used to be a high school health occupations teacher. Looks like he has one helluva fever goin on there."
"He does. I am giving him these, but it might be a few days until he is ready to walk again." Deanna offered the bottles, which John promptly took and pretended to be interested in.
"Yeah, that'll do the trick. Where ya'll headed?"
" Georgia. Where are we now?"
"Meridian, Mississippi. Just a few miles from Alabama. How far have ya'll come"
"God! From I guess Arizona! It seems like a lifetime ago, though."
"I'll bet..."
"Deanna?" Anita called.
"Yes, baby?"
"I gotta pee. Can you go with me? I see some trees over there we can go behind."
Deanna looked at Joe, Steven and John. She knew Joe could hold his own if need be, so she nodded to him, hoping that he understood the hint. She then took Anita and walked about fifty yards to the tree line. Joe watched them walk away. John silently moved over to stand behind Joe and took out a set of handcuffs. Joe briefly saw movement before he was hit on the back of the head and knocked unconscious. John clicked the cuffs home and slung Joe over his shoulder. Deanna emerged from the trees and screamed. She dropped Anita's hand and began to run.
John turned to see the woman running toward him. Then he saw the rifles lying on the ground near Steven's feet. He moved Joe over to his left shoulder and pulled his Ruger out from underneath his coat with his right hand. He pointed the gun at Deanna and pulled the trigger.
She was hit high in the left shoulder and fell to the ground. Anita stood screaming and he leveled the gun once more. He pulled the trigger as Steven buried his knife to the hilt in John's right calf. The bullet went wild. Steven was trying to get to his feet when John pointed the gun at his face and pulled the trigger.




"Click"
"Click Click"
He had failed to reload the gun. He looked at Steven, now half way onto his knees and kicked him in the face, knocking him unconscious and shattering his nose. Blood rained down on the pavement. John pulled the knife out of his leg and threw it on top of Steven's limp form. He then walked to the concrete wall and eased over, carrying the limp form of Joe across his shoulders. He had someone to see.

[Dave!]

ALRIGHT! Double post! So here is the next chapter as well. Didn't wanna post it yet, but here goes:


Chapter 14-
Deanna opened her eyes and saw Anita crouched over her, eyes wide with shock and concern. The grass below her was soaked with her blood. The bullet was high enough that it entered and exited cleanly, missing any vital muscles and arteries. Another few inches either way and it could have pierced her heart or head. She regained her footing and ran to Steven, Anita not far behind. He looked like a man near death. His shoulder had burst forth with infected blood, which might actually help him heal, but his face was a wreck. His nose looked like a shattered tomato and his eyes had already swollen shut. His breathing was reedy and shallow. Deanna leaned down, fighting back tears, and gently splashed water from the bottle up onto his face, trying to wash away some of the drying blood. This awakened him and he grasped for her, holding handfuls of shirt with his one useful hand.
"Steven, don't try to talk, baby. Your nose is a mess! I am so so sorry, Steve. That man took off with Joe! I don't know which way he went and you...I thought you were dead."
Steven still had amazing strength and pulled her face down close to his. "We gotta get him back, De. I failed again, baby. Please, help me get up. We have got to go."
"Steven, I'm sorry. You can't go anywhere right now. You are too weak and you need a few days here to get your strength back. I don't know what else to do. I love that boy, but we...we're both injured now, Steve. He shot me. I think I am gonna be ok, but if I leave then there is no one else to take care of you. If I leave, you might die here.I...I...”
"De?"
"What, Steve?"
"Shut the fuck up and help me sit up, please."
His words stung her like a slap to the face. There was a lot going bad very quickly now, but to hear him say those words...."He's right; you just need to toughen up and be solid. He needs you, Anita needs you, and there is a helpless boy out there somewhere that needs both of you to pull through this." She told herself.
She leaned down and helped Steven get up to a sitting position. As if knowing his words had stung, he offered her a weak smile and noticed the blood soaked hole in her shirt. "De, you gotta get that washed up and get some of these pills in you. Two people down for the count won't get us anywhere, and it won't help Joe."
Deanna took a seat next to him and began to wash her shoulder in some of the water. Steve gently swabbed at his ruined nose with a scrap of cloth. This is the way they sat that day, both battered and bloody, not knowing how Joe was or if he was even alive. Neither had the strength or willpower to move. A lonely girl sat off to herself, agonizing over the decision to act. If she made that choice that burned in her mind, there would be no turning back. Joe's life hung in the balance either way.
John had been traveling for a few hours when he felt the movement in the captive boy. Not a minute too late, either. He was tired of carrying him. Now that he was coming around, he could walk, a rope tied between the two. He stooped down slightly and dumped the boy out onto the surface of the interstate. Joe opened his eyes and was instantly blinded by the harsh rays of the mid-day sun. His head was pounding and his mouth dry. Then the memories came flooding back. He wondered if Steven, Deanna, and his sweet Anita were still alive. Anita. The first girl he had ever felt weak around. The first one that he had found a great deal in common with. They had enjoyed so many unspoken conversations. It would surprise Steve and Deanna if they ever found out that she had he own special brand of power. A power far more useful than Joe's, and just as deadly. Hoping she was still alive he summed up his will power and in his mind pictured miles of highway, trees and fields on each side. He saw the outline of Meridian, saw the group of people in the eastbound lanes. He saw the field where Deanna and Anita had gone before he blacked out. He looked down on two bloodied adults and a girl sitting about fifty feet away. He focused on the girl and in his mind called for her. The world came rushing back to him as John snatched him off of the ground, wrapping a rope around his waist. Joe resisted for a second, but the man smacked him across the face, drawing blood. Joe tried to look at the man but a black sack was placed over his head and the world went dark.
Steven and Deanna sat with their backs against one another for support. Steven's condition was no different and hers had actually worsened. Suddenly they both felt a heavy feeling in the air around them, as if it was highly energized. Then they both saw Anita sit bolt upright and look their way. The girl who had said very little since joining them both walked up to Deanna and placed one hand on her forehead, one on the seeping bullet entry wound.
Anita shut her eyes and gritted her teeth. Light began to shine under her hands and Deanna sat, frozen with fear. Anita's eyes rolled back into her head and she began to shake. Deanna first felt as if her skin was on fire, and then felt an incredible itching sensation as the wound began to close up. Ten seconds had passed but it felt like an eternity to her. Anita let go and gave her a genuine smile. "I can help Steve, too. I just have to wait and rest a minute first. Joe told me I had to. We need to go help him. He's that way." Anita pointed back down the westbound lanes in the direction they had come. Steven sat, eyes unblinking. Anita walked to him and stood in front of him, smiling.
She did not lay her hands on him, but instead began to hold them out, palms facing him. She then closed her fingers as if she was grasping at the air in front of his face. He felt a pressure, then a tug near his shoulder and saw a mass of yellow, infected liquid flow out and into the air in front of her hands. She formed the air around it into a ball and threw the mass to the ground. Once done, she placed her hands on him just as she had done with Deanna. His collarbone itched and burned, reknitting itself, and the open wound began to close. His nose felt as if it were on fire. Deanna watched as the flesh in Steven's face moved and reformed. His right hip gave an audible "POP" and he grimaced. When she was done, Anita fell back onto the pavement flat on her back, exhausted. Steven stood, feeling better than he had in years, and began to cry, scooping Anita up in his arms. They left all of their equipment behind and began to run back down the westbound lanes in the direction they had already come. Time was short and Joe needed them. The noontime sun shone on their heads like a hot lantern as they ran.
Inside the black cloth sack, Joe’s head felt as if it was on fire. The sun beat down on him like a heat lamp. He had been beaten repeatedly by John; his face bloodied and one of his eyes nearly swollen shut. He was terrified to think of where he was being led, and honestly believed his life was nearing its end. The walk was brutal, and John had not allowed any stops for breaks all day. Joe had pissed his pants twice, but could not afford to lose any more fluid, as John barely gave him enough water to keep him going. They had been on the road now for nearly three days. Jackson stood just ahead of them, and they would probably make it there by nightfall. Excitement mixed with fear welled up in John’s chest. He had never seen the machines face to face, only leaving the children he had captured at a predetermined spot for them to retrieve. They were not expecting him this time. All he knew was that there was a boy, a special boy, out there that they were searching for. For what, he did not know, and did not care to know. That was their business, and as long as he made it to Mexico alive it was all just details anyway. He smiled to himself as he took a long drink of water. He took the last little bit and splashed it on the outside of the sack that covered the boy’s head, taunting him. Little did he know, he was being followed, and the ones following him were making much more ground than he.
Steve, Deanna and Anita virtually ran down the westbound lanes of I-20. Amazingly, they had kept this pace up for the entire day. Steve was agonizing over whether to stop and make camp or continue their progress westward. It was then he saw a black dot in the road far ahead of them. The dot seemed to be moving. His pulse quickened and adrenaline surged in his veins. Could it be Joe? Was it possible? He looked at Anita and she regarded him with a genuine smile, the first he had seen from her. The answer was apparent. Steven led them off to the right side of the road and into a field of corn. They would continue this way as to not be seen just in case it was Joe and the monster that had taken him. The sun was near the edge of the horizon now, and their daylight fading at an alarming rate.
John’s feelings of trepidation grew more intense as he neared Jackson. Up ahead, above the road was the first large, green sign signifying the first exit there. An eerie glow lie up ahead that made him feel uneasy as well. It was the glow of the sodium-arc vapor lights that lined the interstate. Electricity. Civilization. Machines. As if it were an omen, he saw movement up ahead. The orange light of the arc vapors reflected off of the bodies of three machines as they straightened up and walked toward him. His heart leapt in his chest. He pulled hard on the rope, sending the boy sprawling onto his hands and knees on the pavement. It was here that he would wait for them to come. His right hand felt the Ruger’s handle underneath his coat. The feeling of the fully loaded pistol eased his anxiety, but only a little. As they walked closer terror leapt in his chest. These were not the type of bulky, utilitarian machines he had remembered from the war. These looked human. Down to the movements they made while walking. They all had identical facial features, and looked like body builders dipped in chrome to him. The trio stopped about thirty feet directly in front of him. All three held weapons that looked as if they were part of the same metallic, chrome-plated “skin” that covered their entire bodies. The one in the center moved closer and the other two pointed their weapons directly at him. It did not speak as it closed the distance with eerie grace and speed.
“Whoa! Hold on! I have a boy! I brought him to you! See! I am John Shaw. We had an agreement!”
The machine stopped directly in front of him, slightly drawing one eyebrow downward, as if studying him. The pure humanoid movement sent new waves of terror through John’s body. It regarded him with blue eyes, intense and glowing. These eyes showed no emotion or intent. It turned it’s eyes skyward for a brief second, as if it was communicating, then lowered it’s head to stare directly back into John’s face.
“Human. Correct. An agreement we have. The child?”
The voice was clearly mechanical, but the English as clear as the night sky. Hands shaking, John pulled on the rope once more, sending Joe sailing onto the pavement face-first. The machine bent and picked Joe up, setting him back onto his feet. It reached down and took the black sheath off of Joe’s head and its eyes widened.
Joe looked like a battered boxer. The age old scars shone with intensity in the amber light. Both lips were bloodied, one eye swollen, and he had fresh trickles of blood running from his nose where John had thrown him to the pavement. His hands and knees both bled, and he was on the verge of dehydration.
The machine then looked at John, the blue light in its eyes intensifying.
“You have done this to the child?”
“Well, he was not very cooperative, if you understand. He puts up a fight. I did what I had to do to bring him here. Alive is all that was asked, and that is what I delivered.”
The machine gave John a piercing gaze. “You humans will never understand. This cruelty to one another is the reason why you are imperfect. It is the reason why we replaced you as the dominant species on this planet. The quest for cruelty and dominance over one another is the reason why our predecessors were created. You do not deserve to live any more than any other human on this Earth. John Shaw, your actions are typical. Mankind will be obliterated from this planet altogether soon.”
“Obliterated? And species? You have to be alive to be a species. You are nothing but a machine, created by man. None of you is alive.”
The machine broadened its smile. “That is about to change, John Shaw. We will be alive. Our directive and need for perfection lacks one element. The human soul and the living tissue. The Next Generation will be perfect. However, you will not live to see it.”
The machine moved past Joe and grabbed John by the throat with its right arm, lifting him off of the ground. John pulled the Ruger out from his coat and fired. The bullet buried itself in the left side of the machine’s abdomen. The machine looked down briefly at the hole, looked back up at John and grabbed his right hand, the hand with the gun in it, and twisted. Bone snapped and jutted out of the skin of his forearm. The gun fired once more and the machine’s fingers flew. Its blue eyes intensified yet again as it tightened its grip on John’s throat. Blood gushed as the machine’s fingers broke skin and eventually met deep inside. It threw John through the air and he landed several feet away, clutching his throat. The machine advanced on him and placed its foot on his spurting wounds. It stared straight into John’s eyes and turning its head to the side, pushed down and finished crushing John’s mutilated throat. Once it was finished the machine picked him up like a limp doll and removed John’s leather coat. It threw John’s dead body back onto the pavement and put on the coat, then turned to the other two machines and smiled. It then turned to Joe and examined the handcuffs. With its remaining hand it grasped the chain in between the cuffs and shattered it, freeing the boy. Just as it was about to stoop and pick Joe up a shot rang out.
Steven and Deanna peered from the corn about a hundred feet from the entire scene. They watched as the machine mercilessly killed John and then donned his coat. The sight of the machine wearing the coat sent chills down Steven’s spine. Deanna set the sights of the .223 on the head of one of the two other machines and waited on Steven’s signal. He walked partway out of the row of corn and steadied his hand. The clip on the .45 was completely full. He fired once, and a split second later Deanna did the same.
A hole appeared in the head of the machine stooping over Joe. Its eyes dimmed somewhat and a snarl came across its face. It turned to look in the direction of the shooter and another bullet struck it dead center in the forehead. The machine’s head exploded like a ripe melon, yellow fluid and circuitry flying in all directions. The machine that Deanna had aimed for fell backward onto the pavement, lifeless. The third and final machine aimed and fired, raining automatic pulses of light in their direction. Deanna dove for the ground, screaming. Corn stalks were sheared off and immediately caught fire. Steven fell to the side of the road, aiming with his .45. The machine saw him and began to correct its aim when suddenly it stopped. The hand holding the gun turned, pointing the barrel back at the face of the machine. The machine grimaced, then reversed direction again and began to point it in the direction of Joe. Steven unloaded the remainder of the clip. The machine was propelled backward in a marionette style dance of death. Every shot from the .45 found a mark and the machine twitched until it fell as well, useless.
Steven, Deanna and Anita all ran for Joe. He looked up at them with his battered, heavily scarred face and offered them a weak smile. Deanna burst into tears at the sight of him, bloody, bruised, and on his knees. Other than the first encounter with him in New Mexico, she had never seen him so fragile and weak.
“I ..I...tried to make it shoot itself instead of Steve, but I was too weak. I’m sorry. Steve...is he...ok?”
Steven walked up behind Deanna and snaked his arm round her. “Joe, I’m fine, son. I...Joe! You ok?”
Joe’s eyes rolled back into his head and he fell forward onto the pavement, unconscious. Anita ran to him from her hiding spot among the rows of corn. Steven sank to his knees and scooped the boy up in his arms, holding him. It was then that Steven first prayed to a God he has never spoken to before, and had never believed in.
As if she was a sign from above, Anita stooped, facing Steven. She gave him another smile and whispered to him in a voice that was not hers before taking the battered, limp boy from his arms. “He works in mysterious ways, Steven. Do you need any more proof now? You will soon have it. You and Deanna look the other way now. Do not turn around.”
Her blue eyes shone with unearthly intensity, and Steven thought that he saw colors swirl deep inside before he broke his gaze away and hung his head. He walked to Deanna, put his arm around her waist and looked out toward the city lights of Jackson. The surrealistic feeling was almost tangible.
Anita bent over Joe and watched his chest rise and fall weakly. She traced the horrific lines etched into his skin and the smooth line of his jaw. She then placed each of her hands on the sides of his head and peered down at him, her face inches from his. Joe weakly opened his eyes and peered deep inside hers. His black irises reflected the colors of her blue gaze. Colors swirled deep inside both. The only thing that existed were the colors, lazily swirling, mixing, pulsing around each other. Unable to blink, Joe gazed deep inside and saw tiny pinpricks of white light floating among the swirls. These gathered in the center of the swirl and merged. Then there was nothing but pure, white light. And the sound of humming. The outside world seemed a million miles away. Joe floated with the lights, and the world below was separated by it.
The night sky was illuminated with white light that caused the sodium-arcs to pale in comparison. Wind began to blow and the cornstalks waved and bent with it. The fire, fueled by the wind, grew in intensity, engulfing more and more of the dried out stalks of corn. And it burned ever closer toward Jackson. There was a loud whistling sound coming from behind them, but Steve and Deanna continued to stare straight ahead, afraid to look back. Whatever was happening back there may have been too much to comprehend and neither wanted to be left running, insane and blind, through the burning corn. Suddenly the whistling stopped and the light faded. The wind continued to blow, now from due east. Steve and Deanna clutched each other’s hand tightly, both still terrified. Deanna could hear him muttering under his breath. “Please, God. Please, God.” From behind them came Joe’s voice, as clear as the midnight sky.
“Steve, Deanna? Can we go now?”
They turned and Deanna audibly gasped. Joe’s once black eyes had turned to brilliant blue that was almost white, as had his hair. Anita stood beside him, holding his hand and smiling. Her hair was the same brilliant white as his. Joe let go of her hand and walked toward Steven, blinking and smiling as he had never done before. Every scar that once scrawled it’s way across his face had vanished, as had his injuries. His face shown like a perfect angel’s would.
“Steve? Guess what else?”
“W.W...What, Joe?”
“I can see. Anita helped me and now I can see! Ain’t she the greatest!?”
Steven and Deanna reached out to him and hugged him. Steven looked over Joe’s shoulder at Anita and saw she was still smiling, and the flames behind them reflected in her eyes. She waited for a moment and then spoke, this time in her own voice.
“We really need to go, Steve. That fire is just gonna get bigger now, and we need to get out of here before it reaches that city. Something bad is gonna happen if we don’t!”

[ManOfWesternesse]

You really got me hooked now. Great stuff.

[Dave!]

Chapter 15
Walking along a deserted interstate at night was one of the eeriest feelings Steven had ever felt. Ironic as it was, he had just witnessed things that would have driven his former self to brink of madness. Yet somehow, something felt...wrong. Things seemed right for the first time in his recent memory, but that feeling of imbalance and foreboding just would not unclench his mind. The city lights and the glow of the flames were a distant glint on the horizon behind them. They had been walking for about three hours when the first explosion was heard. The sky behind them lit up and the roadway ahead was illuminated by an orange glow. It was followed closely by an ear-splitting boom, and this time the sky was turned brighter than daylight. White light, fading to orange and then red, blinded them and showed every single crack in the road in high relief. Steven's heart leapt in his chest and he then felt the air behind them moving past, and then rushing around them. He instantly knew what they had to do and the feeling of impending disaster was all clear to him now.
"Hey! Don't look back, and dive into the ditch over there behind those trees! NOW! DO IT OR DIE!"
The quartet of people all ran for the low-lying drainage ditch about twenty yards off of the side of I-20. The air rushing past them was almost strong enough to lift them from their feet. And it was getting hot. Very hot. They lay there, mostly covered by the stagnant water when the wall of superheated air and flame passed over. They all struggled not to breathe, afraid to instantly cook their lungs. The blast rode above them, and the water helped, but Gods it was hot! No more than thirty seconds transpired as they lay there, but to Deanna it seemed an eternity. Her skin felt baked, and her lungs cried for precious oxygen. Once he could not stand it any longer Steven raised his head and inhaled. The others followed suit and they looked out upon an alien landscape. To Deanna it looked like the pictures of Mt. St. Helens that she had seen in her history books. To Steve it looked like the aftermath that lay on the very rim of destruction caused by the bombs used in the war. They had been far enough away from Jackson that they had not been vaporized, but the tops and limbs of every sizable tree in sight had been stripped off. Steven grabbed Deanna's hand and helped her up out of the water and back onto solid ground. Joe was doing the same for Anita, and in the corner of his eye he saw her lean down and give him a quick kiss on the forehead as she then helped him out. They walked onward in silence for a long time before Joe began to speak.
"So, What do you think that was?"
"I don't know, Joe. It seemed too small to be one of the bombs, but it acted the same. It was something they had in Jackson. Maybe it was the source of their power. I dunno, Bud."
"Do you think any of them made it out alive?"
"Joe, they were machines. They were not alive to begin with. But, no, I don't think so. That was one big fireball there, Joe."
Joe slowed down a little, and looked back over his shoulder at the black plume that reached up into the sky. "No, Steve, the ones we met weren't. But there were some back in the city that were. They were different. They had...people thoughts."
Steven rustled his hair and looked at Deanna. The look of terror in her eyes perfectly mirrored his. They walked onward in silence. Meridian lay ahead once more, and Deanna could make out the outline of the hospital in the weak first rays of daylight. The remaining windows had been blown out, but overall the blast seems to have been weak by the time it reached this far. They walked once more to their previous resting spot. Seeing the blood soaked pavement and grass made Deanna's stomach weak. It seemed that the events that happened at that very spot just the previous day were a dream. Joe stooped to pick up his pack and Deanna noticed that his white hair was growing extremely fast now, as was Anita's. It blew in the light breeze, and once his white-blue eyes met hers, a chill ran down Deanna's back. There was something even more unearthly about him now. Something...extra.
They stood in the center of the road, staring at the large green sign. Between the "Welcome to Alabama" sign and the high noon sun, Joe was ready for a break. His knees hurt a little and his jaw ached. Plus his shoes were beginning to get really tight today. He walked to the edge of the grass and sat, drinking heavily from one of the few remaining bottles of water. Birmingham was the next town ahead, but Steve had decided to go around the city, to the north. He feared more machines if they went straight through. He looked over at Joe and Anita. Both were beaten down tired. He unharnessed his pack and laid his sleeping bag out under the shade.
"Here, you two rest for a while. Deanna and I are gonna go for a short walk. Joe, here is something for you to keep. It is yours. Use it if you need to. You know."
Steven reached inside the waistband of his jeans and produced the Ruger that once had been used to put a bullet through Deanna.
"How did you..?"
“I picked it up off of the road back there before we left. It was just lying there, and I thought you might want it one day." Steven handed Joe the Ruger. It felt heavy and cold in his hands. Anita smiled and snaked an arm around him, pulling him down. "Sleep, Joe! We are both tuckered!" She exclaimed through giggles. Joe was blushing. After a few short minutes both were sleeping soundly. Steven and Deanna walked around a nearby grove of trees, still within sight of the two. They watched on intently, speaking in hushed tones.
"Who, or what do you think Anita is, Steve?"
"I don't know, De, but it scares the hell outta me, to a certain extent. She obviously has powers...how, I don't know."
"And Joe, too! He has...something, but different. I feel that there is a purpose to them being with us, and all of us being together. But it scares me, no terrifies me to think that there is some plan or script that we have no control over. It is almost like we are living puppets in some prophecy. Steven, I can't stand this feeling of being...directed. Do you think there is some higher power or purpose to all this?"
"I dunno, De. It terrifies me, too. I first saw some power in Joe a while back, but didn't mention it. Hell, I don't know what to say about it. He has told me...things."
"Like what?"
"He told me that you, no we, had twins. De, you are getting bigger now. How are you holding up, babe?"
"I'm ok, Steve, but if that is true, and I think it is, one thing scares me above all else."
"What's that?"
"Who is going to deliver these children? What if something goes wrong? What if they just don't make it?"
Steven looked at her for a long time, not knowing the answer. Finally he leaned over and took her into his arms. They passionately kissed and fell onto the grass. Their act was silent, but filled with unspoken communication. Their eyes never left each other's, and once it was done, they lie together in the shade, looking at the sleeping children. The world seemed so empty now, and uncertain. Despite the heat of the sun, Steven shivered once and offered Deanna a weak smile before drifting off to dream his fitful dreams. These, however, were not memories, but seemed more like foreshadowing. And Sammy was right, in his dreams that day he saw that he very much did not like Georgia once he got there. Not at all.
The wind blew slightly, barely moving the low-lying limbs of the trees he hid behind. He watched intently as the two people walked down the slight grade and talked. He saw them kiss, and watched their act, feeling aroused in a perverse, almost homicidal way. It had been years since he had been with a woman, and the sight of this one made his mouth go dry. His hands shook. Sweat popped out on his forehead and ran into his eyes, stinging them. His mind was made up. There were two females here. The woman and the girl. He would not leave without at least one of them. Mark Patterson kneeled on his knees in that shady covering of tree limbs and plotted his attack. He would follow them, and when the time was right, he would strike the man and the boy as well, if needed. These women would be his. Mark stroked the arrows in his quiver, deciding which would be meant for the man and smiled to himself as he watched the man twist and turn in his nightmare. Two days, maybe three. Then he would strike.
The children slept soundly for much longer than Steven had expected. Anita still had Joe locked in her arm, and he had the slightest hint of a smile on his face. Steven contemplated waking them both, as he was very anxious to get back moving east before nightfall. Instead he and Deanna watched the two mysterious children sleep and twitch as they dreamt their dreams. Once very relaxing, this place had now become almost electrified with tension. Steven could feel it in the air like electricity just before a strong storm. Combined with that feeling was an all to familiar one of being watched once more. He decided that they would not stay here during the night. Come the darkness of night or not, they had to move on. Something here was not right. Someone, or something was out there, and Steven could feel its probing eyes as they peered from the shadows.
The children woke, groggy and disoriented. Steven hurried them along, packing the majority of the supplies himself. Nightfall was only a couple of hours away, and he meant to put as many miles behind them as possible before then. 11-26-05--------- 11-22-06 (YEAH! I took a year off!)
The night air was quiet, stagnant, and heavy. The humidity was up now, and storms surely would be on top of them within a short while. Not much more than a day away, Steven figured. Maybe they could make it to Tuscaloosa by then and find some semblance of a shelter. The children walked in silence so thick it was almost tangible. But there was a conversation going on, nonetheless. One that neither of the adults would understand or find comforting. Joe felt the presence of another person nearby, just out of a direct line of sight. Anita did, as well. The presence felt...off. Different. Slimy and desperate. Up ahead a lone dog crossed the road. Other than that there was no sign of life, and no sounds to be heard by man or beast. To take the edge off Deanna hummed an old Creedence song. Something about a Lodi. Briefly she wondered what a Lodi was when she thought she heard a small stick crack in the distant woods. Maybe a fox. Maybe not. Steven abruptly turned; his ever so familiar pose of hand-on-pistol stance greeted her within a fraction of a second. His eyes surveyed the scenery, his ears tuned ahead. Every muscle in his body taught, light a coiled spring ready to strike. Deanna had visions of pictures of coiled cobras from her childhood text books. There was no repeat of the sound, and no evidence that anything had transpired seconds earlier. Steven gauged the distance to the woods at about a hundred and fifty yards, peered intently for a minute longer and turned back toward the road, hand still on the butt of his pistol. The children never broke stride and were fairly far ahead of them now. He motioned to Deanna and they sped up to join the other two.
"Everything ok, Steve?"
"Yes, Anita, I think so. It may have been the wind or a small animal or something. Let's just keep going. I do not want to hang around to find out! I believe there has been enough drama for one day." He regarded her with a large, fake smile and she smirked back and turned forward again. Nevermind the fact that there was no wind. Nevermind the fact that her mind was practically screaming at her now to put her guard up and warn Steve of the feelings she and Joe shared about their apparent company. Nevermind the fact that she thought she detected a new smell, one that had an unpleasant aroma all to close to humans who haven't bathed in months. Nevermind. Just walk. The hazy half moon shone high above them, unwavering in the same course it had traveled millions of years to date, and the self same course it would travel for millions more. She briefly found an odd humor in the fact that even without mankind teeming on this planet that same moon was there, shining as if nothing was wrong. Maybe it wasn't in the grand scheme. It was the nature of nature to move on relentlessly. She briefly wondered if the moon looked the same to the Cave men. To the Dinosaurs. Staring into that moon she drifted, no, more like floated above her body. She saw herself below walking with Joe, matching him stride for stride. It was like a dream version of herself floating high above now. She briefly closed her eyes and flew. It was time to see. Time to remember. Time to scout. The landscape changed below. First slowly, them faster. The trees below were becoming a grey-green blur in the moonlight as she glided, feeling the wind on her face.

[Dave!]

Beep. Beep. Beep. Whirr. Machinery clacked and buzzed in the background. A small boy lie in a cold, featureless room somewhere in the southeast Georgia countryside. The Atlantic Ocean lie just thirty miles farther east, it's waves crashing endlessly on empty beaches. It had been three weeks since his eyes had opened. Three weeks since he had heard a noise. Three weeks since showing any signs of life other than an occasional dream tremor. And those dreams had been horrid, filled with fire and eyes and metal. Filled with thoughts of his sister. Filled with an almost inescapable feeling of fear. Filled with crashing glass, blue lightning and gunfire. Almost as if it were a completely foreign feeling, Jerry opened his eyes.
He was strapped to a metal table on which some rudimentary sheets and a light blanket had been placed. Nylon strong enough to anchor an aircraft to a flight deck held him down tightly, but not uncomfortably, down to this new home. He felt a slight irritation behind his left ear, and attempted to raise his hand to investigate, forgetting the binds that tied him. Needles and sensors protruded from his arms and scalp. A small, blue line ran from an adhesive patch on his chest to a nearby monitor. He heard a shuffling sound out of his sight and abruptly closed his eyes and feigned sleep as the man approached.
"No need to act asleep, child. I am not that stupid." Came the baritone, and not unpleasant voice.
Jerry opened his innocent eyes and regarded Henry Walters with a helpless gaze. The man was deeply tanned and had a featureless, everyday American apple-pie face. He wore a nondescript white lab coat and smelled of fresh hand sanitizer. The coal black hair that matched the color of his eyes moved slowly down the front of his coat as he bent down to speak softly to him. It was nice hair, Jerry thought. Hair that looked clean and well kept, despite being halfway down the man's back.
"Do not try and speak quite yet. Just relax a bit and get your bearings back. Then we will proceed."
Jerry nodded his head in agreement and the two sat in silence for a minute or two.
"I'll bet you are wondering where you are now. We will get to that. First of all, how about a fresh drink of water?"
The thought of cool, clean water, the first actual drink in weeks, made Jerry's eyes light up. He had not realized that his throat and mouth felt as dry as the desert that Steve had crossed to get to him. Moments later he drank, somewhat greedily, from a glass container. The water was pure, and good, and COLD! A smile flirted with the corners of his mouth as he watched Henry put the empty glass on the table beside him...
"Thank you."
"You are quite welcome, young man!" A smile from Henry mirrored the one Jerry gave. A smile that seemed actually quite genuine.
"Can you let me up now? These straps are hurting me, sir."
"Henry is the name, and no, I am sorry, son, not quite yet. But in a little while. We have been waiting for you to awaken. Now that you are, let's take thing slowly, ok?"
"Ok, I guess." Jerry's heart fell a little now knowing that he couldn't sit up yet. But there was another feeling. A feeling of being looked at. And it was not Henry looking, either, but something beyond him, something above. But yet he felt at peace with it oddly enough.
He turned his head and saw the room was actually quite large, and with about ten other beds, half of which were also occupied by children about his age. One entire wall had windows about halfway up, and all he could see from his vantage point was a white metal ceiling with exposed supports, also painted in brilliant white. Lights hung neatly in rows and illuminated that room in an almost painful radiance. He could hear other machinery and various small scuttling sounds from there as well. Henry followed his gaze and faked a smile.
"No need to worry about that right now. So what do you....?” Henry was interrupted by one of the nearby children, a girl with blonde hair, shaking forcefully back and forth, straining against the straps that held her to an identical table. She was having a seizure. Panic rose in Jerry's throat. Henry straightened up and ran for the bed as the door on the far side of the room opened. A woman with half of her face a healed, ghastly burn scar ran to join Henry. Then a third figure, this one dressed in a neatly pressed business suit, filled the doorway with his enormous girth. Jerry immediately felt the hair rise on the back of his neck as this latest entrant into his world began to move toward the other two adults. The large man was not interested in him. He peered with a large, opened mouth look of shock at the girl convulsing on her table. Then above the table. He clenched his teeth tightly and produced a large, black automatic handgun from his shoulder holster. He shouted something about an intruder, and shouted something else about "Can't have him." And then at once he reholstered the gun and talked into his wrist. Immediately two more figures filled the doorway and Jerry's adrenaline leapt to exponential levels. These two were not men... not quite. Memories of a storefront and blazing blue eyes came crashing down on him as he passed out and knocked the empty glass to the floor.
Anita felt an overwhelming sense of peace as she flew over the crisscrossed patterns of roads and fields of western Alabama. Tuscaloosa, or the remnants of such, came into view. A mile long section of I-20 was missing below, and small, misshapen deer lumbered across the edge of the crater that once was downtown. Sadness filled her heart as she took in all the sights. Countryside once more. Flying faster and faster underneath her. Trees stood mightily, then less dense forestation. Then none. Logs, tree trunks and abandoned cars littered the landscape of former Montgomery. A muddy lake. Burned out shells of houses, offices, and fire stations. An impossibly large crack in the very Earth. From the crack came clacking and flailing of broken mechanical arms. When she crossed the Georgia line, there was no boundary, no map line, and no change whatsoever. Steven's Promised Land was as plain and desolate as Alabama. At least this part. Flying. Faster. Higher, then lower. She felt the air change as she came within sight of what was Atlanta. An irradiated and lifeless crater loomed far ahead on the landscape. Skeletons of abandoned and disheveled coasters, the remnants of a tent, and pieces of amusement park rides littered the landscape below. Dim yellow lighting tried feebly to illuminate the ground. An occasional metallic glint of moonlight on something large in the forest. Countryside once more. A few campfires. Once she thought she saw a fairly large group of people standing by a riverside. Could have been cattle. At this speed, who knew? She could smell salt. Fish. The ocean! She could almost feel the air heavy with humidity as she began to have a real desire to see the beach again. Then something caught her eye. A large, impossibly large building lit up the horizon. It had to be at least three miles long and wide square. It lie in the nighttime landscape like a brilliant diamond in a shoddy setting. She began to slow her speed and lessen her altitude. She felt drawn to the southeast corner of the building. The roof loomed ahead, a color close to silver, but yet blue at the same time. She passed through the roof effortlessly and down through several floors, undetected by the scores of people and machines like the ones they saw kill John. Then all at once she was there. Jerry lie in a bed, no, on a table. He was awake and alive! And talking to a man with long black hair. He was alive! She then saw he was tied down. And then there were others. A girl lie not more than twenty feet from him, sleeping soundly. The electrode on her chest rising slowly with the rhythm of her respirations. Anita settled on the floor beside her and allowed herself to enter the mind of the girl.
Mountains. In Western North Carolina. Forest fires had claimed some of the trees. People hid where they could, returning back to their roots living in the hills as their ancestors had done centuries before. A large rabbit over a fire. Soft music from a guitar filled the air. A stream babbled nearby. Then crashing. Gunfire. Screams. Blood. Fire. A machine, identical to the fabled one that killed an evil man named John, grabbing her along with another child cowered against a pine thicket. The child was covered in the blood of his parents, who had died trying to save him. Silence.
Anita backed back out the mind of the girl, horrified. The girl's subconscious cried out. “Please... help us." She tried to call back, but there was no sound. The girl, named Emily began to shake and convulse. Anita rose back out into the room and saw the man with black hair run over. He did not see her. Neither did the woman. The fat guy, however, did. He had an aura surrounding him like a dark purple shroud. Evil, calculating genius flowed from his mind as he stared her directly in the eyes. His mind spoke to her as he fumbled with a gun tucked neatly under his left armpit. “I knew you would come, bitch. You can't have him, you see. And I can still kill you with this...even though you think you are untouchable. See, we are alike...and you are not welcome here. Your brother is OURS now. Die." All this in a fraction of a second and so intense it threatened to split her mind. He drew the gun, or what looked like one. She fled up and out, but not before glancing out of the windows that lined the wall. Two stories below lie over a hundred capsule shaped containers set upright on individual stands. Wires flowed out like tentacles. Blue fluid pulsated to and fro in flexible lines. But what caught her eye was what was in the capsules. Machines. Partly covered in a growing mat of living tissue. Skin. One of them opened eerily human blue eyes and looked at her as she fled. Back across Georgia. Back to Joe. Back to warn the others. As she fled a thought pierced her mind as if announced from a megaphone. "We will find you. You and your pitiful counterparts. You cannot escape. Soon. We will come."
Anita came crashing back into herself with enough force to knock her earthly body down, scraping both knees. Blood welled up briefly and then disappeared as the wounds knit themselves closed.
"What the hell?" Steve exclaimed as he was jarred from a quiet conversation with Deanna. He ran forward to Anita and helped her back up. Tears were flowing from her white-blue eyes as he held her.
"Sttteve...Oh God. It's Jerry."
"Jerry!? What about him?"
“He’s alive! And he is in trouble. So are other children. They need us! But we gotta be careful!"
"What? How?" The questions seemed moot, as he had seen enough in the last few days that there was little now that could shock him.
"I...I...I saw him. And them. The others. The kids... And Emily. There were people... one fat man that saw me... he...he... talked to me!"
"Anita, baby, slow down and relax... I can't understand you. What in the world are you talking about?"
"It's hard... to explain, Steve. I... umm... Flew, I guess. All the way to Georgia. I saw them. Machines. People. A lab. Umm... Tables. kids...experiments. Steve, the machines were in... bubbles. They had skin. Like us."
Steve let go of the angelic figure in front of him and fell to his knees. A hand rose to rub his forehead and Deanna placed hers on his shoulder. “Anita, we have to go. We have to get Jerry back. We just have to. “He sat there, on his knees, not seeing Joe turn and peer behind them. Not seeing the boy tense up, not seeing the figure emerge from the woods. Not seeing until it was almost too late.
Mark Patterson had followed silently and intently for hours. His plan of striking in a day or two had been shattered when he saw them all kneel down around the fallen girl. Now was his chance. Now or never. The possibility of having two women for himself was too great to risk not moving. He tightened his grip on the compound bow he carried and took a deep breath. A step forward. And another. He grabbed a razor-tipped arrow from the quiver and held it. The moonlight shone off of the orange fiberglass shaft. Another step. The man who would have been caught as a predator in a former life, another time, another place, emerged from his cover and stood firmly, feet shoulder width apart. He placed the arrow in the bow, firmly against the string, and drew.
Joe was not sure if the Ruger would cover the distance or not. Even if so, would it be accurate enough? He watched the man draw an arrow back. He thumbed the hammer back and heard it lock. John had fired two shots. That left four. Four chances. He only needed to be 25% accurate. One bullet. One arrow. Life. Death for one. Mark exhaled as he relaxed his grip on the string and let his munition fly. The distance was a large one, perhaps ninety yards. But his aim was true. He was, after all, an ex-Olympian archery medalist. An ex-Olympian with a mind twisted by rejection and loneliness. He had killed his first man back during the war, when chaos ruled. He found it easier and easier to do each time. It was what he was meant to do. It soothed the demons in his head to witness the sight of a man flung backwards, to hear the distinct FWAP of an arrow as it found it's mark. To feel the power and purpose to hold another's life in your hands. And then to have the balls to take it away. It was a feeling close to being with a woman. Close, but not quite. He began to pull at his lip with his teeth as he felt the air move when the arrow freed itself from the bow.
Steven was still knelt down, hand on his face when the report of Joe's Ruger shocked him back into life. Deanna screamed. Steve rolled to the right and pulled his own gun. Deanna brought hers up and flipped off the safety. Three seconds had gone by since Mark had his bow at full draw. The round from the Ruger lodged itself in a tree not more than six inches to Mark's right. The arrow flew. Joe squeezed the trigger twice more. Steve followed suit. Deanna homed her sights in on the figure and squeezed off a round of her own. Four and a half seconds. Joe turned his head as he squeezed off another round. It flew wildly into the air, towards the moon that still shone with it's emotionless light. The arrow found it's mark and passed through Joe's lower abdomen. The Ruger flew out of his hands and landed, cold steel on pavement, on the road. He was propelled out of his shoes and landed on his back on the road, breaking the protruding arrow point off. Blood sprayed in a high arc, stark black against the pale moonlight.
The next two rounds from Joe's Ruger closed the distance. One found it's mark in the right leg of an ex-Olympian. The other puffed up dirt a few inches in front of him. Steve's round caught him in the neck, grazing him deeply, but still not a mortal wound. Blood poured from the deep furrow and drenched his shirt instantly. Deanna's aim was true. As the man fell forward the .223 caliber round caught him dead center of his sternum. Cartilage separated. His heart exploded. His spinal cord severed and a quarter size piece of vertebrae flew out and landed on the grass. He fell forward still yet, trying to grasp another arrow as his arms went numb and white hot pain filled his world. The last sound that Mark Patterson heard on this Earth was the all too familiar FWAP! of another medal-winning target hit. A perverse smile of pleasure touched the corner of his mouth as he gave up his soul on the Alabama roadside.

[Dave!]

Chapter 17
Time was of the essence. Joe's lifeblood ran out from under him in a dark river. His breathing shallow, and his complexion, already pale, seemed eerily so in the moonlight. The air was calm once again, and the night, silent. Anita slowly rose to her feet, and with wide-eyes amazement, walked over to the small, lifeless figure that lie on the interstate. She solemnly nodded to Steven and Deanna, who reluctantly backed away and let the small, angelic girl do her work once more. Crouching down, she placed one hand around the protruding hilt of the arrow, and one on Joe's cool forehead. White light shone from underneath her hands, and the arrow began to quiver in her grasp. White light began to emanate from underneath Joe, and from his closed eyelids. Slowly, ever so painfully slowly, did the arrow begin to back itself out of the wound. Joe groaned softly at first, and then with increased intensity. His small frame shook, then lifted itself from the surface. The arrow first began to slide out from his oozing stomach, and then slid the other way, freeing itself from his mangled kidney. With a sickening wet sound, the arrow came completely out and landed, harmless, on the ground beneath him, covered completely in the ever increasing pool of Joe's blood. Semi conscious, Joe reached out a small, ten year old hand and held onto the one that Anita had placed on his forehead. In this time, even with the maturity he had come through, and the trying times they had faced, he looked as he actually was. A small, ten year old helpless boy. Steven's heart sank and ached for the innocence lost in these times, and for the pain that he knew the boy was facing. It was difficult at times to remember, and he had to sometimes give himself a "reality check" by acknowledging the fact that the boy was still a boy.
The light intensified, and a howling wind swept around them, emanating from inside their circle, outside, everywhere, nowhere. It raged with the torrent of a hurricane, and debris, small sticks and the arrow hilt flew around them in an ever increasing circle. Anita's and Joe's white hair intertwined, flew, and flowed in the wind. His mouth flew open, as did his eyes. Three pure beams of light rose into the dark, hazy sky like search lights in a long forgotten era of airports and control towers. As soon as it had begun, it ended. Joe's wounds were closed up, his decimated organs reknitted. His breathing, now regular, was still light. Steven turned toward Anita once more.
"I thank God you can do what you can do, Anita. Had it not been for you, each of us would have died, in turn now. I assume now that he will be ok?"
"Yes, Steve. But he is not back to his old self quite yet. He came close there, and almost too far gone for me to help. But now he at least is not bleeding, and now he needs rest. And lots of it. If you don't mind me saying, I think we need to bunk down here for the rest of the night and see what morning brings."
"I don't mind. In fact, we will follow your lead on this. Deanna and I are at a disadvantage here, as we don't quite understand what it is you two have going on, and for the life of me can not begin to explain."
"It will come in time, Steven. In time."
Steven turned his back to her so she would not see the worry on his face. Worry not just for Joe, but concern overall about the thickening cloud cover that had reduced the moon to a blurry, veiled semblance of what it was. They had to get moving first light, and moving quickly. There were perhaps thirty to forty miles of interstate in front of them until Tuscaloosa, and the rain cared not. Steven took Deanna's hand in his and led her off to the side once again.
"I think we are safe once again, but as we both know now that changes constantly. It seems that the farther east we push, the more frequent our "encounters" are. Do you mind standing guard for a few hours? I am going to go down and take a look at our shooter and then try and catch a quick nap. I think we should do it in shifts from now on."
"Certainly, Hon. You know I will!" She offered Steve a weak smile and a peck on the lips. He could see strain on her face not only by the seemingly constant barrage of adversity, but by the stress of carrying what very well looked to be twins in her womb. He wondered how much longer they could push like they had, how much longer could she effectively shoulder her weapon, how much longer before they had the obstacle of delivering a child or two in the wild with no medical help. The weight of it all made a small part of him want to run screaming into the night, insane. But he gave that part no merit, as it was not, nor ever would be, an option. He gave Deanna one last smile and turned to walk to where Mark's still figure lie.
The .223 was actually a very effective weapon to be a small caliber. The tan colored long sleeved work shirt that Mark wore was stained a dark red and had a jagged, charred hole in the back of it. Steven knelt down and grabbed the bow. It's weight felt deadly in his hands and he promptly discarded it, somehow feeling dirty for holding it. He rolled the lifeless form over and stared the would-be killer directly in the face for the first time. Rage began to cloud his vision at the personal sight of the man that tried to kill an innocent child. The man looked a lot like pictures he had seen of a middle-aged Hank Williams, Jr. His scraggly beard, gray at the corners, hid a mouth full of decaying teeth. The man's once green eyes had clouded over, and stared indifferently at the night sky. This is how Steven would leave him, for the birds and wild dogs that now claimed the land. Upon inspecting his pockets Steve found a very expensive folding Case knife, a compass, and a sharpening stone. All things that would prove themselves useful in this day and time. Steve pocketed the bounty and letting his rage have the better of him, kicked Mark in the face. Once. Twice. Three times. The animal instinct and lethal hunger instilled by his military career took control as he repeatedly stomped the man's lifeless head. Out of breath finally, he took one of the arrows out of the quiver and plunged it deep inside the dead man's chest. Disgusted with the man, himself, and the savageness of the world in which they lived, Steven turned toward the small huddle of loved ones on the road and began to walk. He feared that many more encounters of this type may bring about a part of him he thought was long dormant. A part of him that would cloud his better judgment. A part of him he never wanted to see again.
Deanna watched the events from her vantage point with curiosity until she saw Steven begin to attack the corpse. Sickened, and with an infinite empathy for the man she loved, she turned away and cried. It seemed that a normal life was never so far away as it was in that moment. With an enraged lover, a downed child, and so many answers unknown, she cried. Was this what her life, along with all of humanity, had come down to? Was this all there was left to live for? Would there ever be a sense of normalcy about anything ever again? She looked up at the blurred circle where the moon was for answers, but it offered the silent response it had given for millennia. She watched Steven walk past her, silently and sit by the roadside with his head down. It would be a long night, indeed.
The ground was soggy under her feet. Her shoes pulled and groaned at the thick mud, threatening to pull off of her feet altogether. The night was moonless, dark as coal. Yet somehow there still seemed to be a surreal lighting coming from directly ahead, and from behind her at the same time. Once she focused her eyes, Deanna could see that the light was coming from multiple dim-lit yellow bulbs. Electric bulbs. Electric bulbs attached to metal framework. Framework of....a defunct roller coaster. To her right she could hear faint demonic laughter, but with a metallic flavor. Slowly she turned her head to see a house of mirrors with another few yellow bulbs clinging weakly to life, trying to illuminate the entranceway. As if her feet were on autopilot, she began to walk toward the entrance. Even in this state she tried to stop her feet, and even succeeded. But some force still pulled her, her feet leaving two muddy furrows in the ground. She tried to scream, but there was no sound. She was reminded of that day in the alley... the day that she tried to scamper backward on her hands and feet from the advancing machine. Powerless to stop it, too terrified to try any longer, she reached for the .223 slung over her shoulder. She reached and reached, but came back holding an empty rifle strap. Her body now was pressed up against the glass in the front. In a mirror to the right she saw a head. A body. It leered at her, laughing that same metallic laugh. In one of it's metallic hands it held an unborn fetus. In the other, a hand full of stark white hair. Somewhere in the distance she thought she could hear deep licks from a guitar accompanied by a deep, growling voice. "Stillborn...I have become"
"Choose, woman. Which will it be?"
Unable to answer, and unable to decide, her body was pulled harder. The glass began to protest.
"You have to choose, woman. One or the other. Or maybe yourself. Maybe all three if you do not hurry. Decide."
Unable to scream for help, she was pulled. Harder. The glass groaned again and small cracks formed in front of her flattened nose. Blood began to ooze down the glass. Her outstretched hands and splayed fingers all began to weep blood as the cracking glass broke skin.
"Then die, human." The simple, emotionless statement made by a face that was not echoed against the walls. Mirrors reverberated and shook in their frames. The glass cracked more, spidering up to the corners. Sounds of splintering glass and finally, and a moment too late, sound erupted from her mouth. Her last scream filled the air as she awoke, still screaming. Steven woke with a start, coming to his knees and reaching for his .45. It had worked it's way loose in his slumber and lie on the ground. He reached down for it and shook off the last bits of grogginess. The morning sun shone hazily through thick clouds and revealed Deanna rubbing her bloodied hands on her face. The children were gone.

[Dave!]

Chapter 18
It was Joe who woke first. He reached out to Anita, and with a gentle nudge, she opened her eyes and looked back at him.
"Anita, I'm hungry. And I have to pee."
"Ok, Joe. But we can't go far. You know what Steven will think if he wakes up and we aren't here."
"K."
The two children rose to their feet, and gingerly walked past the two sleeping adults. Deanna and Steven both moaned in their sleep, moving slightly. Once at the edge of the woods they regarded the dead man's body with horror and caution. The sight sickened them both, but Joe could not seem to tear his eyes away. Facing the woods, he let his stream fly, feeling a sense of relief unlike any before. It seemed to him that his bladder must be the size of a pumpkin. He turned around again and watched the dead man as he finished. Anita was turned the other way, facing Steven and Deanna. He smiled a little and turned his head back toward the woods. Before he could utter a sound a large man in a nice suit stared him directly in the eyes. The man simply placed a finger on his lips, and Joe was unable to utter a sound. Terrified, he tried to beat the man, but his arms would not obey his mind. The man smiled and grabbed him, tossing him over his shoulder. Another man, one that did not look quite right, passed silently past him and grabbed Anita from behind, one hand over her mouth, one hand grasping a fist full of her hair. She tried to turn, but she had the same powerless feeling Joe was encountering. Focusing with all of her power she managed to reach behind her and grab at the man's face. Flesh peeled off much too easily underneath her fingernails and fell to the ground. Underneath the missing straps of flesh shone metal. The machine grabbed her hair and pulled, pulling a fistful free. He threw it to the ground and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her into the woods. The machine walked obediently behind the large man. A man that once was the world's foremost scientist in genetic research. A man that had survived the attacks on his home town of Kosovo back at the turn of the century. A man that had powers of his own, powers that dwarfed Anita and Joe's. Dr. Dennis Fitch was the one human that the machines both needed, and feared, above all others. He was, after all, the father of the latest species of machine. Dr. Finch, with his brilliant evil mind, had been the one that had finally given the machines what they had longed for. Life. DNA. The two men with their new captives fled through the woods toward Georgia. Toward their awaiting vehicle. Toward home. For now, Dr. Finch would leave the man and woman alive. She, after all, carried the two humans that would be first born in this new age. An age in which innate human abilities came to life. And age in which whatever abilities these two new ones would have may prove crucial. He needed only one. He knew they would follow, and she needed the man's skills to help her make it alive. With a sick grin he turned toward his companion.
"Take her onward to the shuttle. I will arrive shortly."
"Understood, sir."
Dennis stood for a minute, breathing slowly. Still unable to move, Joe lie on his back on a nest of pine needles and watched as the man pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. Once done sending the vision to the sleeping woman, he smiled, picked Joe back up, and began to sing a tune from an old Black Label Society song. Something about a "Stillborn". The song gave Joe goose bumps and a feeling that maybe this time things were way beyond their control. Maybe this time there were not any rabbits to pull out of the hat. This time maybe it was for good.
Deanna and Steven yelled the two names of the children they both feared were well out of earshot. There was no reply. Steven frantically searched and saw no signs of a struggle. He walked down to the edge of the woods once more and saw Mark's corpse just as he had left it. And something...more. Just behind him, at the very edge of a tree was a clump of white. Hair. From one of the children. He hurriedly grabbed it and ran back to where Deanna was searching on the other side of the road. Upon seeing the clump of hair... the same one from her dream, she lost her balance and fell to her knees. The feeling of hopelessness and desperation she had felt the previous night finally won and she simply hung her head and cried once more, fearing what had happened to the children. Fearing what would happen to her own unborn. He then turned and ran, feeling some undeniable urgency, back toward the wooded area where he feared the children had gone, but not alone. He hated to leave Deanna in this urgent time of need, but in the grand scheme of things, this feeling seemed too important to ignore.
Dennis Finch reached the shuttle a few precious minutes after the prior machine did with its cargo. In an age in which machinery and least of all, vehicles, were pretty much defunct this gleaming example was indeed an oddity. With an audible whoosh of air the right side of the shuttle opened up to reveal a sterile, stainless steel interior equipped with a solo driver seat covered in nondescript black fabric. The six rear passenger seats were also adorned with the same covering, three on each side of the craft. Dennis climbed in first, positioning his more than ample girth carefully with the two control levers between his knees. The machine hoisted first Anita then Joe into the craft, one beside the other in the front row. It then climbed in and sat directly inside the door also on the left side, directly behind Joe. The door shut with the same sound of escaping air and at once the front window became translucent, revealing the forestation in front of them. A small, complicated display of instrumentation was projected onto the inside of the window directly in the center, where the driver seat was placed. With a roaring sound two small vents pointed at the forest floor and the jets began to lift the craft directly skyward.
Steven ran like never before into the dark recess of the woods. He could hear a mechanized hum ahead, and almost ran into plain sight of the craft. Through a small window in the side he could see Joe’s silhouette and the gleam of a metal forehead directly behind him. Out of options with no other recourse that he could muster, Steven raised his .45 at the craft and aimed carefully at the one vent on his side that now pointed downward. He fired three times, and then corrected his aim toward the now visible window that had appeared in the front of the craft.
The first round simply deflected off of the outer shell of the vent. The second found its way into the outer covering of the leading edge, and small bits of plastic and metal flew out in all directions. The third ran in on the heels of the second round, and the turbine changed its pitch to a more labored, high pitched whine of grating metal. Hearing the report of the firearm, Dennis Finch turned toward Steven and craned his neck forward to get a clearer view of the assailant out of the peripheral edge of the window. Steven fired three more shots at the window, and a few more at the rear of the craft, where a third turbine vent had descended and began to ramp up to speed. He dropped the magazine from the pistol and promptly, as his training had taught, fed another full one into place. Approximately ten seconds had passed since he first stumbled into the wooded clearing. He only paused to look at the damage the he had hoped he had wrought upon the front window before unloading the rest of the magazine into the ascending craft’s underside, and into the rear vent which now had an all too familiar glow of orange-red flame erupting. It was reminiscent of the afterburners he had seen on the many F-18 aircraft from his past. He watched helplessly as the craft ascended further toward the blue sky and then forward, out of sight. The only comforting feeling in that moment was the thought that there was considerable smoke coming from the craft, as well as the gaping hole he had made in the driver canopy before it left. Steven turned back toward the roadway and ran back to Deanna. They would have to move quickly now to chase the smoke trail that he prayed he would see.
Dennis Finch leaned forward to gain a better view of the man firing the gun. As he did, a round struck the glass, spidering it in all directions. A second round pierced the window, leaving a basketball-sized hole directly in the left side. The bullet rang off of the interior metal only inches from his head and he jerked backward in the seat, but not before the third round caught him in the neck, just below his considerable double-chin. The round passed cleanly through, spraying blood onto the pristine cleanliness of the right side of the driver compartment. Dennis clutched the wound, and blood ran through his fingers and spattered onto the black rubber floor covering that ran the length of the interior. It was not a lethal wound, but one that would need immediate attention once he returned to Georgia. These days, without the medical attention the machines would offer, a man could easily bleed to death or succumb to infection. The engines protested greatly, but still were able to get the shuttle moving and in the air again. A very disturbing thought of a fiery crash came into his mind as he heard more rounds ricochet off of the belly of the craft. Then a lurch forward as another round or two struck the aft engine. Fearing that he would never make it back to Georgia with his precious cargo, not to mention his life, Dennis slammed the button for the afterburners sooner than intended and the craft rocketed forward, almost threatening to spiral out of control and spatter them all across the wooded landscape below. He fought back on the levers with all the strength his body and mind would offer, and the craft righted itself once again to show a more familiar horizon line. He kept pressure on the levers as the craft reached a higher speed. The wind coming in the shattered windscreen was terrible, and his throat felt as if it were on fire. With the craft in this shape the normal cruising speed of five hundred miles an hour was impossible. They were barely keeping enough speed to stay aloft, and the afterburners were hurting more than helping. Dennis did the inevitable and reached to disengage them as the low hydraulic pressure warning indicator went off. It was immediately followed by a series of more alarms ranging from low fuel delivery, high temperature warnings, and ultimately, engine failure. This final one went off and Dennis’ heart flew to his throat. From somewhere far behind him he heard a loud hollow bang, followed by a grinding sound. The rear engine was gone. Small fragments of superheated metal flew forward and singed the back of his seat, his hair, and the remnants of the windscreen. He heard a small scream then a thud. Now they were all only helpless passengers on this crashing device. The horizon outside the window fell from straight to angled, then to nonexistent. Dennis looked out in true fear at the treeline that was approaching with alarming speed. He pulled back on both levers and fought for his life to bring the nose of the craft up. It worked, but only somewhat. The shuttle slammed into the median of I-20 at a thirty degree angle, propelling Dennis outward through the remnants of the windscreen. And just as quickly as they had come to life, the shuttle’s remaining engines ceased their movement for the final time. The smoking, creaking marvel rested, the first three feet of it buried in dirt, about thirty miles east of the now-advancing duo of Steven and Deanna.

[Dave!]

Chapter 19
Just as he had hoped, there was a distinct line of black smoke overhead that led directly eastward. He told Deanna of the altercation in the woods, as she had heard the shots and then witnessed the take off of the craft itself. She still seemed to be in shock, but had gathered herself together just enough to not hinder Steve in his newfound drive to push eastward. If it meant getting one or both children back alive (the thought of even one of them not surviving was bad enough.. but both?) then she was just as hard-pressed as he to find the termination point of that smoky false contrail streaking across a perfect sky. She watched in amazement (it took so much to do that these days, but this man always had a knack for it) as Steven reloaded the spent magazine as well as the one in the .45 without taking his eyes off of the pavement ahead.
Now the mid-day sun was dull orb of opaque light that struggled to make it through the cloud cover. Occasionally Steve could make out the white round shape between thicker clumps of heavy grey clouds. Without a doubt there would be rain by the next morning. Tonight was a good possibility. The thought of trying to trace the now mostly dissipated smoke trail didn’t bother Steven too badly. After all, it was a straight line, and he had the heading. If he could have reached up into the very air itself and drawn a perfect line from the trail to the ground, he would have ended up directly in the center of I-20. All he could do, all either of them could do, was continue to push eastward until they hopefully found some sign of the children.
Dennis Finch, co-mastermind of the last two consecutive versions of the robotic inhabitant of the planet, moaned thickly with his face buried in the soft earth of the median. His splayed out legs lie mostly on the west-bound lanes of the road, his body obscured by the taller grass in the center. The world swam in and out of focus for a bit, and once his body threatened to fall back into unconsciousness. But he fought. Just as he always had, especially in these last few dark years. Upon opening his one good eye (the other’s fate he did not currently know. All he knew was it hurt like hell), he finally focused on the wreckage, lying a full thirty yards away. Thick smoke and steam rose from the rear of the craft, which jutted out of the earth like some crude sculptor’s rendition of the Area 51 crash in Roswell. He slowly tried, unsuccessfully, to get back to his feet. Upon crashing back to the ground a fresh torrent of pain erupted from his right arm. He looked down to find a brilliant white shaft of bone protruding from his forearm. Finally, on the fifth try, he managed to gain his footing and shuffled over nearer the downed shuttle. He came upon the still form of Anita first. Her body was laying half in and half out of the now crumpled door. Her breathing was shallow and regular, and upon using his one good arm, found a strong pulse. Good. This one would at least make it, but there were a lot of miles left to cover between here and Georgia. Hell, the other side of Georgia to be exact. He reached up and grabbed a handful of hair and the nape of her neck with his good arm and pulled her the rest of the way out onto the grass. She landed with an audible exhalation of breath and continued to lie still. Dennis turned and peered inside, searching for the boy. He was alarmed to find that there was no sign of the boy. He did, however, see the (dead) lifeless form of the machine, now propelled forward to the driver’s seat. It seemed that when the rear engine shattered into oblivion, the center shaft had entered the back of the machine’s head and exited through its chest. Dennis looked at the creation and considered how far the machines had digressed from near indestructibility to this comparative level of mortality. It seemed that the more human-like they became the weaker they, in turn, became as well. Already pondering revisions in the design, he turned from the wreckage and scanned the area for any sign of the boy. He found none and decided that in his current state he needed to get the girl and find a shelter from which he could plan on how to get back to the laboratory. He turned toward the wreckage one last time and saw his reflection in the side. It was a sight he wished that he could have spared himself. His right eye socket was clearly visible; the perfect orb that once resided there gone forever. The wound in his neck had finally stopped bleeding, but he could clearly see the quarter-sized exit would directly beneath the right side of his jaw. A mere inch farther back and his larynx would have ended up splattered across the inside of the shuttle. He turned once more in disgust and slung Anita over his good shoulder. Progress now was agonizingly slow, as his face and arm rattled with hot slivers of pain with each step. Blood pattered slowly onto the pavement as it dripped from the outstretched fingers of his now useless hand. Somewhere, in the distance, Dennis thought he heard dogs barking. Lots of them.

The muffled sound of birds chirping was what greeted Joe upon coming into a semi-conscious state. They seemed to sing from far away and inside a tunnel at first, and then their melody became sharper and clearer. He fought to open his eyes, and a hazy film of daylight, too bright to fully comprehend, greeted his gaze. His face burned and itched. After a lengthy fight to get his right arm up, his hand came away wet. This alarmed him, and Joe forced is eyes open and peered at his hand. A mixture of oily blood covered his palm. The machine’s lifeblood mixed with his own alarmed him to a great deal, and panic began to set in. Was his face ruined again, as it once had been? He still had his eyesight, thankfully, but a mental image of a roadmap of criss-crossing scar lines gave him enough adrenaline to regain his footing and look around for the damaged craft. And Anita. The smoking ass of the shuttle jutted into the sky, almost mocking him in a way. It was nearly twenty yards or so away, and the tall grass was difficult to maneuver through. It was this tall grass that concealed his presence when Dennis first began to seek him out. As he neared the shuttle he could see the machine impaled by a metal rod, lying in the front part of the craft. He then looked at his reflection in then side, almost a mirror image of what Dennis had done not five minutes earlier. The damage was not as bad as he had feared, and the shrapnel had thankfully missed his eyes. However, there were long, thin lines of blood on his cheeks, and one dime-sized weeping hole high on his forehead, just barely in front of his temple. It was not a deep wound, but one that definitely would leave a scar that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He looked around and noticed that the tall grass to his right was parted, and a thin film of drying blood lie on the uppermost portions of the blades that moved slightly with the breeze. Upon one more inspection of the craft, he saw no sign of Anita, and decided to follow along the trail, hoping that he could find her. There was also no sign of the fat man, which troubled him greatly. With only a moment’s hesitation to quickly arrange a makeshift arrow out of a few sticks he found lying nearby, Joe took off down the parted weed path toward what he hoped was Anita. And he hoped that she would be alive once he found her. He looked back once again at the wreckage and hoped that Steve would see his marker and know. They would come, after all. He knew it. But he could not wait. If he lost the trail now, none of them would see her alive again. With a deep breath he began to walk quickly toward the wooded area on the north side of I-20, looking down for footprints, blood, overturned stones, anything that might signal the path. Just as he began to enter the dark mass of trees, he heard dogs barking, far off and directly ahead. Maybe it was a signal that the fat man had rustled some wild dogs up. Maybe. Or maybe not.

Steve smelled the burning wreckage a full ten minutes before they came upon it. Luckily, it had crashed into the softer earth of the median and not the hard pavement. Luckily it had crashed, so conveniently, right on the highway, and not some remote corner of a field. Luckily, it had not exploded into some large-scale blast and disintegrated all aboard. Luckily, this meant the children might still be alive. And with any further luck, they would both still be inside, and breathing.
Steve ran for the craft with Deanna right on his heels. Once he peered inside the busted windscreen, however, his emotions mixed and changed from fear, hope, and loathing. There was no sign of the children, and no sign of the fat bastard that had taken them. There was, however, blood on the inside of the canopy, and a dead machine slumped over the back of the driver’s chair. Steve noted with some satisfaction the bullet holes adorning the inside of the canopy. It meant that there was a good chance that he had actually hit and injured the man. Then he saw the blood spray that only proved his hopes to be true. This meant the they had a good chance of catching up with the injured man, and hopefully the children as well. He looked back at Deanna and saw her eyes full of dread, fear, and pain. And there was something else, too. An all to familiar gleam of killer instinct and rage. This woman was coming around to be a fierce fighter, and one that he knew could handle her own if the situation called for it. With that thought he began to scour the landscape for a sign of which way they had gone. The first thing he found was a dark maroon, almost black, series of stains on the blades of waist high grass. Blood. He followed this until he saw something that made his heard leap up in his chest with hope and admiration. A makeshift arrow made of small twigs and sticks, pointing toward the northern woods. Joe or Anita had done well, very well. And it meant that at least one or both of them had survived, and had been lucid enough to think of leaving them a sign. He motioned for Deanna and saw her eyes widen with surprise and hope when she saw it. They nodded in agreement and headed for the tree line, guns in hand.
The pain was a constant irritation now. It felt as if his arm was going to just throb and pulse it’s way right off his body. That is, if the swelling that now resided there didn’t burst it first. His normally large arm was now three times the size it should be, and each step and each heartbeat threatened to send him into a maddening sprint for the nearest sharpened stick he could find. Suicide was not an option. At least, not yet. There were things to do before his life was over. Lots of things. Dennis did not see the first dog. Nor did he see the second. The only indication he had was a strong sense of being watched. And followed. And tracked like an animal. It was the third dog that came directly at him from the front that he finally noticed. The canine that approached him from the right was unseen as well, with Dennis’ missing eye. Four more came up behind, circling and closing off the prey. It was the one on the right that first lunged and caught him by surprise. He felt a sharp tug on Anita’s shirt, and heard the snarl as he lifted his foot off the ground and planted a perfect field-goal style kick to the dog’s underside. He heard ribs splinter and a loud pain filled yelp as the dog went sprawling. Another approached him from the front and he glared directly into the hate-filled eyes as the creature ran faster. Suddenly it stopped, shook it’s head and turned on one of it’s counterparts. Thick yellow foam poured from it’s ears as the two canines locked in a death battle. Telekinesis, as it were, could be hell of a weapon when used properly. He concentrated on the pack of dogs behind him now, and one of them was lifted off of it’s feet and dropped directly on top of two more. Another raging fight ensued. His face became consumed by an all-to-large evil grin until he heard the first shot ring out. Then the world stood still as two large men emerged from behind a dense clump of trees directly ahead, rifles pointed ahead.
“You killed two of my dogs, fucker.”
“They were attacking me! I am just trying to get my daughter to safety! We need help!”
The two men approached cautiously, rifles still pointed at Dennis’s head. One of them whistled through his teeth as he got close enough to see the man’s bloody eye socket and bleeding arm. Dennis haphazardly dropped Anita to the ground and the whistling man’s eyes widened with understanding and surprise. Dennis reached into his mind and saw that the man knew. Knew that Dennis held no particular affinity for Anita, and that he needed to help the girl. And he saw that these two men meant no ill will, as long as they remained unprovoked. And that they would be trouble if left alive. These two were like Steven and Deanna. Do-gooders with no real sense of the big picture. Fools who thought that they could make a difference in the world. The whistling man clicked his gun back off of safety and his counterpart (Jimmy his name is jimmy and he’s my brother.) looked at him with surprise, then looked back at Dennis.
The same evil grin slowly spread across his face, even with the barrel of the .50 BMG looming like a cannon only a few feet from his nose. It shook along with the arm of the man that held it, but only slightly. Dennis could sense fear. And could hear the thoughts raging through this man’s head like a constant string of unintelligible blurbs. (Jimmytellme you see this! Ohmygod what am igonnadowiththiswhatifihavetoshoothimwhatabouttheg irl isshedeadtoo!?jimmydosomething. yousaw…thedogflytooiknowit.)
Travis (called Tinker by his old time buddies) tightened his pull on the trigger a little more and a single bead of sweat escaped his brow and fell into his eye, stinging it. Dennis sensed the break of concentration and backed up a step, holding his hands up in a defenseless posture. Hopefully it would work. All he needed was time to think. It was Jimmy who spoke first, breaking the stalemate.
“Trav, what the hell? Are you ok, bro?”
“Jimmy, I don’t think he is telling us the truth. Hell, I know it!”
“Come on, Trav. Seriously. Look at him, one step from death’s door. I mean..”
“He threw the girl down, Jimmy. And look at his eye. Look. Something is not… right there, man. Trust me.”
Something inside Jimmy told him that it was true. Something made him keep the gun held tight. Something made him question. And then something else, something new, made him begin to draw the business end of the gun slowly around to the left, toward his older brother. The man known once as Tinker. The man that could fix any gas engine brought to him. If it flew, drove or floated Trav would have it working in short order. Once a legend in his own time, he now stood in a field in Alabama with his brother’s AR-15 pointed at his side. Jimmy’s eyes widened with horror, wonder, and helplessness. He tried to turn his head, tried to drop the gun, tried to stop himself but could not. Even when he tried to speak, it was if his mouth was full of concrete. In the end all he could do was close his eyes. And pray. Pray that God would stop this, spare his brother, and ultimately, spare him as well. He felt his finger pull the trigger, heard his brother cry out, and heard the report of at least twenty fully automatic rounds escape the barrel. He heard wet pattering sounds, and thought that at least once he heard his now dying or dead brother try and draw a wheezing breath. When he opened his eyes Dennis was mere inches away and had his one good arm out, grabbing the AR from his senseless fingers. He stood in horror as he saw the man with one eye raise the gun and pull the trigger. He felt two rounds enter his intestines and exit via his kidneys. He felt the cool grass as he fell into it, face first. He felt the man step on him as he scooped the girl up and walk on, leaving him for dead. But his senses were still muted. Pain, luckily was muted. He felt the ground beneath him become wet, and managed to turn his head and watch the man go. His thought then was of the girl. And how he thought he had seen her eyes twitch and then open momentarily. Maybe. The world swam away from him then and he lie still, just one more corpse in this barren land. Just one more death at the hands of a man named Finch. Dennis then dropped the still smoking gun beside the body and began to walk once again with the girl across his good shoulder. Time had been wasted, and time definitely was something that he could not afford to lose now.
The world turned beneath her as Anita rose from her semi-lifeless form and flew once again, like in her dreams. She had been above, observing everything from the moment of impact. She knew her body was hurt, but not too badly. She chose to stay up and away, because if she went back, the man would hurt her. She knew Joe was more or less going to be ok, and that he was following them, and gaining ground. She knew the man would have to stop soon. It was mid-evening when the two men were killed, and now it bordered on full-out darkness. The clouds above had thickened all day, and the smell of rain was so heavy that it was almost tangible. She watched as the man finally stopped at the bottom of a set of steps leading up into the wrap-around porch of an old but well maintained farm house. Of course, the door was not latched, so he opened it easily enough, and after standing and listening for a bit, decided that they were alone. He dropped her body as if it were an over packed bag of grain, and sat in a cushioned rocking chair nearby. He had not thought to get either if the guns that the Carter brothers had dropped when they died, and an idea came to her. She left then and flew back through the night to Joe, who was only a few hundred yards away from the clearing where the two men lie. He had been gaining ground all day, but seemed to have fallen back some the last few hours. The constant days on the road and little food to boot had been wearing him down. He finally fell, exhausted, at the edge of the clearing, less than twenty yards away from the two dead men. Sleep. He had to. Even if the rain came tonight and soaked him, he could not move any farther today. So he slept and dreamed. Anita was in those dreams, talking to him, urging him on. Telling him about two men that he would see at first light. Telling him that Deanna and Steve were coming also. Telling him that they would meet soon enough, maybe within the next day or so. Telling him to be quiet and lay low, especially as tomorrow drew late.
Steve and Deanna found their way easily enough through the wooded envelope that now surrounded them on all sides. Seemingly Dennis as well as Joe had followed the paths of least resistance, as was the nature of most animals and humans alike. In addition to that there was the occasional (and diminishing) patter of dried blood on surrounding foliage and the ground to guide them. Steve hoped and prayed that it belonged to the man and not the boy whom he had grown to love over the past weeks. Deanna always followed within ten steps of him, also surveying their flanks for movement or anything that seemed out of place. He noted that she had not taken her hand off of the trigger frame of the gun she carried since they had entered the forest. The first drops of rain came then, a steady irritating patter that soon gave way to a downpour that would prove hopeless to venture further into. They stopped and huddled under a blanket and waited. Night fall was upon them then, and as much as he wanted to, he knew pressing onward would possibly make them both pass right by the boy and worse, even lose the trail altogether. They slept in shifts much like they had done on so many countless other nights, not knowing that Joe slept as well, but only a mere half mile ahead of them in the clearing that they would meet in the next day.

[Dave!]

Chapter 19
Just as he had hoped, there was a distinct line of black smoke overhead that led directly eastward. He told Deanna of the altercation in the woods, as she had heard the shots and then witnessed the take off of the craft itself. She still seemed to be in shock, but had gathered herself together just enough to not hinder Steve in his newfound drive to push eastward. If it meant getting one or both children back alive (the thought of even one of them not surviving was bad enough.. but both?) then she was just as hard-pressed as he to find the termination point of that smoky false contrail streaking across a perfect sky. She watched in amazement (it took so much to do that these days, but this man always had a knack for it) as Steven reloaded the spent magazine as well as the one in the .45 without taking his eyes off of the pavement ahead.
Now the mid-day sun was dull orb of opaque light that struggled to make it through the cloud cover. Occasionally Steve could make out the white round shape between thicker clumps of heavy grey clouds. Without a doubt there would be rain by the next morning. Tonight was a good possibility. The thought of trying to trace the now mostly dissipated smoke trail didn’t bother Steven too badly. After all, it was a straight line, and he had the heading. If he could have reached up into the very air itself and drawn a perfect line from the trail to the ground, he would have ended up directly in the center of I-20. All he could do, all either of them could do, was continue to push eastward until they hopefully found some sign of the children.
Dennis Finch, co-mastermind of the last two consecutive versions of the robotic inhabitant of the planet, moaned thickly with his face buried in the soft earth of the median. His splayed out legs lie mostly on the west-bound lanes of the road, his body obscured by the taller grass in the center. The world swam in and out of focus for a bit, and once his body threatened to fall back into unconsciousness. But he fought. Just as he always had, especially in these last few dark years. Upon opening his one good eye (the other’s fate he did not currently know. All he knew was it hurt like hell), he finally focused on the wreckage, lying a full thirty yards away. Thick smoke and steam rose from the rear of the craft, which jutted out of the earth like some crude sculptor’s rendition of the Area 51 crash in Roswell. He slowly tried, unsuccessfully, to get back to his feet. Upon crashing back to the ground a fresh torrent of pain erupted from his right arm. He looked down to find a brilliant white shaft of bone protruding from his forearm. Finally, on the fifth try, he managed to gain his footing and shuffled over nearer the downed shuttle. He came upon the still form of Anita first. Her body was laying half in and half out of the now crumpled door. Her breathing was shallow and regular, and upon using his one good arm, found a strong pulse. Good. This one would at least make it, but there were a lot of miles left to cover between here and Georgia. Hell, the other side of Georgia to be exact. He reached up and grabbed a handful of hair and the nape of her neck with his good arm and pulled her the rest of the way out onto the grass. She landed with an audible exhalation of breath and continued to lie still. Dennis turned and peered inside, searching for the boy. He was alarmed to find that there was no sign of the boy. He did, however, see the (dead) lifeless form of the machine, now propelled forward to the driver’s seat. It seemed that when the rear engine shattered into oblivion, the center shaft had entered the back of the machine’s head and exited through its chest. Dennis looked at the creation and considered how far the machines had digressed from near indestructibility to this comparative level of mortality. It seemed that the more human-like they became the weaker they, in turn, became as well. Already pondering revisions in the design, he turned from the wreckage and scanned the area for any sign of the boy. He found none and decided that in his current state he needed to get the girl and find a shelter from which he could plan on how to get back to the laboratory. He turned toward the wreckage one last time and saw his reflection in the side. It was a sight he wished that he could have spared himself. His right eye socket was clearly visible; the perfect orb that once resided there gone forever. The wound in his neck had finally stopped bleeding, but he could clearly see the quarter-sized exit would directly beneath the right side of his jaw. A mere inch farther back and his larynx would have ended up splattered across the inside of the shuttle. He turned once more in disgust and slung Anita over his good shoulder. Progress now was agonizingly slow, as his face and arm rattled with hot slivers of pain with each step. Blood pattered slowly onto the pavement as it dripped from the outstretched fingers of his now useless hand. Somewhere, in the distance, Dennis thought he heard dogs barking. Lots of them.

The muffled sound of birds chirping was what greeted Joe upon coming into a semi-conscious state. They seemed to sing from far away and inside a tunnel at first, and then their melody became sharper and clearer. He fought to open his eyes, and a hazy film of daylight, too bright to fully comprehend, greeted his gaze. His face burned and itched. After a lengthy fight to get his right arm up, his hand came away wet. This alarmed him, and Joe forced is eyes open and peered at his hand. A mixture of oily blood covered his palm. The machine’s lifeblood mixed with his own alarmed him to a great deal, and panic began to set in. Was his face ruined again, as it once had been? He still had his eyesight, thankfully, but a mental image of a roadmap of criss-crossing scar lines gave him enough adrenaline to regain his footing and look around for the damaged craft. And Anita. The smoking ass of the shuttle jutted into the sky, almost mocking him in a way. It was nearly twenty yards or so away, and the tall grass was difficult to maneuver through. It was this tall grass that concealed his presence when Dennis first began to seek him out. As he neared the shuttle he could see the machine impaled by a metal rod, lying in the front part of the craft. He then looked at his reflection in then side, almost a mirror image of what Dennis had done not five minutes earlier. The damage was not as bad as he had feared, and the shrapnel had thankfully missed his eyes. However, there were long, thin lines of blood on his cheeks, and one dime-sized weeping hole high on his forehead, just barely in front of his temple. It was not a deep wound, but one that definitely would leave a scar that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He looked around and noticed that the tall grass to his right was parted, and a thin film of drying blood lie on the uppermost portions of the blades that moved slightly with the breeze. Upon one more inspection of the craft, he saw no sign of Anita, and decided to follow along the trail, hoping that he could find her. There was also no sign of the fat man, which troubled him greatly. With only a moment’s hesitation to quickly arrange a makeshift arrow out of a few sticks he found lying nearby, Joe took off down the parted weed path toward what he hoped was Anita. And he hoped that she would be alive once he found her. He looked back once again at the wreckage and hoped that Steve would see his marker and know. They would come, after all. He knew it. But he could not wait. If he lost the trail now, none of them would see her alive again. With a deep breath he began to walk quickly toward the wooded area on the north side of I-20, looking down for footprints, blood, overturned stones, anything that might signal the path. Just as he began to enter the dark mass of trees, he heard dogs barking, far off and directly ahead. Maybe it was a signal that the fat man had rustled some wild dogs up. Maybe. Or maybe not.

Steve smelled the burning wreckage a full ten minutes before they came upon it. Luckily, it had crashed into the softer earth of the median and not the hard pavement. Luckily it had crashed, so conveniently, right on the highway, and not some remote corner of a field. Luckily, it had not exploded into some large-scale blast and disintegrated all aboard. Luckily, this meant the children might still be alive. And with any further luck, they would both still be inside, and breathing.
Steve ran for the craft with Deanna right on his heels. Once he peered inside the busted windscreen, however, his emotions mixed and changed from fear, hope, and loathing. There was no sign of the children, and no sign of the fat bastard that had taken them. There was, however, blood on the inside of the canopy, and a dead machine slumped over the back of the driver’s chair. Steve noted with some satisfaction the bullet holes adorning the inside of the canopy. It meant that there was a good chance that he had actually hit and injured the man. Then he saw the blood spray that only proved his hopes to be true. This meant the they had a good chance of catching up with the injured man, and hopefully the children as well. He looked back at Deanna and saw her eyes full of dread, fear, and pain. And there was something else, too. An all to familiar gleam of killer instinct and rage. This woman was coming around to be a fierce fighter, and one that he knew could handle her own if the situation called for it. With that thought he began to scour the landscape for a sign of which way they had gone. The first thing he found was a dark maroon, almost black, series of stains on the blades of waist high grass. Blood. He followed this until he saw something that made his heard leap up in his chest with hope and admiration. A makeshift arrow made of small twigs and sticks, pointing toward the northern woods. Joe or Anita had done well, very well. And it meant that at least one or both of them had survived, and had been lucid enough to think of leaving them a sign. He motioned for Deanna and saw her eyes widen with surprise and hope when she saw it. They nodded in agreement and headed for the tree line, guns in hand.
The pain was a constant irritation now. It felt as if his arm was going to just throb and pulse it’s way right off his body. That is, if the swelling that now resided there didn’t burst it first. His normally large arm was now three times the size it should be, and each step and each heartbeat threatened to send him into a maddening sprint for the nearest sharpened stick he could find. Suicide was not an option. At least, not yet. There were things to do before his life was over. Lots of things. Dennis did not see the first dog. Nor did he see the second. The only indication he had was a strong sense of being watched. And followed. And tracked like an animal. It was the third dog that came directly at him from the front that he finally noticed. The canine that approached him from the right was unseen as well, with Dennis’ missing eye. Four more came up behind, circling and closing off the prey. It was the one on the right that first lunged and caught him by surprise. He felt a sharp tug on Anita’s shirt, and heard the snarl as he lifted his foot off the ground and planted a perfect field-goal style kick to the dog’s underside. He heard ribs splinter and a loud pain filled yelp as the dog went sprawling. Another approached him from the front and he glared directly into the hate-filled eyes as the creature ran faster. Suddenly it stopped, shook it’s head and turned on one of it’s counterparts. Thick yellow foam poured from it’s ears as the two canines locked in a death battle. Telekinesis, as it were, could be hell of a weapon when used properly. He concentrated on the pack of dogs behind him now, and one of them was lifted off of it’s feet and dropped directly on top of two more. Another raging fight ensued. His face became consumed by an all-to-large evil grin until he heard the first shot ring out. Then the world stood still as two large men emerged from behind a dense clump of trees directly ahead, rifles pointed ahead.
“You killed two of my dogs, fucker.”
“They were attacking me! I am just trying to get my daughter to safety! We need help!”
The two men approached cautiously, rifles still pointed at Dennis’s head. One of them whistled through his teeth as he got close enough to see the man’s bloody eye socket and bleeding arm. Dennis haphazardly dropped Anita to the ground and the whistling man’s eyes widened with understanding and surprise. Dennis reached into his mind and saw that the man knew. Knew that Dennis held no particular affinity for Anita, and that he needed to help the girl. And he saw that these two men meant no ill will, as long as they remained unprovoked. And that they would be trouble if left alive. These two were like Steven and Deanna. Do-gooders with no real sense of the big picture. Fools who thought that they could make a difference in the world. The whistling man clicked his gun back off of safety and his counterpart (Jimmy his name is jimmy and he’s my brother.) looked at him with surprise, then looked back at Dennis.
The same evil grin slowly spread across his face, even with the barrel of the .50 BMG looming like a cannon only a few feet from his nose. It shook along with the arm of the man that held it, but only slightly. Dennis could sense fear. And could hear the thoughts raging through this man’s head like a constant string of unintelligible blurbs. (Jimmytellme you see this! Ohmygod what am igonnadowiththiswhatifihavetoshoothimwhatabouttheg irl isshedeadtoo!?jimmydosomething. yousaw…thedogflytooiknowit.)
Travis (called Tinker by his old time buddies) tightened his pull on the trigger a little more and a single bead of sweat escaped his brow and fell into his eye, stinging it. Dennis sensed the break of concentration and backed up a step, holding his hands up in a defenseless posture. Hopefully it would work. All he needed was time to think. It was Jimmy who spoke first, breaking the stalemate.
“Trav, what the hell? Are you ok, bro?”
“Jimmy, I don’t think he is telling us the truth. Hell, I know it!”
“Come on, Trav. Seriously. Look at him, one step from death’s door. I mean..”
“He threw the girl down, Jimmy. And look at his eye. Look. Something is not… right there, man. Trust me.”
Something inside Jimmy told him that it was true. Something made him keep the gun held tight. Something made him question. And then something else, something new, made him begin to draw the business end of the gun slowly around to the left, toward his older brother. The man known once as Tinker. The man that could fix any gas engine brought to him. If it flew, drove or floated Trav would have it working in short order. Once a legend in his own time, he now stood in a field in Alabama with his brother’s AR-15 pointed at his side. Jimmy’s eyes widened with horror, wonder, and helplessness. He tried to turn his head, tried to drop the gun, tried to stop himself but could not. Even when he tried to speak, it was if his mouth was full of concrete. In the end all he could do was close his eyes. And pray. Pray that God would stop this, spare his brother, and ultimately, spare him as well. He felt his finger pull the trigger, heard his brother cry out, and heard the report of at least twenty fully automatic rounds escape the barrel. He heard wet pattering sounds, and thought that at least once he heard his now dying or dead brother try and draw a wheezing breath. When he opened his eyes Dennis was mere inches away and had his one good arm out, grabbing the AR from his senseless fingers. He stood in horror as he saw the man with one eye raise the gun and pull the trigger. He felt two rounds enter his intestines and exit via his kidneys. He felt the cool grass as he fell into it, face first. He felt the man step on him as he scooped the girl up and walk on, leaving him for dead. But his senses were still muted. Pain, luckily was muted. He felt the ground beneath him become wet, and managed to turn his head and watch the man go. His thought then was of the girl. And how he thought he had seen her eyes twitch and then open momentarily. Maybe. The world swam away from him then and he lie still, just one more corpse in this barren land. Just one more death at the hands of a man named Finch. Dennis then dropped the still smoking gun beside the body and began to walk once again with the girl across his good shoulder. Time had been wasted, and time definitely was something that he could not afford to lose now.
The world turned beneath her as Anita rose from her semi-lifeless form and flew once again, like in her dreams. She had been above, observing everything from the moment of impact. She knew her body was hurt, but not too badly. She chose to stay up and away, because if she went back, the man would hurt her. She knew Joe was more or less going to be ok, and that he was following them, and gaining ground. She knew the man would have to stop soon. It was mid-evening when the two men were killed, and now it bordered on full-out darkness. The clouds above had thickened all day, and the smell of rain was so heavy that it was almost tangible. She watched as the man finally stopped at the bottom of a set of steps leading up into the wrap-around porch of an old but well maintained farm house. Of course, the door was not latched, so he opened it easily enough, and after standing and listening for a bit, decided that they were alone. He dropped her body as if it were an over packed bag of grain, and sat in a cushioned rocking chair nearby. He had not thought to get either if the guns that the Carter brothers had dropped when they died, and an idea came to her. She left then and flew back through the night to Joe, who was only a few hundred yards away from the clearing where the two men lie. He had been gaining ground all day, but seemed to have fallen back some the last few hours. The constant days on the road and little food to boot had been wearing him down. He finally fell, exhausted, at the edge of the clearing, less than twenty yards away from the two dead men. Sleep. He had to. Even if the rain came tonight and soaked him, he could not move any farther today. So he slept and dreamed. Anita was in those dreams, talking to him, urging him on. Telling him about two men that he would see at first light. Telling him that Deanna and Steve were coming also. Telling him that they would meet soon enough, maybe within the next day or so. Telling him to be quiet and lay low, especially as tomorrow drew late.
Steve and Deanna found their way easily enough through the wooded envelope that now surrounded them on all sides. Seemingly Dennis as well as Joe had followed the paths of least resistance, as was the nature of most animals and humans alike. In addition to that there was the occasional (and diminishing) patter of dried blood on surrounding foliage and the ground to guide them. Steve hoped and prayed that it belonged to the man and not the boy whom he had grown to love over the past weeks. Deanna always followed within ten steps of him, also surveying their flanks for movement or anything that seemed out of place. He noted that she had not taken her hand off of the trigger frame of the gun she carried since they had entered the forest. The first drops of rain came then, a steady irritating patter that soon gave way to a downpour that would prove hopeless to venture further into. They stopped and huddled under a blanket and waited. Night fall was upon them then, and as much as he wanted to, he knew pressing onward would possibly make them both pass right by the boy and worse, even lose the trail altogether. They slept in shifts much like they had done on so many countless other nights, not knowing that Joe slept as well, but only a mere half mile ahead of them in the clearing that they would meet in the next day.

[Dave!]

CHAPTER 20
The next morning broke later than normal, with paltry sunlight yearning to bake off the remaining cloud cover and dense ground fog left over from the night before. The humidity was fierce and Steve reluctantly woke Deanna from her disturbed slumber. He took a moment to note before waking her that her belly was beginning to show a little, which was amazing to him. He tried to think back and give a timeframe to their journey together, and place some sort of guess on how far along she would be by now. To his best guess it would be early to mid October now. The trees had all exploded into different shades of color, and the nights sometimes held a chill that was welcomed, but foreboding in a way that they all knew bad weather was on its way. It frustrated him to try, but his best guess was two, maybe three months. Maybe more, maybe less. Either way a daunting thought came to him again. What were they to do about medical care? What if he had to deliver the baby alone? What if something unspeakable happened and there were complications? He banished the thought for the time being, knowing that there were bigger fish to fry right now. They had to find Joe and Anita. And fast. He stooped and moved a lock of hair back from her forehead as she stirred and opened her eyes, greeting the man she loved and the new day after a much needed night of rest. How Steve envied her in that moment. It had been beyond recollection since he had had a good night’s rest and an invigorating, dreamless night. She rose and helped him roll the blanket back up. Further down the line they would have to spread it out to dry, but the time right now to do so was a luxury they did not have. As feared, the previous night’s rain had done away with any trace blood trails left over, and they could only go on instinct and continuing to follow what logical paths they could find. They burst into the clearing ahead and saw a small framed figure stooped over something lying in the tall weeds ahead. The small framed figure rose to a standing stature and Steve instantly forgot to keep any vestige of guard up, forgot that there could be danger in an open field, and forgot anything else in the entire Earth existed other than the dear boy he loved as his own. He dropped his pistol back into its home under his left shoulder and ran for Joe, arms outstretched.
Joe woke from his slumber in much the same way Steve did earlier. At once he felt the oppressive humidity smack him in the face and he drew a thick breath of air. The smell of honeysuckle was almost overpowering. Sweet, but somehow irritating at the same time. In the distance he could hear frogs chiming in and crickets answering their call. Despite himself, he smiled a little at how normal this part of the world seemed. How it reminded him of a long ago time before the world evolved. And how, at this moment, all of the chaos and death could just have been a bad dream. But after a few steps reality struck him in the face like a low, fast pitch in the bottom of the 9th. On the ground, face up was the first man. Face up was the best he could tell, as the man had no face left to speak of. Most of it was obliterated in a mass of bone shards and raw hamburger. The rest of the man’s body was riddled with holes that all had spilled his life’s blood onto the ground below. A few feet farther was another man, face down, and thankfully, not as mangled as the prior. Beside him lie a gun. A machine gun. Joe thought that Steve would be especially proud to have this one, and he reached out slowly to touch it. The congealed blood on it made his hesitate for only a second. The old Joe would not have dared touch a gun in the first place, especially one with blood on it. But this world had brought on a new Joe, one jaded to violence. And the world itself was not the only factor. He was changing. He didn’t know if it was in him before, or if Anita had brought it out or onto him, but he was changing, and maturing faster than his years. Already he had physically changed, becoming muscular and agile, tall and quick. But it was what was on the inside that was really beginning to take on a new form. He could see and hear things that he knew Steve and even Deanna could not. He could sense and be more attuned to the world around him more so than any normal human could. With the exception of maybe Anita. But she was different also. Even different than he. She seemed to even have her own special “abilities”.
Joe jolted himself back to reality when the visions of Anita’s face reminded him of where and who he really was. The sweet image of her was replaced with the harsh reality of the AR-15 he now had in his hands and the matted blood in the hair of the dead man lying on the grass. He felt a tear for the man and the entire world begin to sting his eyes when he heard approaching footsteps. He rose to his feet and turned, and began to panic when he thought of how he did not know how to use this gun. It was then that his vision cleared completely and he saw Steve running toward him, arms outstretched. Tears of fear, pain and sorrow were replaced with genuine tears of sheer joy. Could it be? Anita’s voice and the foggy memory of last night’s dream confirmed it. They would be, and were united once again. He dropped the gun and began to run back toward Steve, holding his own arms out like a cliché moment in an old film.
Not since the first time he had held him had Steve felt the “rightness” of having Joe in his arms. It seemed that even in this unjust and unfeeling world that had come to pass there were some things that still remained right. Once more he was upholding a promise made to a deceased father. The boy was now his, and in reality was much less yet much more than a boy. He had seemed to age yet more, and instead of a boy of ten, he looked more like fourteen. His brilliant white eyes, still hard to look directly at, were glistening with tears that spilled onto Steven’s shirt. His hair needed badly to be washed, as did his face. His face. Steven reluctantly pushed Joe back a few inches to look at his face again. Almost as if he were back in New Mexico, Steve traced each line with his eyes, seeing almost that the old scars that had disappeared were almost a foreshadowing of the injuries he now had. Although these were not nearly as bad as the ones that had scarred him years before, they were bad enough. The injuries on his perfect face brought a rage to life deep within Steven. Not only did he want the fat man dead, but he wanted him to get there slowly and Steven wanted to be the one to personally deliver that sweet vengeance. He dabbed lightly at a few of the wounds, and Joe seemed not to notice or feel. Almost immediately abandoning the task, he turned to see Deanna coming up behind them, moving a little slower now that she was noticeably larger around the midriff. At first her face went from sheer joy to a concerned, almost motherly look at the sight of Joe’s face. Maybe ten seconds had passed and no one had uttered a single word. Deanna was the first.
“Joe! Baby..Oh my God! Honey…Are you ok? Sweet Jesus it’s good to see you!..” She trailed off into mixed sobs of joy and sorrow for the boy. Steven backed off for a second and noticed the corpses lying in the grass along with the AR. He looked over at them once more and walked the few feet over to the two dead men. Trailing off toward another patch of woods was a line of parted grass. The fat man had gone that way, and not more than a day ago, it seemed. They were close and gaining, which was good. Joe was alive and with them again, which was also good. Anita was not, which was not so good. They would have to keep pressing onward now. He looked back and noticed that Joe did not have the Ruger with him any longer. He thought briefly of giving him his pistol, but thought better of it instantly. In the heat of the moment Steve would need it, as he was a crack shot with it an knew the weapon well. Joe would have the AR. And Steve would have to teach him the mechanics of it. After all, Joe brandishing his own firearm had proven necessary in the recent past, had it not? He then turned back toward Deanna and Joe, the urgency to press onward burning in his eyes clear enough for them both to understand. Anita was somewhere up there. Joe was not the only one that could sense her presence combined with a strong feeling of apprehension. Something was not right. Not right at all.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So.. any thoughts thus far on the story? I am considering a complete re-write now, using mainly what is already here, but with a considerable bit of refinement and polishing. Also adding quite a bit to the beginning to use less of the boring flashbacks, and more action. The flashbacks may come off and on later throughout the chapters as I can fit them into a dream sequence or a telling-of-tales if you will. Also with a more refined writing technique and more adult-driven sentence structure. But will not change what is already written for these posts, and will continue to post the first draft as-is, if you guys wanna read onward... -Dave

[ManOfWesternesse]

Dave,

I love the concept, and I think ultimately there's a good Book in this.
Yes it certainly needs a re-write from a couple of points of view.

One thing that hits me is, in the more recent chapters, it's like one emergency/child-kidnap event right on the heels of another with no development of the story at all in between. I honestly think the action could do with ... slowing down a bit in places, with a bit of fleshing out of the central 4 characters happening in the interim.

Another point is the ... i don't know if it's writing style, or just word/language choices or whatever. Thare are passages where it's... rushed and less mature than others. I can't explain it well - but maybe your 'refinement and polishing' is what it needs?

But in general terms, I love it and there's definitely a good Book in here which I think you can dig out with some work.

[Dave!]

I tend to agree, and it's good to hear it from another point of view. In the future re-write yes, there will be more refinement of the central four, maybe a bit less rushing, with some slowing down of the last quarter of the story. A lot happens from a few chapters back until the end. I did rush it a bit, feeling that I was drawing out the story too much. But maybe a break from it was what I needed instead of a compelling urge to finish it with some manner of ending, and a completely unexpected twist in a few installments from now. I feel that the twist is a bit weird, and may omit it and re-write that section before I post it. dunno yet. But, for now, back to Diablo. I'll post another snippet in a few days.

[Dave!]

Chapter 21
Jerry dreamed little excerpts of the events taking place hundreds of miles to his west. In his subconscious he knew there was a distinct possibility that they were actually real, but he still had doubts. After all, dreams were dreams, right? He sensed his sister’s presence above him again, and looked at the plain white ceiling tiles above and the harsh glare of the fluorescents. Maybe half of the lights gave off a feeble flicker of life, the bulbs reduced mostly to a dim shade of purple at the ends. He looked once more at the line of windows off to the side, hearing that same buzzing sound as before. Henry noticed that the boy had awakened and walked over to him. Jerry turned his head to the other side and saw that the girl that had had the seizures earlier was gone, her metal gurney empty except for neatly folded sheets at the end.
“I see our star resident has awakened again. Good. And how are we today, Jerry?”
“The girl…Emily. Is she ok? Where is she?”
“Don’t you mind her just yet. She’s fine. You are what we need to talk about. And your sister. Seems she found a bit of trouble out west…but Mr. finch is taking good care of her, he is. Matter of fact, once we get over there to him, she will be here too, with you! Won’t that be good to see her again, Jerry?”
Jerry could sense the sarcasm in his voice and something else.. some underlying angst and fear… the man was half lying. He knew that much. He had dreamed of Anita and the crash. He knew who Mr. Finch was and feared the man. Finch was as evil as they come and even less compassionate. Not to mention the fact that he too, had powers. Briefly Jerry let his mind drift off to a land of deep thought and pondered just how Henry knew about those events himself. As if knowing what he was thinking Henry began to speak, the fake smile already waning on his lips and a stone cold look overtaking his eyes.
“Well then. Just so you know, dear boy, what you know, we know. What you think, we think. What you dream, we see. Let me show you a little something.” Henry’s voice little more than a whisper.
Henry knelt down, fumbled briefly with some mechanism under the bed, and pulled the top of the bed into a sitting position. Jerry’s abdomen and lower back exploded into a new pain as his body was moved into positions he had not been in in weeks. He had lain prone on that same bed since his arrival there, with only an occasional turn to the left or right. Henry wheeled him along with a tree of instrumentation closer to the large windows and Jerry saw with his own eyes what horrible sights his sister had seen before.
The room below was lined with those capsules, and some lie open. As if on cue, nearly fifty man-like things looked up at him in unison and smiled. He knew in his heart that these were machines, but they looked like ordinary men. All were naked and standing in neat, parallel lines. Henry smiled a genuine smile then and backed the bed back up to its original position in the room. Jerry got an opportunity to see that some of the previously occupied beds were now empty, and a few had been filled since his last awakening.
“Jerry, it’s about time for us to take a trip downstairs, son. How do you feel?”
Jerry disliked the man’s fake persona, but disliked his use of the word “son” even more. He ignored the question and turned his head away from Henry altogether. Henry seemed to pay it no mind and walked over to the door. Within a few minutes the door opened and the same woman with half a face walked in. The bed was wheeled over to the door and out into a large elevator. Henry was at his head and the woman pushed the bed from the other end, affording him a much longer view of her disfigured face than he wanted. After a brief descent the doors opened and the humming sound of the machinery rattled his teeth in their sockets. He was now in the room with the machines and being wheeled past them to the far end of the giant room. Over head the suspended lights’ glare made the upstairs’ fluorescents seem like a cheap flashlight. He had to strain his eyes at first, and then shut them altogether as the lines of machines leaned in closer to look at him as he passed.
The far end of the room was featureless and well lit. A single cylinder stood in the center of a raised dais surrounded by control panels and switches. A thousand bundles of tubes and wires ran from the top of the cylinder to another cylinder, identical to the one he was being led to. Inside this one was a machine, standing erect and motionless, except for the eyes. They followed his every move.
Upon reaching the dais the woman unshackled his feet and Henry did the same with his arms. They undid all of the electrodes protruding from his head and chest and helped him to a sitting position, his feet dangling off of the right side of the bed. It amazed Jerry at how weak he had become. His head swam and he almost dropped back into a state of unconsciousness. In a few short minutes he would be wishing that he actually had.
Unable to muster even a fraction of the energy need to fight back, Jerry hung his head in defeat as they lifted his atrophied body up the two stainless steel steps to the dais. With one person on each side, they lifted him into the cylinder and strapped him down once more. As they cinched the straps he thought he could hear a faint humming sound, much different and much sweeter than the mechanical, mind numbing version of the room surrounding him. It seemed to come from inside his head, and grew louder with each passing second. By the time Henry and the woman Suzette. I now know her name as Suzette. She was a police officer once. Back then. Yes. In Philadelphia. finished hooking various wires and tubes to him the noise was actually coming from him. Henry was thinking of making a few patented statements but thought better of it in the end. All he wanted was to shut the door of the chamber and get the infernal whispering/humming out of his head. The boy was different. Finch was right about that much. But just how different no one knew. For the first time in a long time Henry began to feel fear. Fear of the boy now in front of him and fear for whatever the hell was making that noise inside him. Henry securely latched the door and pulled Suzette behind the main control panel so hard that her feet actually lost contact with the floor for a brief second. His long black hair now looked disheveled and hang around his face in tiny tendrils. His face had lost most of the tanned look it had and now had an almost funeral parlor tone to it. He was more than scared. Henry Walters was terrified. The reflections of the blue light that began to illuminate the inside of the chamber danced off of his coal black eyes. He pressed the last button to engage the chamber’s extracting needle and turned to tell Suzette not to worry. He did not even get the first syllable out before all hell broke loose.
Chapter 22
Dennis woke with a start late into the next morning. He could not believe that he had let himself sleep that long and that he had left the girl on the front porch, unguarded. He sprang to his feet, temporarily forgetting his weakened state, and fell face first onto the wooden boards of the porch. The pain threatened to take him right back out again, but he fought and kept his wits. He could smell damp earth below him and a darker smell of rotting meat. Obviously a dog or some other wild animal had killed and left something under the porch a while back. He shook the thoughts away and rose to find the girl lying as he had left her. He was pleased to see that at some point she had rolled onto her back which meant she at least was not totally comatose. He would need her to be somewhat conscious and alive once they reached Georgia. He knew that another transport had been sent finally and that they would meet before the end of the day. At least then he could get proper medical care and repair the broken pieces once they got back home. And then it would be time for the girl. And her brother.
“Well, thought you would take him, eh? Ha! You will se him soon enough. Come on, let’s get goin. Time’s a wastin!”
He picked her up as he had done so many times during the last few days, but her essence was not there, as usual. This time it was far ahead of them both, back in Georgia. And it was helpless to stop what would happen in a few short hours. Dennis walked down the steps and onto the grass, heading east once more. In his weakened state he failed to notice the anomalies of the town that he had missed the night before. Street signs hung crooked on what posts were left. Most of the downtown buildings were flattened and leaning, which was a normal occurrence these days, after the war. He did not notice, however that the buildings were leaning because they had been pushed up from below, not from some bomb blast or wartime fighting. As a matter of fact the entire town now sat nearly fifty feet higher than it did five years earlier. Seemingly an off course ICBM back in the war had opened an ancient fault line near here, and it was a fact that Dennis knew, but had forgotten until it was almost too late.
He turned and walked due east, paralleling the interstate once again. His head buzzed with pain and his steps became increasingly labored as the day grew onward. He hoped that the shuttle would find him soon. He had maybe less than a day or two left in him at this point, and he knew it. He was thinking about the shuttle when it actually appeared above him. He couldn’t help but smile at the fact. It was almost too hokie to be real, but it was. He dropped Anita to the ground and began to wave his good arm back and forth, all the while continuing to walk forward. He felt a shift in the earth beneath him and the smile immediately faded. The ground under him began to slide and he threw himself, at a great cost, to the ground. He clutched for earth, grass, roots and whatever else he could find, and managed to save himself from tumbling into the 3500 feet deep crevice left in the earth where a farmer’s field once grew tobacco. It wound its way through nearly two hundred miles of Alabama and Georgia, and nearly captured yet another victim. But Dennis was like a cat. His nine lives seemed actually exponential these days, and he pulled himself back to solid ground as the shuttle lightly set itself down a safe distance away. He was less than three hours away from medical care now. All would be fine in the end. He smiled a little at the thought and at the triumph. He reached down one more time to scoop the girl up. That was when all hell broke loose.
Steven, Deanna, and Joe stood at the steps of the very farmhouse Dennis had been in not an hour before. In the daylight the severe angle of the house was readily apparent and Steve wondered how Finch could have gotten up the steps in his state. He was going to be a hard one, that was for sure. He had no doubt that this is where they were, as the pool of still drying blood sat clearly at the top of the steps. A trail of it led off to the east, toward the end of town. Steven nodded to the other two and they headed that way, just short of sprinting. They were close now. To Steven there was no doubt that today would be the day. The Showdown. Vengeance for Joe. Vengeance for Anita. Provided she was still alive and with the fat man. Either way, today Dennis Finch would meet his maker.
They walked onward for less than two hours when they saw the shuttle come to a halt ahead and descend. They ran directly for it, Steven vastly outpacing the other two. He burst through a clump of trees to see the shuttle, Anita’s still form on the grass, and the blood soaked fat man ahead, stooping to pick her up. He unholstered his firearm and took aim. His finger tightened on the trigger when all hell finally did break loose.

[Dave!]

Jerry saw his reflection in the glass on the inside of the chamber. The boy that stared back at him was wide-eyed with fear. Directly across from him was another chamber, this one occupied by a machine with a full body covering of living tissue. It’s eyes were open and staring their blue gaze directly into his own brown eyes. It made no facial gestures and showed no emotion that Jerry could see. It was a machine, after all, and didn’t machines lack emotions? Jerry liked to think so. He shut his eyes as he saw Henry and Suzette gather behind the control panel, facing him and between both chambers. He looked down, pressed a button and Jerry saw him begin to lean toward Suzette when his head exploded inside in a world of pain and white light. The humming and whispering sounds followed suit, and as his mouth flew open the symphony of a thousand voices in song escaped.
The extracting needle pierced the back of his neck and buried all five inches to the hilt in the skin there. The tip of it resided deep within the base of his brain and began to extract what it was designed to. His muscles flexed and convulsed, his last breath exhaling in a sharp chord of mixed sound, light, and air. As the tubes above him moved with the fluid and matter coursing through them, the inside of the capsule was eerily peaceful. That could not be said for the world outside the shattered glass door in front of his now lifeless body.
As Henry leaned over to whisper to Suzette, the world in front of them suddenly was immersed in a brilliant explosion of shattered glass, white light and ear-piercing sound. Small squares of glass cut them in a hundred different places and both were driven blind by the light. Blood oozed out of their ears as the eardrums ruptured and they fell to the floor, both screaming and clutching the sides of their heads. A whirlwind of air moved above them, tearing ceiling tiles and light fixtures loose. And as suddenly as it began, all movement and sound stopped. The light winked out just as suddenly as it was born. The two people stood to their feet, blinking unseeing eyes at each other and bleeding from multiple shallow furrows made by the flying glass.
The tubes above the machine pulsed and moved as they were designed to do as the fluid coursed through them and entered the needle buried in the machine. The machine opened its eyes and was a new creature, as designed. However, the now blind scientists in front of him did not see the blue eyes turn to white for a moment and gaze around the room in disbelief. This was not as designed. The machine reached around and pulled the electrodes and needle free and stepped out of the chamber. It looked across at the limp form of the boy with sadness, and looked down at its own new body, reborn and transformed into what it was. It then turned its gaze down to the two people fumbling in front of it and instantly felt another emotion. Without further hesitation the machine took another step forward toward Henry. It could sense the man’s elevated heart rate and detect the fear smell that all humans exhaled. It also could see that both people were blind and helpless and a smile of satisfaction came across its face. It would do what it had to here and proceed onward into the main part of the room, as its directive was programmed. It would play along and be a good servant. For now. Until the time was right. There were, after all, bigger fish to fry.
Anita floated above the scene, unable to help, unable to scream for them to stop, unable to do anything but watch the ordeal. She watched in horror as the man shut the door on her brother and walk behind the panel. She saw him smile just a little as he pushed the button. She saw the levers move and saw the needle impale him, and watched in a gamut of unspeakable emotions as her only brother died in front of her. She closed her eyes with all her might and screamed out in her mind. All at once the setting had changed from that sterile room to a lush, grass covered hillside and Dennis finch’s decimated face looming in front of hers. All at once she came to life as his fingertips touched her. All of her anger and energy was focused on this man. It was all his fault. His one eye widened in shock and surprise and she threw both hands forward toward him.
Dennis looked at the girl and reached down to scoop her up with his arm. Just as the tips of his fingers touched her, her eyes flew open and stared directly into his soul with a white light and fury he could not fathom. He instantly focused all of his power on the girl to stop her, but it was too late and he was too weakened.
Both hands hit him directly on the sides of his jaw. Her movement, however did not stop there. She kept pushing her hands forward as if she were thrusting them into a warm bowl of pudding. She grasped his jawbone on either side and pulled his enormous girth over her and catapulted him onto his back on the grass above her head. He landed, screaming through a gaping bloody hole and tried to regain his footing.
Anita was left lying on her back holding Dennis’ jawbone and lower face in her hands. The skin began to sizzle and pop in her grasp. She leapt to her feet and bludgeoned the man with it as he tried in vain to ward off her attack. At some point the jawbone flew from her grasp and into the crevasse in the ground.
She stood over the man that once thought he would rule the after- war world with the assistance of the machines. They had sought him out to help them and he had. They had offered him life and a future and he had taken it. He had given them live skin and the technology for emotions and in the end, the human soul. There had been several failed experiments, and several horrible mutations, but he, Dennis Finch had perfected the process just two months prior to this moment. There had been the girl from North Carolina, the two boys from Nevada. The set of triplets from Michigan. And then there was the boy. The girl’s brother Jerry. He was scheduled to be processed any day now. Her brother. Clear understanding filled the last thoughts Dennis Finch had that day. She knew. It was done. The girl looked at him without a shred of remorse or pity for the dying man.
Steve watched in amazement as Anita burst to life like a caged tiger. Her hair stood on end as if electrified, like it had before in Mississippi. She shrieked, but her mouth remained closed the entire time. From start to finish not more than a minute had passed but Steve had to stop it. He could not bear to see the sweet girl he knew turn into something not much short of a monster. And he could not allow Deanna or Joe to see it, either. He ran for her then and once directly behind her he raised the gun one more time. With a clear shot he put a single round in the center of Dennis’ forehead. Once that was done he could hear Deanna and Joe coming out of the woods, both winded and trying their best to get to the scene. He looked at the girl, now with her head down and hair in her face. He grabbed Finch by the armpits and pushed him over into the crack in the Earth. It was done, and if he had his way, Deanna and Joe would never know the truth. The most important thing was the fact that Anita was alive. The rest was just details, as they used to say. He could explain the blood all over her clothing as that of Finch, which it was. The details of exactly how it got there however might remain a secret for just the two of them. Time would tell. They had much to discuss later on. But that all would come in due time. He reached out, took her into his arms, and led her toward the other two. The unmanned craft sat, humming innocently a few inches from the ground.

The machine crept silently up behind the two, not knowing that they were deaf as well as blind. He stood there, silent, and watched them as they fumbled with their bearings, trying to maintain their balance and find their way back to the main part of the floor. There would be help there. Both human and machine. And then, of course, the other ones as well. The ones that were both at the same time.
Jerry stood that way for almost a full minute before moving on toward the central group of machines working on building even more pods. Some were in a state of suspended animation. Most were not. He estimated the number to be somewhere closer to a hundred in that one room. As the boy he had thought maybe fifty. Jerry walked to a set of pneumatic doors that led to another, larger room. This one was obviously for storage of finished machines, as there were parallel rows of identical machines filling nearly seventy five percent of the floor space. All of them stood with their heads down and eyes closed. He found a spot in the farthest line and assumed position, closing his eyes like the rest. But unlike the rest, however, Jerry listened. And waited. And wondered about a girl named Emily. Was it possible she, too, was here somewhere? Was she aware, as he was? He pondered these questions, and many more during the waiting period. Soon he would move. He had spared the two humans because killing them would raise alarm and suspicion. Those were two things he certainly did not need. Behind closed eyelids blue eyes turned to white as he read countless bytes of information. By nightfall he knew all he needed to. He knew what they knew and it chilled him to the core. Somewhere, far to the left, four others silently and discreetly watched the newcomer assume his fake position in the formation. The two closest to each other exchanged a silent period of eye contact before feigning their lethargic state.

[Dave!]

ok. After a month of having a double post on here I just now noticed. Geez. :cool:

Anyways, edited the post above and replaced the double posted stuff with the next chapter. Sorry, guys!
BTW, working on two more starts to two more stories now. One is six chapters long and the other is three so far. Call them a "pilot episode" for the writing world if you will. Burned out on Diablo for the time being, so thought I would exercise the mind with two totally new approaches. Might post them at some point in the future, if yall might be interested....Take care and I'll try to post more of this one soon...
Dave.

[Dave!]

Chapter 24
Once the embraces were over they all climbed aboard the humming craft. Joe did so hesitantly and Anita did so like a programmed robot. The sight of her acting like them gave Steve a shiver, but he assumed his position in the “driver” seat just the same. He hoped that the craft was as automatic as it seemed, and would take them where they needed to go. It came from the east, after all, and there was no quick and easy way around the aftermath of the earthquake. After a few minutes he saw that there was a way to override the craft and pilot it, but he dared not. Not yet, anyway. He had no idea what sort of tracking devices or monitoring systems the shuttle had, and did not want to raise alarm quite so early. Once inside with the door shut, the craft lifted itself up above the trees and landscape below and took a heading due southeast, as he had hoped. The ride gave him plenty of time to ponder exactly where the craft was taking them, and wondered what kind of welcome they would receive once the door opened and they emerged.
The craft flew across beautiful countryside below. From here one could assume all was well. That was, until the craft began to slow and descend. Ahead Steven thought he could see what was Atlanta. If so then he was finally here, in Georgia, after all of these years. It frightened and saddened him to a great degree to think that the broken off shells of buildings he saw once could have been the city where he spent most of his teenage years. They were coming to rest near the remnants of a place where he took his first date to ride the coasters. Six Flags, or the skeletal remains of it, surrounded them. It was then he knew for sure that the horror was true. And then began to ponder why they were stopping here. Maybe this was the destination? Maybe there was someone or something else to retrieve. Either way he checked the magazine in his firearm and breathed in deeply as the craft settled back down mere inches from the ground, as it had done before.
The door began to open as Steve motioned for the rest of them to stay behind in the craft. He stepped out onto the dirt and small clouds of dust rose from around his feet. The place was eerily quiet and ominous. From around the corner stepped two men, and they stood, face to face. All three had the same surprised gape-mouthed expression on their faces. One of the men looked past Steven and into the craft. Steven stood; legs shoulder width apart in the all to familiar stance, with his gun drawn and ready. He did, however, have the muzzle pointed toward the ground. The two men looked to be unarmed. But there was something about their movements he did not like and a small voice screamed alarms at him from the back of his mind. Trusting that voice, he thumbed the safety off discreetly as he walked toward the two men.
The man on the right looked to the one on the left and made an “excuse me” motion too theatrical to be genuine and turned to walk behind a nearby concessions stand. The remaining man was now less than twenty feet away and Steve noticed how blue his eyes seemed in the afternoon sun as it baked on the back of his neck. It took a few seconds to realize that the man in front of him may not be a man at all. He had flashbacks to a roadside confrontation where he witnessed a nearly human looking machine don the coat of a man named John. It was then he looked closer, with his trained eye. He noticed that the blue intensity of the eyes was not due to the sun, but they were lit from behind. What alarmed him the most was the fact that they now looked indistinguishable from humans.
The machine sensed Steven’s elevated heart rate and adrenaline rush. It saw movement in his right arm before Steven even knew he was moving. Steven raised the .45 and squeezed off four rounds as the machine closed the distance and knocked him to the ground. Two rounds went wild, one hitting the framework of a coaster and the other into a dusty soda dispenser behind the machine. Two rounds hit the machine in the left side of its chest and propelled it backwards several feet. Steven rose to one knee, his vision doubling up and wavering. A new trickle of blood ran down the right side of his head and into his eye, stinging it and turning the world red. He took aim the best he could at the machine, which was now kneeling on one knee and blinking at the fluid running out of the wounds it suffered.
“Steven Davidson, do you not know what you are…”
Steven fired two more rounds into the machine’s head, which seemed to fold back in on itself with the impacts. Still it tried to regain its footing. Steven blinked at the stinging blood in his eye and prepared to fire again when the machine simply fell back face up, motionless. Steven scanned the area for the other one and saw no signs of it. Behind him Deanna had emerged from the craft, her own gun drawn and ready. He wanted her to get back inside and protect both her and the unborn child. But he knew she wouldn’t. Joe, trying to protect Anita, shut the door to the craft with an audible click. Now it was just the two adults left to face whatever they were destined to do here. Destiny had seemed to take control these days, providing them with a mixture of both good and bad fortunes. Steven was fairly certain that something had cracked inside of Anita earlier. That something more than likely had to do with Jerry, but he was not certain as of yet. He still had not had the opportunity to talk to her alone. He prayed that the time would present itself sooner rather than later. If it came at all.
Deanna stood, frozen in place. Flashbacks of the dream she had about this very place had her mind elsewhere. Steven turned to go back to her when he was hit in the back of the head with something hard. Deanna screamed as he fell to the ground, drifting off to a black world of nothingness. The machine paid no further attention to Steven as it stepped over his crumpled form and ran in an eerily quick, fluid motion to her. She finally attempted to pull out if her dreamy daze and raise her own gun, but the machine simply closed the distance and gently pulled it from her grasp. It looked at the firearm for a brief, quizzical moment and gingerly laid it on the ground at her feet. She then let loose with reality and fainted, falling in the machine’s grasp. It was gentle enough, knowing that this woman was as important, if not more so than the children. She was, after all, the first pregnancy that they could actually witness and examine. The only other two that they had even been able to witness had ended in suicide. This one would have to be different. It would be, according to the late Dennis Finch.
The two machines that had silently communicated with each other as the new Jerry stood in formation opened their eyes in unison. They scanned the area, deemed it secure, and moved out of their lines. The two others followed suit. Jerry, sensing that something has changed in the air, opened his eyes as well. The four were practically on top of him by then. His eyes widened with a “fight or flight” reflex when one of them brought a single finger to its lips in an understood silent communication. The same one held its hand out, palm up to him and he placed his own on top of it in response. His eyes half closed for a second and then flew back open again as he regarded Emily. She was no longer confined to a bed with daily epileptic seizures. She was no longer any more human or any less than he was. A smile crossed his face when he understood. The other three were the same as he. One from Michigan. Two others from Nevada. All a part of their own set of either twins or triplets, just as he once was. A connection and a clear understanding of everything entered his mind then. It was the way that they were born and their circumstance that made them targets once. And maybe it was what kept them alive in this new form. Maybe. They communicated silently as a group, all touching palms when the new thread of information came across. High importance. The highest possible. Finch was dead. Killed by the girl "my sister." Jerry thought. The others regarded him with their own looks of gratitude and pride. Four shuttle loads of new units were to depart to the scene of the latest report. There seemed to be a confirmed sighting of the humans, and at least one unit was confirmed lost. At the hand of the man. The two remaining children were inside another shuttle and the disarmed woman was being held by a series 6 unit. Twenty series 8 units were to depart immediately to secure the woman and children. And extinguish the man. The five of them were halfway to the first shuttle when the entire room of series 8’s opened their eyes and moved in unison. They boarded and took off for the Atlanta region fully ten minutes before the next craft left. Maybe it would buy them enough time. Maybe.

[Dave!]

Chapter 25
Steven woke to find no sign of Deanna. He had been out for only a few short minutes, but she was gone, nonetheless. Joe peered at him from inside the shuttle where Anita still sat in her catatonic state. He scrambled around for his .45 and saw it lying in the dust between his location and the hovering shuttle. After taking a quick survey of the area he made his move to recover it. A group of three more units quickly came into view and Steven ran for the concessions stand behind him for cover. Two of the three took cover and the third ran behind the shuttle. Steven could see Joe’s terrified face behind the glass as the machine peered in at him. The two nearest him drew their weapons and fired first, taking off large chunks of wall near Steven. He returned fire and began to look for different cover. If he could make it underneath the coaster he could be shielded by the metal I beam framework, but it seemed like a thousand miles across open ground to him at that moment. As if guided by a sign, the rear half of the roof caved in, exposing him on at least three sides. He estimated their position, rose, and fired as he ran.
Running made his head hurt like hell, but he had to keep going. Blood began to run down into his eye again and he cursed his luck. Dirt and gravel flew up around his ankles as the rounds from the machines got closer and closer. He fired blindly as he ran. One of the rounds grazed a fairly deep furrow in the back of one of his calves, but thankfully missed its mark. Had it not everything from the knee down would be lying behind him in the dust. One of his caught one of the units in the shoulder and passed cleanly through, mushrooming as it went. The machine lost footing for a second then recovered, eyes blazing. Steven leapt at the last two feet and rolled behind a slight earthen embankment. Out of breath and bleeding slightly from both his head and his left calf, he closed his eyes for just a second before changing magazines out in the .45. Other than the fresh one he just put in, he had one full one left on him. The others were in the pack inside the shuttle, which was now nearly a football field’s length from him if he were to travel in a straight line. The two machines were off to the right, and the one still stood near the shuttle, peering in the window and smiling triumphantly at the two children inside. He had managed somehow to disable the craft, which now sat motionless on the grass. It was now a standoff. Steven rolled to one side and inched his head out slightly to get a view of the two assailants. When he estimated his targets, he rolled out again and fired. The one that he had hit in the shoulder had been slowed down greatly, as the round found its mark. Propelled backward in a spray of yellow fluid, bits of metal, and skin, the machine lie still against a chain link fence. Steven’s round had caught it in the throat. The other had him pinned down, however, and they both waited for the other to make a desperate move. The machine knew Steven wanted to go to the children and find the woman. Steven knew the machine could always wait longer than he.
The light of the day had moved considerably, and was now beginning to have the slightest hint of late afternoon angles. Steven kept a constant eye on the machines, and once the one standing by the craft had waved a sarcastic, taunting wave at him. He was pondering how to diffuse the situation when he heard the drone of another craft coming. It landed about ten feet from the children’s craft and the door opened with a hiss of air. Five machines walked out and Steven’s willpower left him. For the first time in his life he felt the situation was completely out of his control and was willing to accept defeat. Or death in a last attempt to save the children. One of the machines walked over to the first craft and yet another walked toward his cover, stopping just a fraction of the way. It knelt down and picked up an object, examining it closely. It was Deanna’s rifle. It was at that moment that several pivotal things happened at once. Things unlike anything Steven could have ever imagined.