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.

[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...
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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]

[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!”