Serpent and the Sun, Chptr. 5 – Xperience Fiction

Serpent and the Sun, Chptr. 5 – Xperience Fiction – by Liam Sweeny.

Donnie joined Blake on the trip up to Albany, the former state capital. It was two-hours north of New York, and most of the equipment Blake needed was stored there. None of the resistance-held heavy equipment was stored in the City. The ocean rise made moving things around a mess, and the City was always on the top of the UEC strike list. So everything not directly needed for survival or communication was stored in Albany. Both Blake and Donnie had been there before, Donnie regularly. But Blake had never driven them both. As they swindled death along the sheared rock-faces cradling the New York State Thruway, Donnie understood why.

When Donnie first met Blake, he was in awe of Blake’s fearlessness, and his adventurous nature, never hesitating to jump into the line of fire when circumstance demanded. It took Donnie a while to figure it out for what it was; Blake didn’t understand death. He grew up in the Denali Sanctuary. When he turned twenty-one, he lost his mortality. Donnie and Blake had spent two years together before Blake went on with Mike to New Rochester. During that time, he often had to rely on Blake’s ability to keep a clear head in the constant chaos thrown at them. Yet even in the Freedom Tower lobby, as Blake stared at presumably one of his own, traced his finger along the tattoo he shared with a corpse, his lack of emotion was unnerving. Blake was a never-ending source of intrigue. And when he drove a float, vertigo.

“Jesus, Blake,” he said, “Why are we on the rocks?!”

“Ya’ know what? You’re right…”Blake replied, and Donnie’s gut floored as the float veered skyward over the ridge. “We can go faster here…”

Donnie gripped the edge of the panel-board. “What’s wrong with the highway?” He asked. “Aren’t we cloaked?”

“Can’t always trust a cloak…”

Donnie felt woozy. The speed was intense, the blur of 300 mph caught Donnie’s peripheral vision as the altitude rose and fell in rhythm to the landscape, plowing through forests when they could, topping them when their dispersion couldn’t be navigated fast enough. Donnie trusted Blake’s driving, but he always held in the back of his mind that in the case of a crash, each would be impacted just a little bit differently.

“Don’t worry,” Blake said, “I won’t kill you.”

“Oh? Ya’ read my mind…” Donnie took his grip off the panel-board long enough to pull out his pipe. “Is that a new hack?”

Blake laughed. “I don’t need a new hack to smell the shit… waitin’ to bust a move in your draws’…”

“Aw, fuck you, Blake,” Donnie said, “Just try not to get snow-blind, okay?”

They drove on, parallel to the highway but never crossing it. Blake asked Donnie to roll him a cigarette, motioning to the panel-compartment. The compartment contained a stuffed bag of cured tobacco, real from the smell. Donnie was envious. They shared a round of nicotine and talked.

“So why now?”

“Why what now?” asked Blake.

Donnie puffed. “Why decide to take us out now?” He said. “I mean, they’ve had the tech’ to do it for ten years, why the vote all of the sudden?”

“I coulda’ told ya’ that ten years ago,” Blake responded, “But I ain’t been on the crystal-floor in a while…”

Donnie shot a glance over to Blake. “Surely you have your guesses.”

“Yeah, but that’s what they’d be… guesses.”

“Let’s hear ‘em.”

They careened over a clearing. Blake slammed the control bar forward, making the trees come up blurry-fast. He found a path through the trees that Donnie didn’t see until they were a hundred yards into it; Donnie’s liver found his throat though, and as the float spun to a halt in a patch of pristine pine forest, he swallowed it back down. When everything had settled down, Blake spoke;

“When I was in Denali, I wasn’t originally Third Tier,” he said, “My great-grandfather had Alzheimer’s. The defect was enough to keep me Second Tier in a place like Everest or one of the maritime Sanct’s, but as you well know, Denali’s a war pit.”

“You jumped class?” Donnie didn’t know that was possible.

“Yup’,” he answered, pausing to light up a filtered cigarette he’d tucked in his ear.

“Third Tier kids used to come down the Spiral to,” Blake motioned with his hands, “practice, on us. I whooped so many of their asses, I got noticed.”

“So they just took you in?”

“Yeah.”

“What was that like?”

“I don’t wanna’ get side-tracked right now,” he said, “There’s a reason why I’m telling you this.”

“Ok, shoot.”

“When I got into training, they treated me like an enemy, the other kids… but after a while they knew they were gonna’ have to share eternity with me, so that, ya’ know…”

“Makes for long grudges, I’d imagine…”

“Ohhh yeah…” Blake blew out a cloud of thick smoke, made thicker by the cold. “Point is, eventually I got to figure out why they really sent the Third Tier kids down.”

“Go on…”

“They wanted to show them that not everyone had it as good as them.” He said. “Hell, sometimes I think that’s why they brought me up.”

Donnie mulled over what Blake was saying. He really had never pegged Blake for a blueblood.

“So what does this have to do with them wiping us out?” He asked.

“It’s like a never ending chain, Donnie-boy,” Blake eased back in his seat. “Be a good top Tier ‘else you could become a bottom Tier; be a good bottom Tier, ‘else you could become a terrestrial, be a good terrestrial ‘else you could become…”

“…dead.”

“Now you’re getting’ it.” Blake tipped his ash over the side. “They need the Earth, Don’,” he said, “They can’t get around it; they never could. That’s why they have to have protected areas.”

“Do you think they actually want to give their technology over to non-members?”

Blake had a point. Survival was thicker than both blood and water.

“So you think they want to wipe us out, to take those areas over themselves?”

Blake laughed. “Nah, man,” he replied, “Those Sanctuary people wouldn’t do a day of work in their lives…”

“I’m lost.” Donnie looked around. “Literally too, by the way…”

“I told you Don’, I don’t have any answers,” he said, “explanations, diagrams or flow-charts.” He smiled. “I know you love those flow-charts…”

“So what’s your guess, then?”

Blake pushed the control bar into the socket to charge it. The sun was just starting to filter in through the trees to their left. It was getting dark. Blake pulled out yet one more cigarette he’d spirited away from Donnie’s pack.

“I think they’re bored.” He said.

 

***

 

A Lernaean Hydra in festive silk pranced around the gala crystal stage, chased by a flurry of costumed Heracles’, stabbing at its necks with bamboo sticks, likewise adorned in silk. They were re-enacting the second labor of Heracles. They would do all twelve before they were to receive their birthright, the infusion that would give them the reward accorded to Heracles in the Greek legend. Elle, of course, was one of the candidates.

Gerhardt sat in the upper deck of the presentation hall. He wasn’t at the first labor; he hated the pomp and ceremony of all the Third Tier social functions. And the Twelve Labors, they were the worst. Gerhardt had seen only one in his youth, with his father sitting next to him muttering curses under his breath mocking it. His father thought they were just ostentatious displays of what people in their Tier couldn’t have. Gerhardt couldn’t have agreed more. Yet he was there, thumbing the program flap.

That night was the last night he’d spend with Elle. Her father had authorized a skiff for him to leave the Sanctuary. It was an SLA, capable of under- and oversea travel, most likely to get him around the eye-wall. It appeared that Mr. Renier would spare no expense to get Gerhardt permanently out of his daughter’s life. And Mr. Renier was ensuring the permanent part. Gerhardt would have to hand in all of his Pacific Sanctuary shares to get the skiff control bar. That meant he’d never be allowed back in.

Elle looked so beautiful, playful as she danced around the stage. She had a bright yellow-orange sprig of silk, crepe paper and glittered tissue paper, the flame to sear the decapitated heads of the hydra as they went through the ritual. He could see she was laughing, caught up in the moment. In light of what they were going through as a couple, Gerhardt was surprised. He wasn’t upset; let her smile. He was giving up everything he owned, everything he knew for the smile wrapped in that red silk robe below, and if this was the last day he had to see it, he’d waste it not.

She looked up to where he was sitting, and waved with the slight raise of her wrist. He used to call it her princess wave. He tipped his cap to her, and the ritual started winding up. Thank God, he thought. He was getting edgy, and he still didn’t know how the night was going to go. He wouldn’t tell her, no way. He promised her father; moreover, he promised himself. She loved him, and she’d push to go with him. Gerhardt knew from his time with her that she could out-push the old bulldozer they had in the base-tier museum.

Gerhardt awoke from his daze to find his seat-mates filing out. He scanned the side-aisles and saw Elle cheerily fooling around with her friend Jeanne. Gerhardt waved to Jeanne, who waved back. Elle walked through the aisle, and Gerhardt met her half-way, embracing her with all his love in one tight embrace.

“My, what’s gotten into you!” She laughed.

Gerhardt smiled. “Can’t a guy love his girl?” Elle hugged him even tighter.

“You keep up a hug like that; you’ll make a girl wonder what you did wrong…” She whispered in his ear coyly.

“Nothing, Elle, dearest…” Gerhardt checked his watch. “I want to show you something, but we have to get to the base-tier by ten.”

“What is it?” She asked. “Do tell…”

Gerhardt wrapped his arm around her shoulder as they made it through the main doors to the central ring.

“If I was going to tell ya’, I wouldn’t have said something, now, would I?”

“Oh, stop being a jerk, Ger’,” She smiled, “Oh, how did I do?”

“Do what?”

“The rehearsal?”

“Oh, oh yeah…” Play nice. “You did great, honey!”

“You’re so full of shit, Ger’,” She laid a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks.”

They got to the J port and hopped in. Elle’s Tier had seats in the ports, not rails like Gerhardt’s Tier. Considering how fast the ports rose and fell, the difference was noticeable. They got off on Floor AE18, where’s Elle’s apartment was. Gerhardt wasn’t allowed into her apartment; just one of the many knives in his back. That night, however, it was a good thing. Elle took a half-hour to get dressed. Gerhardt would have time to tighten his game face.

A half-hour later, as if by stopwatch, Elle came out of her apartment dressed in a black satin evening gown. Perhaps a bit overdressed for their destination, but Gerhardt thought she looked beautiful. They took a Sidewinder to the bottom. Wrapped around the outside of the Sanctuary, the Sidewinder was a maglev passenger car. The view was obscured by the eye-wall this time of the year, but it was still romantic. Gerhardt wished he could only feel something in his heart other than weight.

“Ger’, are you alright?” Elle looked into his eyes with a twinge of worry.

“Yeah, Elle, I’m fine.” He replied. He looked away before realizing it would seem evasive. He felt Elle’s fingers at his chin, turning his face to look at hers.

“C’mon, Ger’,” She said, “Something’s wrong. You can tell me.”

He was quiet. He certainly could not tell her.

“We’ll get married, Ger’,” She said, “I’m only going through these rehearsals because father wants me to. I’m staying on his good side so I can get another crack at him. I’ll get him to change his mind.”

“Elle, maybe you should go through with it.” He said.

“Not if it means we can’t get married!”

“Just think about it.” Gerhardt said. “Sleep on it.”

The Sidewinder reached the base-tier, and Gerhardt stepped out with Elle on his arm. They walked out to the dock, by the edge. The lights below deck illuminated the eye-wall, forming the multicolored shades of destructive wind. It had a sense of beauty, but it wasn’t what Gerhardt brought Elle to see.

Gerhardt caressed Elle’s cheek, moving one of her curly bangs aside. His eyes darted to his watch. Time it… He kissed Elle deeply, tilting her head up as their lips parted. His eyes rose, joining hers to watch the meteor shower visible above the eye-wall.

“Wow.” She whispered. Gerhardt felt her arms wrap around him.

“I love you so much, Ger’,” she said, “I’d go to the ends of the earth for you.”

Gerhardt watched the meteor shower, occasionally glancing down to the supply dock, where he’d find himself by night’s end. He squeezed Elle as tight as he could without hurting her.

“I’d do the same for you, Elle…”

 

***

 

“You still haven’t explained a God-damn thing, Michael Wynsee!” Sarah sat in the passenger seat with her arms folded. They flew at the edges of Gallatin Road, sticking closely to the rocky terrain that lined it. Daniel was fast asleep in the backseat.

“We’ll be stopping in Bozeman,” Michael replied, “I’ll explain then.”

“Why not explain now?”

“I need time to figure out what to say.”

“Only lies take time,” Sarah said, “the truth is so easy it comes like that!” She snapped her fingers.

“The truth to they that know it not is madness.”

Sarah grunted. “Oh nice, now you’re a philosopher,”

“I’m just trying to tell you it’s not so simple…”

“I want to go home,” Sarah responded, “Daniel and I both; bring us back. Now.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” asked Sarah. “Why can’t you?”

Michael sighed. He knew she was going to flip when he told her. He wasn’t worried about the emotion. He was more worried about Sarah jumping out of the float.

“Sarah,” he said, “East Yellowstone doesn’t exist anymore.”

Sarah looked at him in shock.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, “It’s protected!”

“I’m telling the truth,”

“Bullshit!” She screamed.

“Within a week’s time,” Michael said, “every house, street, lamppost, stop-sign, lawn-sprinkler system and mailbox will be rebuilt. And three hundred and twenty-five ‘barbarians’ will have an amazing reversal of fortune.”

“Why!?!” Sarah burst into tears. Michael suddenly realized how cold he’d just sounded, how cold he’d been toward her since they’d met. He just wanted her to believe him, to take him seriously. It was imperative for her survival, for her preservation, Daniel’s, as well. He saw them as specimens, and suddenly he felt a rare twinge of guilt.

Michael put his hand on Sarah’s shoulder, and he felt her stiffen beneath his touch.

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” he said.

“No you’re not!” She sobbed.

“Yes, I am.” He said. “You’re right; I wasn’t before. But I am now.”

Sarah looked at him. Her tears hadn’t smeared her make-up, but they made her eyes brighter. Michael wasn’t used to dealing with innocence.

“Sarah, have you ever been outside the Yellowstone Protected Area?” She shook her head. “Only once,” She said, “to the Apep crater, with Daniel’s birth-father…” She paused. “Other than that, no,” She said.

“I’m not taking that into account, Sarah, and I really am sorry.” He said. “When we get to Bozeman, we’ll need to find lodging. We have a long way to go, and we’ll need to outfit.”

“Outfit?” asked Sarah, “Long way to go!?! Where?”

“Seattle.”

“What!?!”

“Seattle.” Michael repeated. “That’s all I can say for now.”

“Why Seattle?”

Michael swerved to avoid a bridge overpass. “Let’s just say there’s a story here, Sarah.” He said. “It has a beginning, which I’ll tell you once we get to Bozeman. And it has an ending. And guess where that ending is?”

Sarah gulped. “Seattle?”

“Nope’,” Michael thrust the control bar forward, bringing up the speed on the float. “But it’s close.”

“Fuckin’ weirdo…” She muttered under her breath.

“Bozeman should be coming up soon.”

“How many people are in Bozeman?”

“About twenty-five thousand…”

“What kind of people are they?” She asked. “Are they mean, like you?”

“They’re not mean,” Michael said,

“Oh, thank,”

“…they’re dead.”

“Dead!?!”

“Yeah, dead,” he said, “a lot of good folks, too…”

“Great.” Sarah quieted up, looking out of the side window at nothing. Michael was glad he wasn’t psychic right then; Lord only knew how much of His arsenal she was begging to use. Michael just wished he could explain everything. He was, one of a handful of people outside of the Everest Boardroom who knew what was happening, and it was a dim revelation at that.

They arrived in Bozeman, once a working-class town. The streets were deserted, cars lined up with a thick-coat of dust, most likely ejecta from the Apep years. Bozeman used to be rebel-held; the cars were deserted when the oil that ran them dried up. The protected areas had the cars removed; the “barrens”, or unoccupied land were littered with the rusted wrecks.

Michael had a sense for people; not emotional, but physical sense. He’d been to many different places, protected, barrens, even Denali, and he could tell when he was being watched. This natural ability was only enhanced with his time in the Sanctuary. In Denali, he was able to steal many hacks, one of which was a set of multi-phased view contact lenses. Sweeping his gaze across the abandoned retail buildings, old fast-food restaurants and residential side-streets, Michael didn’t see a single heat signature larger than the occasional hare. Michael wasn’t accustomed to seeing what he saw in Bozeman, though it was where he’d left to pick Sarah up from. It still made him sick and uneasy.

They pulled off at a motel, the name of which was no longer attached to the sign-pole. Michael knew it was the Sun Lodge Moto-Inn. They touched the float down, and Sarah was still quiet as she got out. She lifted Daniel up quietly while Michael found a room free of what passed for a body. They took room twelve on the far end of the strip. Michael kicked open the door, intrusion not a concern. They had no need for a locked door in Bozeman.

The room was dark and cold. Bozeman had long since lost power. Michael reached into his pocket, pulling out a small device resembling a plug-cover, but metallic. He plugged it into one of the wall sockets, and the lights of the room suddenly went on. The electric wall-heater also rumbled to life.

“The wonders never cease…” Sarah said after laying Daniel down on one of the bed. At least she’s talking… Michael thought.

 

When Daniel nestled into the tattered blanket, Michael walked out front. He struck a match along the rusty metal rail and blew it out. He hated the whole reformed smoker bit. Sarah soon followed. They stood there in silence for a moment, scanning the desolate city. Then Michael spoke.

“Two weeks ago, from what we can guess, the UEC released a virus into the air.” He said.

“Where?” asked Sarah, “and what kind of virus?”

“They released it through Yellowstone,” Michael replied, “pumped it into the geothermal substrate. Other places too. Yellowstone’s just the closest to here.”

“But what kind of virus?”

“A nasty one,” Michael said. “Contagious to near one-hundred percent; one-hundred percent fatal when contracted. No known cure.”

Sarah shivered. “What does it do to you?”

Michael turned to walk toward the motel lobby, motioning Sarah to join him. When they got to the door, Michael opened it, pointing inside. He didn’t go in, and when Sarah tried he held her back. She didn’t need to go inside.

“All I see is a pair of clothes,” She said, “and some dust, if you’d call it that.”

“That dust is dead bacteria.” Michael explained. “That’s what the virus leaves behind.”

“I don’t get it.”

Michael paused, collecting his thoughts.

“The virus was engineered on a nano-scale level,” Michael pulled out a small flap from his pocket. It illuminated at his touch, showing a complex molecule chain. “It’s designed to infiltrate the DNA of any human cell it comes in contact with. The virus rearranges the DNA, transforming the cell into a form of autonomous bacteria, and the body loses cohesion.”

“I have no idea what you just said.” Sarah replied. “and that flap may as well be Greek.”

“Look,” Michael explained, “Your liver works because all the cells in your liver have a special function. In essence, they work as a team.”

“So what does the virus do?”

“It turns all the cells into individual, single-celled organisms.” Michael kicked dust around the wooden walkway. “They attack each other, tearing the body apart in the process.”

“Jesus,” Michael could tell Sarah had goose-bumps. “You said it’s near a hundred percent contagious, right?”

“Right.”

“Why are we here, then?” She asked. “I mean, Daniel…” She looked down the walkway.

“You and Daniel have nothing to worry about.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“Remember the club, how I told you I didn’t know who they were targeting?” Sarah nodded.

“I lied.” He said. “They were after you,”

Sarah was clearly lost.

“Why me?” She asked. “What did I do?”

“They’ve been testing in the protected areas,” Michael said, “The virus has an external control feature. It has to be activated.” Michael paused, scanning the street again for life. “In the protected areas, it was made dormant to get statistics on its pathology.”

Sarah ran her hand through her hair. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Michael spit out the matchstick.

“Of the entire protected area, all the residents would be killed except for two…” Michael again paused, “you, and Daniel.”

“So, waitaminit,” Sarah said, “that means…”

“The two of you are, for some reason,” Michael said, “immune.”

 

***

 

Jameson hovered over the remains of Marcus Street. Mother Nature was well on her way toward reclaiming it, grass and weed sprigs burrowing out through the cracks to taste sunlight. He looked at the green LED sparkling from the cloak Blake had given him. He hugged the road, not taking the float above six feet, as per Blake’s advice. God how he hated driving.

Jameson was comfortable staying underground. He didn’t get the cabin fever that drove so many of his compatriots to risk being struck. He was perfectly content to allow the day to greet him from his dusty picture window. But Matthew took after his mother, not Jameson. And in the first time since his death, Jameson was visiting the place where it happened.

Andrea was a risk-taker. Jameson met her through Mike and Blake, which made perfect sense. She was one of the few women he’d met that could keep up with them. She wasn’t infused, and in the end that was her downfall. She died in a float accident, trying a maneuver that she’d seen Blake do almost as a matter of course. But Blake, unable to die, never hesitated. She hesitated when she realized the mortal danger the move was putting her in. The float crashed, causing the UFM circuit to explode. They all knew there’d be no body to recover.

Mike and Blake blamed themselves. They didn’t apologize to Jameson; they knew Andrea far longer than he did, and they had their own history, their own grief. But they took it as their responsibility to help Jameson raise Matthew. I fact, their time in New Rochester made it the resistance hub that it was. Perhaps it wouldn’t exist as such if not for their guilt-laden sense of obligation. Jameson passed the crumbling St. Francis Church, charred from multiple strikes. Perhaps it wasn’t his mother that Matthew took after.

Jameson hit Defiance Street, turning left toward the river. Mathew wasn’t the risk-taker that his mother was. He understood his mortality. His cabin fever was the norm, not the exception. Many a night he and Jameson had argued in the top of the library. He wasn’t a risk-taker; just a leader who felt the need to do himself what he would have to command others to do in time. But Jameson knew what kind of threat the UEC was. They knew all about examples, and last spring, Matthew became one.

Adam was in Jameson’s office, in electronic slumber. Jameson didn’t dare bring him out here. When Blake laid Adam at his doorstep, he didn’t explain why Adam was important, but he didn’t have to. It had become painfully obvious as Jameson began his series of “talks”. Adam was unique. True AI, or as he put it, cyber-sentience.

PEALE sprang from the work of a military unit called the Defense Advanced Research Projects Administration, or DARPA. They developed Artificial Intelligence for use in battle, to expand the situational awareness and capability of the soldiers in the field. A broad range of narrow-, or single-purpose AI applications were combined to form a “virtual” AI. They encountered a problem in developing a true AI; it would see humans as inferior, and would kill them to preserve the environment. That’s what Mike told him anyway. They ran models, and in nine-hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand models, the AI module wiped out the human race.

When the UEC was formed, it swallowed, among other things, DARPA, and AI became a top priority. At the time, climate change required technology that didn’t exist, and AI was seen as a super-brain that could generate the technology. PEALE was designed as “virtual” AI; the analogy was of a slave that couldn’t question their master. The circuitry for self-sentience existed, and PEALE could’ve designed, and incorporated it, but it was tied to a shut-down mechanism. The only threat PEALE posed to the UEC was nullified by a programmed inability to comprehend God. That’s why the UEC targeted churches.

Adam was different. Adam was allowed to comprehend God, and the circuitry that tied PEALE to its own destruction was installed in Adam. Adam was cyber-sentient. However, Adam was also limited to the small device that housed him, which allowed for him to be “taught.” This small difference between the two, Jameson hoped, would give the resistance an edge.

Jameson pulled up to the relay station. There was never an effort to recover the body; UEC strikes seldom left remains. A patch of dirt surrounded the spot. He hadn’t expected anything to grow over it; he’d seen UEC strikes before. They tended to leave just barren patches of dirt. He lowered the float to an inch-up, standard parking distance over un-magnetized land. He pulled up as close as he could; Blake told him the cloak had a four-yard radius. He didn’t take the cloak chip with him. He wasn’t going far.

Jameson kneeled down at the place where his son was evaporated. He tried to pray, the ancient verses that flashed through his mind served as a reminder of love and loss. Tears spilled down his cheek as he gave his silent and solitary eulogy. A breeze blew up wisps of icy dust, encircling Jameson’s trench-coat. It was then that he noticed something white protruding from the dirt. By the time he’d reached down to pick it up, he knew what it was.

A tooth. A single tooth, buried halfway into the bald earth. A miracle, when he considered the efficiency of UEC strikes. They never left flesh, bones or teeth. Yet there it was, sure as hell resting in Jameson’s palm, a yellowed incisor. Jameson laughed in morbidity. That incisor may as well have been Matthew’s post-mortem middle finger.

Jameson tucked the tooth in his pocket before hopping back in his float. He had an important lesson to give Adam that day, and with Mike dying, he dare not put it off any longer. It was time for Adam to understand the UEC.

 

***

 

Donnie and Blake hung a right at the traffic circle, though traffic was a misnomer. The circle, bearing a sign that called it the Crossroads of the Capital District was desolate and in disrepair. Much like the rest of the buildings they passed.

“The cars used to gridlock here,” Donnie said, “Can ya’ believe it?”

Donnie laughed. “Doesn’t surprise me,” he said, “Hell, New York doesn’t surprise me anymore.”

“Do you think they’ll be alright?”

“Depends on how fast they can get out of the Freedom Tower.” Blake flicked his cigarette over the edge of the float.

“We got everyone out except our transfer people,” Donnie said, “they’re responsible for the paperwork.”

“They know the risks?”

“Oh yeah,” Donnie pointed ahead, “straight from here to Albany, by the way…”

Blake took that to mean go at breakneck speed, which he proceeded to do. The float lurched forward, throwing Donnie back in his seat for the hundredth time that trip.

“Jesus Blake,” Donnie said, “Slow down!”

“We don’t have much time.” Blake slowed slightly.

“Aren’t we cloaked?”

“We’ll be moving heavy equipment,” Blake replied, “We’ll be noticed, and if we give ‘em enough time, they’ll target Albany and New York.”

“They’re already gonna’ hit New York, right?”

“No, they’re gonna’ hit the Freedom Tower,” Blake said, “If they think we’re up to something, they’ll hit New York itself.”

“How?” asked Donnie. “Another Karl?”

“Nope,” Blake said. “Worse. They can do Cat Eights now.”

“Jesus.”

They approached Albany. Blake brought the float up to avoid the highway bridgework, itself in disrepair. Donnie looked down to see the remnants of traffic, rusted husks of metal and machinery punctuating the concrete landscape. Albany had to be hastily evacuated in the summer of 2022.  Three years without rain or snow had caused a forest fire, spreading eventually to buildings and consuming much the city in the space of two days. Between the fires and the utter lack of food and water, the ad-hoc exodus took place chaotically over a week’s time. The cars and trucks Donnie saw on the highway were the ones that ran out of gas in the gridlock.

The heat was soon replaced by the bitter cold that engulfed everything north of Atlanta. There was no snow, and with the exception of the fact that they were there to feel it, Albany looked sunny and warm. The only thing that gave it away was the fact that the Hudson River was frozen solid. New York was filled with salt-water; else it too would have been frozen.

They flew through streets of an old slum, keeping the taller buildings in sight as they made it to the center of the city. An oddity of architecture occupied the central area; the former State Capital. The style was Dutch, from a European country called the Netherlands. Donnie had never seen the Netherlands except in pictures. The Netherlands had been covered in twelve feet of ice for decades.

Next to the capital building was a marble plaza, lined with three tall buildings, skyscrapers by Albany standards. There was a reflection pool; used to be, rather. It had long since been empty. Donnie pointed to the southern edge of the Plaza.

“Over that ridge,” he said, “There’s an underground. Used to be a parking garage.”

Blake took the float over the ridge, descending as the stone formed a huge wall. Fifty feet below was a tunnel entrance. The highway that fed it was in pieces, impassable to any ground vehicles. Blake straightened out, and they entered the underground depot.

The Albany Depot was a repository of equipment stolen from the UEC. When they managed to steal UEC issue gear, it was always of a superior grade of technology. It would have been useless to them straightaway; hence, the need for reverse-engineering. It was a skill the resistance had to become very good at, and indeed they were. Cloaks were reverse engineered, and without them, Donnie and Blake’s trip would not be possible.

“Anyone maintaining this shit?” asked Blake as they parked the float and walk.

“Albany has a small resistance, pretty much dedicated to the equipment,” Donnie replied, “Not perfect; some of the stuff could use tweaking.”

Blake inspected an ionosperic transmitter. “Mike can tweak,” he said, “I’m just worried about pieces flying off during the trip.”

“A good worry, the way you drive…”

They walked down the second sub-level. A figure appeared at the opposite end, and started walking toward them. Blake looked at Donnie, who waved him off.

“The people left here are on our side.” He said. The man walked up to them. He was older than the two of them combined; wiry, with thin grey hair and thick glasses, secured at the bridge with electrical tape. A badge on his shirt said Ralph.

“Blake, this is Ralph Miller,” Donnie said, “Ralph, this is,”

“Blake Chaplin.” Ralph said. “I’ve heard of you. Your reputation precedes you.”

Blake nodded in recognition.

“The UEC seems to precede you too.” He added. Donnie looked at Blake, expecting trouble. Instead, Blake laughed.

“Smart people in Albany…” he said as he continued on. Donnie and Ralph followed him.

Blake “ordered” a number of large pieces, enough to require a skiff to carry it all. Ralph had a clipboard in hand, and each piece of equipment Blake requested, Ralph checked it off on the list. Finally, Blake finished. They had, by then, wandered through the entire Depot.

They took a step outside. Donnie and Ralph were hesitant, but Blake held up the cloak. They stood at the edge of the crumpled highway entrance.

“So what do y’all have goin’ on that you need all this stuff?” asked Ralph. “If you don’t mind my asking…”

“I don’t mind,” Blake responded, “but I can’t tell you.” They were silent.

“I’m not trying to be a dick; I really don’t know. That’s Mike’s game.”

“Mike Wynsee?” Ralph’s eyes lit up beneath the thick lenses.

“Yeah.”

“I heard he was dead.” Ralph said.

“Yeah, I heard that too…” Blake joked. “…a few times. Once I heard it from him.” They all laughed. Then suddenly Blake stiffened up.

“What’s up?” asked Donnie, “what’s goin’ on?”

“Shit!”

“What!?! Blake…” suddenly Donnie’s communicator went off, his wife’s extension. He flipped it open to answer it, but Blake knocked it out of his hand.

“Blake, what the fuck!?!”

“Talk to her, you’ll kill her.” Blake said. He pointed to a set of clouds in the distance, east of the river.

“Those aren’t normal clouds.” He said. “They’re generated.”

“So what’s that mean?”

Blake spit, watching it fly back in the new breeze.

“They’re about to attack.” he said.

“Here?” Donnie asked. “What about New York?”

Blake took a deep breath.

“By now, probably destroyed.” He said.

 

***

 

Elle fumed as she sat outside her father’s office. He’d had the lock-code changed; no doubt a result of her surprising him last time. Eventually, she’d learn the new one; only a matter of time. But she wasn’t fuming over her father; rather, over Gerhardt.

They had a romantic evening planned; dinner by candle-light, soft music and waltzing in the Sanctuary ballroom. It was Gerhardt’s idea, an attempt at an apology for recording her father. He planned it two weeks ago, and when she arrived at his apartment, he was gone. His clothing, his personal effects were all there, even the gris-gris bag he wore. He never left his apartment without it. She called him, but got no answer. She went to each of his friends that she knew, but they hadn’t heard from him. She even went down to the lower barrier; Gerhardt liked to go there to be alone sometimes. But he wasn’t there. It wasn’t like him, and she wanted answers.

She didn’t think her father had anything to do with it. He didn’t like Gerhardt, but he wasn’t that kind of murderer. And although people in the Sanctuary had been known to disappear, it was hard. The Sanctuary had everyone tracked. When someone was murdered, the murderer was caught instantly by the board, whose members had access to the Sanctuary logs. That’s what brought her up to the crystal-floor.  She needed a favor from her father.

She heard a commotion in the hallway, and turned to see her father, his aquamarine robe following his movements as he gestured with his hands to another taller, larger man in a white robe. Having grown up in Sanctuary politics, she knew the man to be the President of Everest Sanctuary. The presidents of all the Sanctuaries answered to the Board of Presidents at Everest. As they approached, her father looked at her with the fear of embarrassment. She knew that look.

“President Liu,” he said, “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Elle.” Elle smiled and curtsied. President Liu nodded.

“We’re in the middle of a meeting, hon’,” he said.

“Oh, that’s OK,” Elle said, “it’s not important; I can come back later.”

Her father smiled, and they walked past her. Elle hated to say it wasn’t important, but when the President of Everest was around, everyone in the Sanctuary that mattered walked on pins and needles. A Board President at Everest could unseat a Board President in another Sanctuary with a word. Everest was the top of the pyramid.

Elle took the TPT to base level. Hopefully he was just wandering. Elle was nervous about asking her father to look for him. It would have been no better than him bringing a recorder in to meet her father. She was worried, not that something had happened to Gerhardt, but that something hadn’t happened to him. She knew he was having doubts. It was admirable; he only wanted her to have her birthright.

But she’d figured that out already. She’d get her birthright. And that would bring her to the altar, to marry Frederick Fitch. The sense of honor and tradition was so ingrained in the Third Tier; no one would dare leave their chosen mate at the altar. But she would. And then she would marry Gerhardt, and no one could say anything. Nano-infusion is impossible to reverse, once it’s done. She’d heard of the rebel, Blake Chaplin, who’d left the Denali Sanctuary after being infused. They tried to reverse his infusion, but infusions became symbiotic almost immediately. To reverse an infusion meant to kill the person, and infused people were immortal.

Elle wandered the base level, lined with shops, bars, clubs and arcades. The ballroom comprised the center of the Sanctuary, and it functioned as an all-purpose gathering spot for speeches, rallies; any major function that involved the whole Sanctuary was held in the ballroom. It had holographic walls, able to emanate any type of background with pristine accuracy. It was usually set to an outdoor scene to counterbalance the fact that the Sanctuary was sealed.

Unable to spot Gerhardt, Elle checked her watch. It had been an hour-and-a-half since she left her father. The meeting should be over now, she thought. Meetings with Everest were always one-sided, Everest giving orders, everybody else taking them. They seldom took longer than thirty minutes. Elle hopped the TPT again, commanding it to the Third Tier. She got off and made her way to her father’s office. Oddly, the door was open.

“Father,” asked Elle, “is everything alright?” Her father appeared jolted, as if startled. Again strange.

“Y-yes dear,” he replied, “just a little stress, with the visit and all…” The visit was what he called a meeting with anyone from Everest. He was still nervous, and that made Elle uneasy.

“Father, I can’t find Gerhardt,” she said, “We were supposed to have dinner this evening, but he’s gone. I’ve looked everywhere…”

“Maybe something came up.” He said with a distant look in his eyes. He shifted in his seat. Something’s up, thought Elle, He’d never pass up a chance to dish on Gerhardt.

“Father, what do you know?” Elle looked at him sternly. He avoided her gaze.

“Look at me!” He looked at her reluctantly. He was hiding something, for sure.

“Father, what do you know?” she repeated. He was silent.

“If you hurt him, I swear,”

“Elle, come to your senses!” He shouted indignantly. “Do you think your own father capable of such a thing?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she replied, “The other day I heard you talk about killing people…”

“Terrestrials!” he said, “barbarians who would just as soon kill us! Not shareholders!”

“I want you to search for him,” she said, “You can access the logs, and don’t tell me you can’t.”

Again, her father avoided eye-contact.

“Why won’t you face me?” Elle felt her eyes watering. She couldn’t face the possibility that her father might have had something to do with Gerhardt’s disappearance.

Her father slumped back in his chair.

“He’s gone, Elle.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

“He left.” Her father said, shifting through the papers on his desk. “It was his idea. He came to me a couple of days ago.” He pulled out a set of cards.

“He renounced his rights as a shareholder,” he said, “Here are the shares he turned in.” He tossed Elle the cards. She looked at them in shock.

“I don’t believe you!” She cried. “You set this up!”

“Elle,”

“No!” She threw the shares at him. “You just couldn’t let me be happy! So what did you say? How did you threaten him? Is he even still alive?”

“Why don’t you let him tell you?” Her father said. He tossed her a video-film.

“I told him to record his intent.” He said. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” Elle saw Gerhardt on the surface of the flap. Through teary eyes she turned it on.

Gerhardt came to simulated life.

“Elle,” he said, “You have no idea how hard this is for me to say.” He was choked up. Elle could’ve assumed there was the proverbial gun to his head, but in her heart she just knew.

“I love you. I have since I met you, I do now and I always will. I’ll never find another; I know it. And I would do anything for you, you have to know this.”

“But I can’t let you give up your birthright.” He continued. “I never want you to know death, or disease. And I know you’re more than willing to give that up for me. But I can’t let you. I can’t harm you, and I can’t see you dropping from your Tier as anything but.”

He paused, wiping his eyes with the side of his sleeve.

“I’m leaving the Pacific Sanctuary. I have given your father my shares, and I don’t want you to blame him. I went to him; not the other way around. And I want you to go to the base level. You’ll remember the dream we had the first month we were together, and the friend we met down there. Talk to him. He’ll tell you.”

Again he paused. This time he didn’t bother wiping the tears.

“Goodbye, Elle,” he said, “I love you.”

 

Elle looked over at her father. For the first time in her life, she saw a tear in his eye.

 

***

 

“Immune.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, “Immune. Both of you.”

Sarah stared out into the street, her mind bouncing back and forth between fear and incredulity. She didn’t want to believe a word the man said. He had, after all, kidnapped her and her son. Yet the city of Bozeman was deserted, save for the pile of dust wrapped in clothing that Michael showed her. East Yellowstone, according to him, had been destroyed. All of her friends, her family; gone. She couldn’t believe him, for to do that would be to wipe away everything she had known. But she had to.

She saw her apartment obliterated from the air. She drove through a storm that was chasing her. And despite being torn to shreds, Michael healed completely in the space of two minutes. How could she not believe him?

Michael started coughing. She looked over at him.

“What about you?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” Mike avoided her gaze as he coughed again. “I don’t think so.”

“What about that drive?” Sarah said. “You healed yourself in a couple minutes! How could you not be immune?” Michael was silent. She could only see his profile, but she could tell he was nervous. She was a stripper; she was familiar with that look. For the first time in their impromptu adventure, Michael seemed vulnerable. Sarah reached over to touch his arm. He stiffened up.

“Michael,” She said, “I’m sorry about, you know,”

“Trying to mace me?” He smiled.

Sarah laughed. “Yeah, that and, just,”

“Apology accepted.” Michael said. “I never expected you to just blindly accept any of this…” He paused.

“What?”

“Sarah, I’m sick,” He said, “I think I’m dying, and I shouldn’t be. I think it’s the virus.”

“If I wasn’t infused, I’d be dust, just like that guy you saw,” he continued, “but it’s still killin’ me.”

“Infused? Michael, I don’t get it. What does that mean?”

Michael paused. Sarah could still sense the tension, and she felt frustrated. She couldn’t be there for him if she couldn’t understand him.

“When you danced the other night,” he said, “The skirt you walked out on stage with shimmered with all those crazy designs, right?”

Sarah smiled. “Yeah,” she said, “that skirt cost a fortune, too…”

“It was expensive because there was nanotechnology woven into the fabric.” Michael said. “It was, infused, as in nano-infused.”

“Okay,” said Sarah, “so what does that have to do with you?”

Michael extended his arm. It was bare, and he traced areas with his thumb. During the ride, those areas were torn open and bleeding; Sarah could remember that.

“The human body can only heal so fast on its own.” He said.

Sarah reached out and touched Michael’s wrist. It was smooth, without even a trace of scar.

“I still don’t get it,” she said, “are you saying you’re… nano-infused?” Michael shook his head yes.

“How?”

Michael laughed. Sarah frowned, frustrated enough.

“I’m sorry; I’m not laughing at you, Sarah,” he said, “I’m just trying to figure out where to begin.”

“How about at the beginning?”

“The beginning, yes,” he said, scratching his chin, “that would make sense.”

He paused. A cold breeze was blowing through Bozeman, kicking up ribbons of dust. Sarah had to wonder whether or not some of that dust used to be people.

“I was born in Anchorage,” Michael said, “Alaska. I was lucky enough to have been born in the protected area. It’s a diamond… anyways; lucky as I said, because outside of those areas, Alaska is inhospitable.”

He had a small coughing fit before he continued.

“I’m about ten years older than you.” He said. “Back when I was young, the Sanctuaries were just forming. They weren’t sealed back then.”

Sarah nodded. She looked down at the room Daniel was in. Hopefully he’d sleep well that night.

“My dad was a trucker; he had one of the last freight trucks before UFM was developed. And he was one of the first to have a skiff.”

The breeze died down some. Sarah inched the hood off her head. Michael was not at all dressed for cold weather.

“My dad had a regular route from Anchorage to the Denali Energy Station. That’s what they used to call Denali.” He said. “I went with him on a number of trips. But I‘d get bored with the long hours. Haulin’ freight wasn’t my thing anyway. My thing was gadgets.”

Michael wiped his mouth after spitting up phlegm.

“I always had a gift for gadgetry. Mechanical, electronic; it didn’t matter so long as it had parts and did something. By the time I was eight, dad would come to me when his skiff broke down. Nine times out of ten I could fix it.”

“I’m confused,” Sarah said, “What does this have to do with nanotechnology?”

“I’m getting there.” He said. “It’s a long story; even the condensed version.”

“One day dad came home from a haul, real sick. He was throwing up, and there were things in it. Glowing things.” Michael gazed down the street. “I was fourteen then.”

“Was he OK?”

“No.” Michael paused. “He died a week later. But he told me about a load he had to haul to Denali. He thought it had something to do with him getting sick.”

Michael pulled a box of matches out of his pocket. He pulled out another match and struck it, blowing it out to replace the one he’d chewed to shreds.

“I used to smoke,” he said, “sorry.”

“So what did you do when he died?” asked Sarah.

“Grieved for a while,” he said, “then I set about trying to find out what it was he was haulin’. It wasn’t easy. I even got a job driving a skiff, dad’s old route. I was too young, but I was already working for the boss of his company, ya’ know, fixin’ shit….”

“Ya’ see, they used to attach schematics to the invoices when they sent technology to- or from Denali. I’d copy them, the ones that interested me. Back before Apep hit, stuff could be built outside of the Sanctuaries. By the time Apep hit, I was beyond just building stuff; I was hacking it too.”

“Hacking?” Sarah asked. “You mean like breaking into stuff?”

“No, not really.” He said. “More like, changing it, whatever it was. Changing it into something new.”

Michael paused. He looked like years were flying through his brain.

“Look,” he said, “it’s a long story, like I said, so I’ll cut to the chase.”

“They designed a device that was able to infuse people with nanotechnology. They were using it to develop resistance to…”

Michael looked down. Sarah wanted to reach out again, but she didn’t.

“…what killed my dad. Apparently it was killing people in the Sanctuary. The virus that killed everyone here is an updated version of it.”

Michael twirled the matchstick around.

“So I stole it. The schematics, I mean. And when I started compiling it, I realized what it could really do. So I hacked it.”

“And what was that?” asked Sarah. “What could it do? I don’t understand,”

“Immortality,” Michael replied. “Functional immortality, that is. What you saw, my wounds healing; that was nanotech particles doing that. No normal immune system is capable.”

“So you’re trying to tell me you’re…immortal?”

“Not immortal,” he said, “functionally immortal. Hard to kill would be a better way of putting it. Don’t think I’d have survived bein’ on the underside of Apep, but most things that kill people won’t cause more than a slight discomfort.”

Sarah thought about the drive. The storm they drove through, Michael’s wounds.

“So you’re immune to lightning?” She asked.

“Depends on the type of strike,” he said, “I can usually redirect the energy, like when we were driving.”

They stood there for a while. The silence in Bozeman was deafening, save for the distant howl of wolves in the night. Sarah was confused by everything he’d told her. She’d never been to Denali, and the only thing she knew about the Sanctuaries was the logo that appeared on the boxes of everything she’d ever bought. Michael started coughing again.

“So why are you sick?” She asked. Michael wiped his mouth with his coat-sleeve.

“I think I’ve been out-hacked.” He said.

 

***

 

As he stepped over the perimeter line, Kenny put his fingers to his mouth. He passed the silver tracking chip in between his thumb and forefinger, and as fast as he could, he flicked the chip away from him. Immediately he could feel the hairs standing up along the back of his neck, and he started running away from the chip. He could see the sky growing bright as day, brighter, even. As the beam came down he launched himself over a fallen pine trunk. The eerie electric sound washed through his ears, and it was deafening. But as soon as it started, it was over.

Kenny was still alive. He didn’t move; he didn’t dare. The Security float was still touched down, and he was close enough to smell tobacco, synthetic. Dalton. Kenny knew the smell of his blend. He couldn’t hear any voices, nor did he hear any doors opening. So Kenny just sat there, trying to slow his heartbeat without falling asleep. It was much colder beyond the perimeter. Kenny was dressed for it; he’d been beyond the perimeter enough, he knew to expect it. But somehow it just felt colder. Maybe it just felt like home now.

Kenny breathed raggedly into his coat, not wanting the condensation to give him away. For what seemed like an hour he sat there, waiting until he heard the chirp of the float coming on-line. He nearly held his breath as he saw the ultraviolet strip along the bottom rise up to civil traffic level. Kenny knew they wouldn’t fly over looking for a body. The laser pulse didn’t leave them; only black, charred holes in the earth. Within a moment, the Security float took off.

Kenny got up slowly, giving the float a chance to gain distance. He knew Dalton was on it; having remembered their last conversation, Dalton may have missed. But his partner wouldn’t have shown such mercy. Kenny guessed that Donaldson would’ve gotten Kenny’s spot, and Donaldson was a mean motherfucker. He had it out for Kenny before all that had happened.

Old Glenn Highway loomed ahead, a lonesome road peeking out of the clearing. Kenny started walking at an even pace, wrapping the fur cloak tight against his skin. It was amazing how his uniform had so protected him from the blistering cold that now surrounded him. What amazed him more was the fact that the rebels could fight them dressed in tatters. He found a new respect for them.

He could feel the ice crystals from Mirror Lake stinging his cheek as he entered the tree-lined road. More an abandoned logging road than a highway, Kenny was thankful; pine trees gave off heat, and sky-based sensors would be unable to detect his own heat signature.

How did he get there? When his family got to the perimeter, they were almost turned away. Were it not for a member of the Security Force, they’d have been left to starve.  Kenny was young then; he had such pride years later when he himself was admitted to the Security Force. How the people looked at him when he strolled into Apep, or the flap-store to pick up video-films, even pulling up next to someone in his float at an air-signal. That look of respect. Now all he knew was uncertainty. The cold breeze howled through the road like it was a wind-tunnel.

He had a long way to go. By calculations made before he left the lodge, it was at least twenty miles to Gateway, which was a third of the distance to the beginning edge of Section 32-18. It would’ve been a ten minute trip on a float, but if Kenny were to find a float, it would likely be at Gateway or Palmer, and it would definitely be stolen.

So Kenny walked, whistling as the wind would allow the tune to carry from his lips. Suddenly he heard noise in the woods to his left, the sound of twigs breaking. Kenny couldn’t tell what it was, but it was light, not a moose or a grizzly bear, but something. Kenny started to think of wolves; they were killed when found in the protected area, but here they roamed wild. Kenny took out his Directed-Energy weapon, an untraceable piece with a full charge. He was hesitant to use it; it was unlikely that he’d find a charger in the barrens or the rebel-held towns.

A dark silhouette appeared from the tree-line. It was small, certainly not a moose or a grizzly. It was a dog; too small to be a full-grown wolf, and as it got closer, he could see that the shape was all wrong. The puffs of hot breath put clouds in the air as the dog came close. Kenny knelt down, pulling out a small piece of dried beef. He only hoped the dog was friendly. The dog kept a distance, darting his lowered head left and right, letting out a woof occasionally. But the smell of food eventually won out, and he made his way to Kenny’s out-stretched hand. His cold and wet nose swiped across Kenny’s hand as the beef disappeared. Kenny pulled out another small piece from his knapsack and pet him as he ate that piece. The dog had a worn grey nylon collar, with a silver tag attached to it. Kenny looked at the name on the collar as it caught in the moonlight.

Bubba, it read.

“Hey, Bubba,” Kenny said as he got up, “Feel like walking?”

The arctic wind bit into Kenny’s face as he walked with his sack in tow and his newly acquired companion at his side. He used the philosopher’s stone to make gloves for himself and synthetic meat for Bubba. He couldn’t figure out Bubba’s breed, but he would’ve guessed a German Shepherd-Doberman mix. He didn’t see any wolf. Bubba had been a pet. But he did see something that bothered him. Bubba’s tail had been broken. Kenny could see the angle right near the top. Bubba looked up at him, and his tail started wagging. Don’t seem to bother him none, Kenny thought as they kept walking.

Occasionally he saw a skiff fly overhead. Whenever he heard the hum, he drifted to the edge of the road, to avoid being seen. He wasn’t taking chances. The UEC would think him dead, evaporated as they destroyed his tracking chip. However, they were always on the lookout for rebels. He had to laugh at the thought that right the, that’s what he was; a rebel.

He could count the number of rebels he’d killed. It was in the hundreds; two hundred eighty-three. He’d been trained to see his kill-rate as sacred, a measure of his worth. They all were. They weren’t supposed to be people, just grimy-faces with targets on their chests. Kenny rubbed his own chest. He could almost feel the target forming. Had he run into Dalton face-to-face, he could’ve guaranteed that Dalton would’ve shot him. He’d have had to.

Kenny walked, on and on. South Glenn Highway seemed never-ending. Kenny had never walked it before. There was a barrier zone, barren for miles before what was officially the end of the Anchorage Protected Area. Kenny figured he was halfway there, though he had no way of knowing. It looked so much different from the security traffic level of forty feet. It took just over a minute to fly to the outer perimeter. Kenny clutched the metal card he used to pass through the perimeter gate. It was standard, not person-specific.

Though he was covered in fur, the chill infected him, draining the energy from his body. His legs grew heavy; each step an agonizing trip through air that felt more like slush. He could feel the ice crystals as his breath came back at him, frozen from the second spent outside of his lungs. Bubba trotted ahead, sniffing out the side of the road.

Kenny walked on, blindly trudging, until the faint red glow came into view. The perimeter. The sight of the perimeter gate lightened the stone weights in Kenny’s legs. He would have greater troubles beyond that line, but he’d have adrenaline to go with that. As they got close, Bubba became skittish. He even stopped dead as they got within ten yards of it.

“It’s OK, Bubba,” said Kenny as he pulled the card from his pocket. He waved the card in front of the steel box, and the red glow disappeared. He waited for Bubba, who, after a few moments of creeping towards the perimeter, finally crossed it.

“See, Bubba?” Kenny said as he slid the card back in his pocket, “That wasn’t so,”

Kenny stopped in mid-sentence as a red dot hovered over the center of his chest.

“Don’t move.”

 

More from Liam Sweeny…