Clio and Cy: The Apocalypse (6 page)

“Your nightmares follow you like a shadow, forever.”

― Aleksandar Hemon

Clio walked down what was left of a once-busy thoroughfare,
a
two
-
laner
that was always packed at 5:30PM in its heyday. It resembled a
highway of death now, like the path to hell in a dark and frightful painting.

Better check it
,
she thought, pulling up her weapon to inspect the charge meter.
Oh no!
No longer green, yellow indicator
lights flashed above the trigger. They blinked pathetic and pale, stopping at
the quarter charge mark. Holding the trigger down and not letting go of it had
unintentionally drained the weapon.
That’s
why Dad said squeeze and release… squeeze release,
she thought. Clio cursed
her error, remembering that her father didn’t say things just to hear the sound
of his own voice. Every word he spoke had purpose.

Cars were rusted out and littered the highway in some spots;
in other places, there wasn’t a damn thing in sight. She smelled a familiar odor
that reminded her of her father. Fleeting, it was a good vibe that wouldn’t
last.

Molecules drifted through the air in carbon dioxide, like
she’d wandered onto a camp site. Clio enjoyed the smell of burnt forest but not
the change in scenery. Both sides of the road were lined with rows of dead
vertical spears. Charred thin and wrought iron black, the green woods faded
into desolate darkness.

The dropping sun, along with her dropping photon charge,
sank down in her gut, resting there, heavy and graveled. Clio pretended she was
a sorcerer,
willing
the sun to stay
in the sky, as if to command it. But the more she
willed
to keep it high overhead, the faster it seemed to disobey.
The good sun was now sinking like a bratty despot, showing off its ill manners.

Mimicking the burnt forest, shadows were cast over the road.
Little bastard, the punk sun had fallen behind the trees. Her nose twitched and
her ears perked…

It howled out from behind the tree line. Another joined in,
shrieking together in vicious cries. The sounds arrested her movement.
Possessed by terror, she remained frozen, listening. Communicating to each
other in primitive chants, she realized the beastly noises weren’t born of this
world. The howls made her nauseous. Clio knew it was the demon creatures, the
same things that hunted her in the tunnel. They continued shrieking through the
forest and Clio began to lose control of her bodily functions.

Clio felt pressure like a fire hose coming out of her mouth
in a long spray, she projectile vomited and splattered chunks on the faded
asphalt. The girl wept like all youngsters do after puking – this time her fear
leant something extra to the spewing effort. She shakily moved forward, forcing
her steps.

The acidic smell of vomit crawled up her back, tapping her
on the shoulder and spoke:
I bet I’m a
delicious, juicy aroma to them… I bet they can smell me for miles….

Her legs trembled and her head was pounding, insisting that
one foot go in front of the other, stepping, then again, step… another. She
couldn’t deny it - it was officially getting dark. The sky was meeting
somewhere in the middle of a blue and black border. The charred forest began to
fade from its smoky death and turned green again. The North Star peeked through
the hazy heavens and hung over the now lush, living trees.

The “Hooooooowwwwwrrrrrr!” roar of a creature was so close
she was sure it was watching her from the woods.
Oh my god, what am I going to do?
Clio ambulated under frazzled
nerves, feeling a tiny, momentary, loss of bladder.

She hadn’t been inside a car since she was very little — no
time like the present. After reaching the side of a Mercedes, the
twelve-year-old fingered the door handle. She climbed in, squeezing by the
driver’s seat, and crawled into the back. Clio looked around, frantic while
trying to stay low and out of sight. — Hunting, pecking, and scratching had
worked once before. And so it did again, she found a back seat armrest and
folded it down.
A hole…
It was big
enough, just barely, for her to fit through and enter the trunk.

She could still hear them howling in cries that were faint
between the metal and mildewed leather. Clio had the worst nightmares she’d
ever experienced. On and off she slept; her dreams were invaded by non-stop
shrieks of flesh-eating evil. In the deepest way, the sounds entered her soul.
It was real. Those damn things were out there, everywhere, rooting and
scratching and killing anything big enough to eat. Clio woke throughout the
night; the first time from the yelping of something big, something was being
ripped apart. A demon creature caught some kind of animal, whatever it was; it
was being torn into a meal.

They called out to each other in bloodthirsty cries. Hearing
several of them chanting together and communicating in a language higher than
dumb beasts were capable of, Clio stopped snoring and woke. Those sounds would
brand a mark on her amygdala, imprinted like a scar to her dying day. The hours
went by...

Clio opened her eyes, knowing she couldn’t sleep another
minute. From inside the obsidian confines of the trunk, she wondered if it was
morning. Clio took a breath and paused. She pushed the armrest down enough to
let the light peek inside. Sunshine prowled in like a spirit of gliding hope,
maybe today’s a new day
, she prayed.

After she palmed the armrest all the way down, Clio peered
through the front windshield. Other than her thoughts, nothing stirred. She
crawled out holding her breath, only wanting to see the forest running over the
land – not a damn thing else.

She’d made it out and fixed her narrow butt on the back
seat. Clio stayed low and peered out, surveying the landscape. The world awoke
quiet and spread out with a gentle touch as she witnessed the morning, seeing
only the memories of things that haunted the night’s past, and forever her
soul. At least for now, the world around her was peaceful and still.

 
“It’s a little over
six miles to the lab, Cy.”

“I’ll stay close to George Washington Memorial Parkway, Dr.
Marcus,” Cy said, pointing at the hologram map that floated over a computer
screen.

“Stay alert around the airport,” Dr. Pressfield warned.
“There are patrols of Ker there… probably still stationed around it.”

“I’ll be careful the entire way, Dr. Marcus… especially in
this area,” Cy pointed to the area where the Capitol used to be.

“Good idea… Here’s my access card, but I doubt it will be of
use,” Dr. Pressfield said, handing it to Cy.

“I’ll find a way inside the lab, if it’s possible, Dr.
Marcus.”

Dr. Pressfield looked at Cy and patted his arm. “I know you
will, my friend.”

“I’ll be able to keep tabs on you through your tracker, but
we won’t be able to communicate. It’s too dangerous to talk... even through
encrypted text. Don’t want to leave a trail of breadcrumbs for anyone – or
anything – to follow you back here.”

“Don’t worry, Dr. Marcus; I’ll be ok.”

“Cy… Bring yourself back home as fast as you can. Ok?”

“I will, Dr. Marcus.”

Dr. Pressfield followed Cy out the door and onto the front
steps of the colonial home.

“I guess this is it,” Dr. Pressfield said, bashfully looking
out and wanting to take this scavenger hunt idea back.

“Keep a light on for me, Dr. Marcus,” Cy said before
securing his backpack and creaking down the steps. The cyborg headed out under
the mid-afternoon sun.

Like a parent sending his child off to war, Dr. Pressfield
feared the unknown. He couldn’t shake the sinking feeling inside him while
watching Cy look back a final time, flashing a white-toothed smile.

Marcus watched him for every precious second that he could.
Cy’s shape slowly shrunk as he walked down the neglected neighborhood street
until he was finally out of sight. Dr. Pressfield had to live with his decision
– and now, he could only wait for his cyborg’s return.
Please let him be ok…

Staying close to the parkway, Cy skirted between it and the
Potomac River. He ran the distance of three miles at a speed far surpassing
human ability. The cyborg slowed his pace before the Reagan International
Airport and noticed what was left of the place. His sensors detected
Destroyers. Ker were close…

He changed course, going
due west until he reached US-1 before heading north. Cat-like, the cyborg
darted like an ancient hunter. Cy stayed off the road and crossed over 23
^rd
street until he came to Interstate 395. Arlington National Cemetery was on the
other side of it, overgrown and decaying. The Pentagon was between him and the
cemetery, both left derelict in their former glory.

He passed the Pentagon’s ruins, which looked as if a dozen
planes dive-bombed its structure. No Destroyers were guarding it, as nothing
was left to guard. It was a sprawling pile of low-slung rubble. Cy looked
human, but he didn’t see things as normal people saw them. A screen displayed
and overlaid images in front of his human eyes, like a pop-up viewer on an
advanced jet fighter. He needed to cross the river, but Ker were patrolling all
four lanes of the 14th Street Bridge.

Cy’s pop-up display showed a single Ker on each overpass.
After switching to alternate route choices, he confirmed none were available.
The images on his screen changed as he scrolled through them looking for a safe
passage. The Key Bridge was also being guarded, and the passageway to West
Potomac Park was destroyed.
 
Cy headed
for Lady Bird Johnson Memorial Park and continued north away from I-395. This
is where he would cross the river. He had to get wet. There was no other way.

Like a modern day Navy SEAL, Cy entered the water and swam
the Potomac. Ker scanned over the river’s surface as Cy swam deep underwater.
The cyborg was lighter than a normal man his size, swimming with ease after
deflating internal buoyancy bladders. His tracking systems picked up fish.
Gilled creatures curiously investigated him before skittishly bolting off. The
water depth decreased and the silt bottom floor began angling up. Cy viewed the
murky depths through his navigation system, closing on the shoreline.

Making his way into the shallows, the young cyborg felt the
silt floor beneath. After Cy peeked above the surface, he paused and scanned.
No Ker were detected, and he quietly climbed out. He crossed over Ohio Drive
and made it to within eye-shot of the Washington Monument.

Cy waited, dripping and searching. He noticed the demolished
monument. No longer tall and pointy, the structure was half its former size.
Shot down by Ker, a fighter jet careened through the middle of the once-proud
symbol of America. Now, like an amputated finger, it was left as a jagged
reminder. Cy gazed upon the mangled jet that must have severed the monument,
entombed in the grass and missing its wings. Like a hotdog that’d been left on
the grill too long, it sat charred.

200-I Street: The Laboratory.

Two miles away:

The White House was between him and the lab. Cy carefully
approached the lawn, seeing the stately home partially intact. His scanners
picked up two Destroyers, both standing still. Like metal watchdogs, a set of
Ker guarded the old mansion. Dr. Pavlov wasn’t going to give the Resistance a
chance at rebuilding the government. He gave half a thought to moving himself
in the Lincoln bedroom, but hated too much what the place represented.

Not wanting to offer a shred of hope to the Resistance, Seth
kept close watch over 1600 Pennsylvania. Humans are like ants in that way;
after their home’s been stomped on, they’ll start all over again in the same
spot.

Cy outflanked the Destroyer’s detection systems by heading
west.
Clear.
The cyborg turned north
and then due east after reaching I Street, running until he edged the lab.

This is useless
,
Cy thought with a grin looking down at the access card Dr. Marcus gave him -
then the pile of rubble. The building was a ramshackle of crumbled concrete and
steel. Staying low, he walked until he stood over the debris. One corner of it
was still partially intact. The cyborg scanned for a way in.
Got it
. He lifted a few chunks of
concrete and a metal door that rested over a stairwell.
Clear.
It was easier to gain access than Cy had hoped. He walked
down the steps and went through a broken steel barrier that normally separated
the lab from the stairwell.

The inside of the building looked almost as bad as the
outside. Half the ceiling was on the floor. Using his night vision, Cy went
through the debris heading for Dr. Pressfield’s former workspace. Cy scanned
and his sensors picked up the heat signature of a power source.
That’s the one.
The generator was behind
the buckled, wedged door to Dr. Pressfield’s office. Cy pushed on the entrance,
confirming it was stuck. He backed up and squared off.

Cy kicked the steel door, dented it and sent it flying. The
ceiling drooped over the header as the door smashed against a wall inside the
office. The door brought everything crashing to the ground after knocking a row
of shelves loose. The violent sounds dwindled down in echoes of clanking metal
until the door wobbled to a stop.

After scanning, he carefully moved inside. He paused and the
office fell silent.
That way...
Following his viewer like a guidance system, Cy turned his head and saw the
generator. The super battery was covered in dust and sitting like a Christmas
present off to the side. All read-outs indicated that it was in perfect working
order.

Cy secured the power source in his backpack and headed for
the exit. Buried under thousands of pounds of concrete and twisted steel, he
continued using night vision in the dark confines of the lab. Rats squeaked in
the corner and Cy picked up the signal of cockroaches hiding in the cracks as
he moved toward the exit. He arrived at the bottom of the staircase and froze,
looking up at his only route to freedom. His seventh sense tingled and bristled
with danger.

Something was at the top of the stairs blocking his path –
waiting outside.

His detection system struggled to work under the dense ruins
and flickered to get a clear signal. Cy sensed immense energy above the
staircase. Something was
alive
.
Mechanized death loomed in the shadows, massive and heavy. A fuzzy image of a
Ker flashed in-and-out across his view scanner.