The Biocide Boxes

The radio strapped to Silas’ back choked out fragmented history through a haze of static.

“So, Mr. Maron, would you care to tell us about this fabled ‘secret project’ of yours? We’re dying to know more,” a woman’s voice inquired.

“Gladly,” a man’s voice responded.

Silas remembered the interview vividly, and visualized it in tandem with the audio. He recalled how, when Michael Maron snapped his fingers, an opaque cube tore through the air from somewhere off screen. It halted instantaneously above his hand without overshoot, and spun like a loading icon.

“This is the Maron Cube,” its creator announced triumphantly.

Many didn’t believe it was real when they first watched the broadcast. The Cube looked like it was computer animated—a trick of video editing to make fools believe Maron was some sort of god.

Silas watched as, in the far distance, a desolate city laid seized inside a Cube larger than any he’d ever encountered. Frequently, the prodigious box flared up and glowed so brightly it outshined even the moon, signaling each time that another hapless creature was captivated and promptly erased.

Maron was no god, but his creations were biblical.

“Care to show us how it workSCHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—”

The interviewers’ voice was obscured by static. Silas reached around and gave the radio a firm hit, but the sound didn’t subside, so he turned the volume down into a tranquil white noise. His hand floated back to the jar of worms on his hip, which sloshed around with every gallop. Beside it, his gun clinked in its holster.

His other hand remained firmly on the reins, directing Camira down the long dirt road. She was not his horse, but he was familiar enough with her mannerisms for the ride to be relatively easy, though choppy.

“Hold up, Cam,” he said with a gentle tug as they approached a derelict service station off the road, which reeked of gasoline. He retrieved a worm from the jar and chucked it into the empty lot. It landed unceremoniously in the dirt, and they proceeded.

“She might’ve stopped here,” he remarked, dismounting and tying Camira up to a post.

Silas grabbed another worm and chucked it through the hollow doorway of the station, picking it back up for reuse after following it in. The interior walls of the mart were tarnished and molding. The racks were absolved of food. Lottery tickets were spewing out of their dispensers, as if people had wildly grabbed them up thinking they’d somehow hold value after the collapse of infrastructure.

A big white square was outlined in spray paint on the far wall with an X through it, insinuating there were no Maron Cubes in the area. It appeared to have been covered and reapplied a few times. Cans of spray paint were stacked in little pyramids on the ground beside it, waiting for the next person to come by and change their mind about the safety of the space.

A faint voice emerged from behind Silas. He turned, afraid that someone was outside, but the sound tracked his motion. He twisted about frantically for a second before realizing it was only his radio. He turned it back up.

“Biocide complete,” a robotic voice remarked over the broadcast.

The interviewer had just been given a demonstration. She felt bad for the poor mouse that was sacrificed, but her pity was overshadowed by her intrigue.

“Wow, that was… fast.”

“Humane,” Maron added.

The interviewer cleared her throat.

“Right. So, what attracts them to the Cubes in the first place?”

Silas turned to see a row of refrigerators, with doors all shattered except for one.

“They utilize advanced CAIT—that’s err, Cognitive Analysis and Imaging Technology. Basically, if there’s a creature within its activation radius, the Cube will present itself to that creature as something… desirable. So, for a mouse, it might look like a big block of cheese.”

Silas approached the fridge cautiously, with the worm held out before him. Moonlight beamed through cracks in the roof and reflected off the glass. Behind the glossy film was a swath of unopened and untainted water bottles.

“That’s incredible. It’s like… a mirage?”

“Exactly,” Maron confirmed.

Silas sighed and returned the worm to the jar; he figured it wasn’t worth wasting. Had he the time, he would’ve sprayed back over the misleading symbol on the wall, but he was interrupted by a shrill whinny, followed by disgruntled murmurs. He sprinted outside to see Camira’s saddle being stripped of its luggage by two masked figures.

“Back off!” Silas shouted, drawing his gun on them—an action which they mirrored.

“We want everything you’ve got,” the taller of the two bandits demanded, the calmness of his voice starkly contrasting his hostility. He was a completely normal person before all of this, Silas imagined, with a normal job, and a normal life. Someone who wore dress shirts to work even on casual Fridays.

“I don’t got anything,” Silas answered honestly.

“You’ve got a gun,” the shorter bandit commented as the taller one kicked the bag on the ground wide open, confirming the worthlessness of its contents.

“I do, and I’d rather not have to use it.”

The short bandit clenched his gun tighter.

“That a threat?”

“Wait, now, wait, just hold on.” Silas held his empty hand up. “No, it’s not a threat. I truly, genuinely do not want to do this right now. I’m just out here looking for my sister. My family, you know? Are you two family?”

The bandits didn’t respond, but their identical green eyes made the answer obvious.

“We want your gun.”

“And your horse.”

Silas chuckled. “I grew up on a farm, guys. Those’re some things I ain’t ever gonna give up.”

Truthfully, he was willing to part with the gun if it meant avoiding conflict. Camira, on the other hand, wasn’t just some object to be pawned off to save himself the trouble of outsmarting a few thieves. He took a deep breath, suppressing his reservations, and his mercy.

“Look, there’s a fridge full of water in here. I think someone’s been stockpiling it. There’s enough to last a while if you’re wise. And it’s safe. I did a sweep. There’s a marker and everything.”

The bandits wordlessly communicated interest to each other, and the tall one made his way in, still aiming his gun at Silas as he circled around him. The radio continued its chatter on his back.

“The mirage is maintained until the instant of extermination.” Maron explained. “See, the Cubes are very intelligent. Always learning, and communicating with each other what they learn.”

“And, what stops them from sucking up the family dog. Or, god forbid…”

The interviewer laughed nervously.

“A person?”

“Heh, a valid concern. We’ve equipped them with very advanced filters. They will never trap a human, or a dog, or anything of the sort. Guaranteed.”

“Well, that is a relief.”

Harsh shrieking rang out from inside the mart. Out of the corner of his eye, Silas could see the tall bandit being sucked into the fridge. White light beamed from the blown out windows of the shop, muting the screams abruptly.

“Biocide complete.”

Camira stomped and kicked in terror, landing a hard blow on the remaining bandit that sent him hurtling across the lot. His spine accordioned as he crashed into a gas pump, and his last reflexive motion was the squeeze of his trigger. In no time at all, the lot was coated in flames. Camira’s flailing grew more frenzied until finally she snapped her restraints free.

Silas dropped his gun, and grabbed onto the loose end of the rope hitched to her saddle. She yanked him hard off his feet and bolted down the road, dragging him after her. Kicked up dirt flew into his eyes as he flopped around on the ground like a fish being reeled in. The jar of worms shattered, leaving a short trail of the wriggly creatures in the dirt. The radio was flattened beneath his weight upon one particularly hard crash down on his back, at which point he let go and rolled over into unconsciousness.

When he awoke, it was in a broken body full of splitting bones and escaping blood. Right off the road from him stood a big red barn with white trim—the kind you’d see in children’s books, except ruinous and ancient. Its paint was so faded it appeared monochromatic. Flowers and weeds were growing out of its every crevice like acne.

“Hullo!” He hollered to the structure pointlessly, his voice slurred by swollen lips.

“Hullo, is anymonyeehehe…” He trailed off with laughter when he noticed that the trim and crossbuck on the barn doors looked like the same white square symbol with an X through it he’d seen a thousand times before. But this one was different, because its form predated the era of Cubes and marauders and all of that shit. It didn’t have any special meaning; its sole purpose was structural, and it made him feel more secure than any empty symbol ever had.

He pushed through the flimsy doors and crawled in. A steady stream of moonlight filled the barn, casting a cool blue wash over heaps of hay and rusty farm equipment. The familiarity of the sight soothed him.

He dragged himself over to a wooden beam and pushed to sit upright against it. Beyond the barn doors, he could see the trapped city looming over the horizon, still flickering in and out of lightness. Despite the damage his radio sustained, it whirred back to life.

“SCHHHHHHHHHH—quantum technology—SCHHHHHHHHHHH—put exterminators out of business—SCHHHHHHHHHHHHH—take the world by storm—”

Silas lurched forward and slammed his back against the pole hard to silence the radio. When it didn’t work, he tried again, and again, before finally yielding. He let out a scream in hopeless frustration.

From the rafters of the barn hung an old, frayed noose. From the angle he sat, the moon appeared to be trapped inside the loop of rope. He might’ve put it to use were he able to stand, but he wasn’t, so he just screamed and cried.

“Hey, calm down,” interjected a soothing voice. Silas rubbed his eyes, and looked up to see his sister standing before him with a warm lantern glowing white in one hand, and Camira’s reins in the other.

“You’re scaring my horse,” she added, and caressed Camira’s mane.

Silas’ hyperventilating grappled with laughter.

“Y—yuh—yurr alive.” A bloody smile stretched across the width of his face.

“I am.” She tied Camira to a beam and stepped forward, reaching up and pulling the noose down from the ceiling in a swift motion along the way.

“Great knotwork, that one,” she quipped.

“Iss good ah see you,” he muttered.

She took a knee beside him and clicked off the radio.

“Iss bad,” he spurted, half questioning, and half answering his own question.

She nodded, stood, and walked to the entryway.

“Don’t worry. It’ll go fast.”

She swung one of the doors shut, casting darkness over half the barn.

“Wharr you doin?”

She swung the other shut, too, leaving only her lantern to fight back the total darkness.

“I saw it as a barn, too,” she admitted.

“Whuh?”

She walked back over and slunk down next to him, laying her lantern in the pile of hay beside them and her head on his shoulder.

“Isn’t it weird we feel so safe in barns, of all places. I mean, they were like the Cubes before we had the Cubes. Big boxes that animals flock to just to be trapped. And all it takes is a little spark before…”

The flame in the lantern expanded until the room was filled completely with sterile white light. Silas reached for his sister, but she was gone, and so was his hand, and so was he—reduced to empty air before he could process what had happened.

A voice rang out in the lifeless night.

“Biocide complete.”