They

CONROY

New Houston is a ruin, and They are the reason.

I stand alone on a long stretch of road. A road that hasn’t heard the soft hum of tire tread in twenty-seven years. The road is straight as an arrow and cleaves a marshy forest of chalk maple and ironwood in half. Deep, stagnant bogs line the shoulders of the old road and flood the forest floor on either side. The trees are thick, dark, and dense. The trunks and branches are ancient, ensnared in murderous, thorny vines. The forest hides horrible dangers... and even more horrible secrets.

My face, neck, back, and armpits are soaked from the sticky heat of late summer. I don’t mind the heat, however, because They despise it. They feed on the cold.

My eyes are fixed on a long-forgotten street sign:

S AD O D I E

There is an ironic truth to the sign. Wherever you are, whomever you are... you are either sad or you are dead.

Sad o’ die, indeed.

Before They arrived, this road was Shadow Oaks Drive. The sign has since faded and all that remains is a dull and achromatic rectangle. The remaining letters are hardly legible under a carpet of lichen that stretches across like mossy cobwebs.

Not that it matters.

I am one of the last in New Houston. I am the oldest. And I am the only one who can decipher the Old Alphabet.

Like everything else, language is dying.

I mentioned, moments ago, that I stand alone on this road, but I must clarify that I am never completely alone. I glance ahead and see my rambunctious nine-year-old standing just off the crumbling asphalt, ankle-deep in algae and brackish bogwater. She slaps at a bloated mosquito feeding on her leg and giggles as it pops, smearing her shin with a streak of candy-apple red. She looks up at me, and I smile.

Mosquitos are the least of our worries.

“Cora,” I call. “Come.”

Her curly black hair, the freckles under her almond eyes, and the gap between her front teeth are the last I have of her mother. Of my wife.

My Tana.

Of the Engineers who remained after Their arrival, she was the best and brightest. Her mind was the key to unlocking Their greatest weakness. Now, she is dust in the earth. I touch the heart-shaped locket around my neck, and I sigh. I recall my final moments with her, the final words she spoke before she was taken by the Impurity.

“Take it, Con,” she gurgled, pressing the locket into my palm. “You’ll need it.”

And then, she suffocated on her sick. That was three months ago.

I finger the locket once more. I grip it tightly in my fist. I glance over my shoulder at Cora, sheepishly chasing a butterfly, and I think of what must be done.

What I must do for my daughter.

There is a rumor. The softest whisper of an underground sanctuary They have not yet been able to locate. There are others like us, apparently. There is grain. There is fresh water. There are other Engineers who continue to fight the good fight. And while They have infected much of our technology and have commandeered our vehicles of war, there is a shred of hope.

I must follow the Artery (once Interstate 10) out of New Houston, all the way to this rumored sanctuary. I must keep Cora alive. We must get to Oston.

The breeze has died. All is silent. I stop.

“Cora?”

I turn, and I freeze.

Cora has abandoned her efforts of capturing the butterfly. Instead, she stares at the thin stretch of blue sky visible between the canopy over Shadow Oaks Drive. The silence becomes a soft hum. And then, a dull roar.

It can’t be, I plead with myself. The heat.

They despise the heat, certainly, but They also possess technology - our technology - to do Their bidding.

The roar becomes an earth-shaking scream. I lunge at Cora and tackle her to the asphalt, holding her beneath me as a Raptor shrieks past, high overhead. It shoots past us, quad-turbines slicing the treetops.

Keep going. For the love of the Most High, keep going…

To my horror, it doesn’t. The Raptor slows to a buffeting zoom and spins on its axis. It freezes in mid-air, and it watches.

Fuck.

“Cora, run!”

I rip the heart-shaped locket from my neck and press it into Cora’s palm. She stares up at me, frozen in shock. I pull her to her feet and place myself between her and the Raptor.

“Go!”

She cries in earnest, but she does as I say, splashing off into the bogwater and disappearing into the trees. I unsling the rifle from my back, take aim, and shoot. Flash rounds detonate on impact, small and bright explosions peppering the Raptor’s black armor. This is military aircraft, designed by our own Engineers to be virtually indestructible.

Designed by our Engineers, sure, but infected by Them.

I know my efforts are futile, but perhaps I can distract it long enough for Cora to escape unharmed.

Momentarily blinded, the Raptor sways in its hovering state, then re-centers. A hatch in the Raptor’s belly swings open, and something drops through the air. For a horrifying moment, I think it’s a bomb, but it hits the asphalt with a soft thud.

For a moment, it does nothing.

And then, it emits a whir of gears and unfurls into a large, feline form - a swift and slender skeleton of steel and titanium alloy covered in black neoprene flesh. It is unfamiliar to me; a great beast of Their own design. It stares with large, silvery compound eyes comprised of thousands of smaller lenses, much like those of the butterfly Cora was chasing only moments prior.

“Dad!” she screams from the trees.

To my horror, the beast shifts its focus on Cora. It makes as if to lunge through the bog, and I do the only thing that makes sense. I cry out and rush at the beast. I raise my rifle, shoot off three more flash rounds to blind it…

But it’s too late.

The beast rushes at me and leaps. The last thing I hear on this earth is the sharp, piercing scream of my daughter.

My Cora.

I can only pray to the Most High that she finds her own way to Oston.

To sanctuary.

***

CORA

I am numb, and I am alone.

I know why he did what he did. And yet, I don’t.

He left me with nothing but this stupid heart-shaped locket. He wore it every second of every minute of every day, and in his last moments, he forced me to take it.

And like the stupid, stupid girl I am, I took it. I took it and I ran.

I ran away.

I left him.

I am stricken with the realization that I am a monster. As much a monster as that cat thing. As that Raptor. As much a monster as They.

I bury my face into the crook of my arm. Hot tears spill down my cheeks and neck. I sob for a few moments, but here in the dark of the marshy forest, the moon glimmering through the canopy, I know I must keep silent.

It’s still out there. Looking for me with those big, luminous eyes.

I wipe the wetness from my own, and by the light of the small fire I’ve been able to spark, I glance down at the locket in my hand. I brush my thumb across the rugged, knot-like design of its face, and I open the clasp.

There are two small photographs inside:

Mom and Dad, younger than I’ve ever known them. His lips are pressed against her cheek while she laughs. I don’t remember much of her, but I do remember the sound of her laugh. It’s forever etched in my memory.

The other photograph is a baby. Freckles peppered beneath almond eyes. Short, curly black hair. It’s me, I know, and somehow it feels like it isn’t. It was so long ago. That happiness is gone.

Just as I am in the photograph, again I am alone.

I snap the locket shut. I am moments from pitching it into the bog when my thumb brushes across something else… something I didn’t notice before. I turn it over, and I see a small protrusion at its base.

A button.

Something screams at me not to touch it, but I cannot resist. I press it.

Sthwit!

“Ouch!”

Six small, sharp prongs have sprung out of the locket. One is embedded in my middle finger. With a sickening squelch, I pull it out and suck on my bleeding digit. I stare curiously at the sharp prongs, barely an inch long, and my brain starts to spin with possible explanations.

Mom gave this locket to Dad before she died. Maybe it’s not just a locket. Maybe, just maybe, this is something else. Something she Engineered.

And then, I hear it...

The gentle whir of gears. The snap of a twig in the darkness.

My blood runs cold.

I don’t think. I simply stand, and I run. My feet, ankles, and calves splash loudly through the bogwater as I dodge tree trunks and dip under viney branches. I reach the dry forest floor, thorns and brambles scratching my legs. My veins pulse with adrenaline. My mind is numb. I can hear it behind me, splashing louder as it closes the distance between us. I spare a single moment to glance over my shoulder.

The black, mechanical beast launches into the air…

And my feet leave the earth entirely.

My stomach performs a bloodcurdling backflip as I fall through a pit in the ground. I feel suspended in mid-air, but only for a moment.

I am caught by a thick, thorny vine, and then another, and another. I become ensnared like an insect in a spider’s web. When I catch my bearings, I look up. The beast stares down at me with those massive, compound eyes, lenses glowing orange and yellow in the darkness of the night. Its titanium claws grip the dusty edge of the pit.

I must go deeper.

Thorns ripping at my arms, I yank and tug myself free of my trap. I fall through the vines and my back hits the sodden, muddy floor of the pit. The breath is suddenly knocked from my lungs as the beast dives headlong into the pit. It becomes entangled in the vines I’ve only just escaped. Its claws slash at me, inches from my face, insectoid eyes glowing a brighter orange-red, illuminating the pit in a hellish hue.

I accept that I am about to die. And then, I see something odd...

There is a dark notch in the beast’s throat, or at least, where a throat should be. The notch is small and shaped like an upside-down heart.

And suddenly, instinctively, I know what I must do.

I yank the heart-shaped locket out of my shirt and plunge it into the beast’s notch. It’s a perfect fit. My thumb brushes the small button, and…

The vines rip beneath the immense weight of the mechanical beast. It falls through the pit and traps me under its whirring gears. With one last breath, I punch the button and release the prongs.

The beast continues to scrabble around on top of me. I am horrified.

It didn’t work.

And then, the whirring of the gears reaches a fever pitch. The beast rears back, convulses wildly, and collapses on top of me. All is silent.

I wrench the locket out of the beast’s throat, squeeze out from beneath its limbs, and collapse against the wall of the pit.

And then, I cry for my mother. But not in sadness. In triumph. She discovered how to infect Them. And I hold the key in my hand.

I must get to Oston.

To sanctuary.