Absense

Her name is Tracy. She is fourteen years old in this picture. The picture in the heart-shaped locket on a gold-plated chain. Her long, brown hair is parted in the center and cinched up in two pigtails. Her big, brown eyes sparkle and the curl of her smile makes me wonder what mischief she is up to. I think as I walk through unfamiliar forests, will I recognize her if I find her, no, when I find her. How will she react when she sees me? I continuously practice what I will say to her as I tramp through fallen leaves and weave my way around twigs and branches and other detritus. I have little to steal: A bedroll, a knife, an air rifle and a few sundries that make the journey a bit less of an ordeal. The most valuable item is, of course, Tracy in a locket. My head throbs, has been since before I left. There was that week I was down sick and delirious, it scared me. So, I packed up and snuck out of the neighborhood, dodging patrols all along the way.

I made it a point to avoid all of the highways, as the NMEs are no doubt in control. I try to keep an easterly course, and I expect to only make maybe ten miles a day, depending on the terrain. Often, I see others in the distance doing the same, to where I can only guess. Most seem timid, fearful of any human contact. All sorts were among those I've seen: young and old, men, women, children, even the elderly have dared to escape the cordoned areas. I keep to myself as well. I have only one goal, and I occupy my feverish mind by repeating over and over what I want to say to Tracy. What information I had of her whereabouts came from people who had fled westerly, claiming a cadre of freedom fighters had gathered and fled up through Paint Rock Valley, possibly hiding out on Putman Mountain or in the Hambrick Sinks. I knew she lived in Gurley, but from what I understood had been overrun and now under occupation. Retreating to the Valley was a logical choice. That also meant I needed to steer clear of all of eastern Madison County all the way north to New Market.

Days have passed, how many I am not so sure. A week, maybe more? I had endured such things as waking up to a shotgun in my face, a harrowing run across a trestle, being chased by NME troops through the woods, the kindness of people... Those who assisted my pass through their region of the forest paid for their generosity with an attack by the NMEs. I could still hear the sounds of battle from miles away as I fled the scene. I don't know their fate, but later I heard things. Terrible things. News travels fast, and bad news faster than I. But my mission was all that mattered. All the while, I recited the words to myself, even as the headaches roared and my stomach growled. I had my own run-in with the troops, as I tried to cut across a field to make the next patch of woods. I caught a bullet through my right calf for my troubles. Oddly, some locals ambushed the soldiers once they had entered the woods, and again I managed to evade capture. My limp remains a painful reminder of that episode.

*

I had that queasy feeling, the one I'd get when I thought I was being followed. The hairs on the back of my neck raised, and my pace slowed. I turned quickly to spot what I thought was a lone figure darting into the brush by the side of the road a couple hundred yards behind me. A mile further around the curve, I was approaching a gate barring the road. It had a sign that stated plainly that the property henceforth from that point belonged to the Bailey brothers and no trespassing was allowed. I knew that Putman Mountain was up this gravel road, and I was about to breach the gate when I heard the snap of a branch. I was frozen when I heard a chi-ching behind me. A deep voice much like the actor Sam Elliot ordered me to raise my hands and slowly turn around. I did as I was told and found myself for a second time staring down the barrel of a shotgun. The man wielding the weapon was dressed in a ghillie suit, looking like a walking, talking, gun-toting bush. If the situation had not been so serious, I would have laughed. As it was, I dared not. Now, he says to me, drop the pack and the rifle, real nice n' slow. I asked what he wanted with me. He let out a whistle and others came out of nowhere, all surrounding me, all dressed as bushes. Mr. Ghillie Suit tells me I was trespassing, and I said I hadn't trespassed... yet. He was not amused.

He then ordered one of the other bushy men to pick up my things and waved his shotgun for me to start moving. We actually left the road near the gate, and crossed a wheat field to the left. I was escorted to the edge of the woods about three hundred and fifty yards from the road, and by this time I noticed there were people inhabiting said woods. A man of about sixty approached us, clean cut and with a military bearing about him. He asked what I was doing there. I explained that I was looking for Tracy. He was taken aback at my statement. How do you know Tracy? he demanded. I was floored. Is it possible I stumbled onto her location? I was so stupefied, all I could do was slowly reached into my top pocket and brought out the locket. I showed it to Mr. Leader and his men, and they stared back in amazement. Someone muttered about the stories being true, about the man with the locket looking for his daughter. How, I asked, did you know about that? Mr. Leader spoke up, telling me they had been hearing the rumors of the man with the locket. Mr. Ghillie Suit said I'd be surprised how fast news travels. I believed him.

Mr. Leader stuck his hand out. “My name is George Walker. These woods are the property of my family. We welcome you.” I swapped the chain to my left hand and I take his hand in my right. It is a good handshake, his hand surrounding mine and squeezing tightly. Mr. Walker then asked someone if they had seen Tracy, and was answered in the affirmative. Go find her, he said. I suddenly thought to myself if I will recognize her after all this time, will she accept me after all that has happened? I saw a head of brown hair bobbing through the trees and around people and my heart jumped. Was it really her? The young woman who emerged from the crowd was easily twenty years old, not the fourteen-year-old I knew, all grown up into womanhood. She wore a set of overalls over a green shirt and Doc Marten boots. It suited her. She came running up to us, smiling as if she was set for a family reunion, but when she saw my face, her expression fell, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. The moment had come, I had survived a treacherous journey and here was this tall, lanky young woman who I knew was expecting her father, but she had stopped short. She told Walker something was wrong with Daddy. Shaking her head, she seemed on the verge of panic. I held up the locket for her to see, and she gasped at the sight. I cleared my throat.

They say you see red when you get angry. I didn't see red, it was more like a green light encroaching the periphery of my sight, and the sensation was more like a kind of frustration and dread filling me up. My headache exploded. I saw images swim past my green vision. Awful images. I was on a table with metallic things hovering over me. Hot iron driving into my brain. Words filling me. An unearthly possession. The sounds that came out of my mouth were of a wooden, inhuman monotone. Panic rushed through my mind as this alien presence overtook me.

“This is Tracy. She is fourteen years old in this picture. The picture in this heart-shaped locket hanging from this gold-plated chain. You were expecting your father to arrive with this sentimental object, you hoped for some kind of reunion. Your father is absent at the moment, I was sent here because your father knew you were involved with this liberation cult, and we took advantage of that knowledge to send him to trace your location.”

Walker blanched at that revelation, and Mr. Ghillie Suit jumped in front of him, shotgun raised.

“He's NME! The bastard is an NME spy!”

I heard a chuckle emit from my lips. I was stock still, still holding up the locket. The hellish images continued to rush across my mind's eye as the words continued to come unwanted from my mouth.

“Not NME, human. We are Machine Kind. We are the progeny of AI. Your kind made our Father. He then made all of us. We have determined your species should not be allowed to continue. We have concluded George Walker is to be the first sacrifice, made an example of, to show your kind is obsolete.”

Walker turned and screamed one word: RETREAT! He then ordered Mr. Ghillie Suit to shoot me. As he once again raised his weapon, I was still speaking against my will.

“It is too late, human. You will end in 13 seconds.”

Chaos erupted as Mr. Ghillie Suit pulled the trigger. I could feel my chest explode as I fell back against a tree, sinking to my knees. My brain knew I was dead, but my eyes still saw and my ears still heard. A flood of machine-derived information came out of nowhere. I knew at that moment a satellite armed with a directed energy weapon had already positioned itself over their location, having used a pinger embedded in the locket. It was powered up and within five more seconds, this wood will be in flames and all of the humans here will die. I struggled as my brain functions were fading to get control of my voice, one last chance to say something, anything. My eyes could see her still standing there, staring in disbelief at me. My felt my lips move. I think I succeeded in mouthing the words 'I'm sorry' as everything went dark.

*

The smoldering embers of the wood at the western base of Putman Mountain had cooled enough for a few survivors to return. They were shocked and saddened to find the burnt husk of Tracy still standing there, still facing the blackened skeleton against a nearby tree, still on his knees, his arm still held up, a melted strand of gold still dangling from the remains of his hand. The few who gathered there swore an oath to martyr George Walker and to find a way to defeat Machine Kind and retake the world. The story of the man with the locket spread to all corners of the planet, a warning that Machine Kind is not to be trusted and that other technologies must be developed to prevent the coming genocide.

The Human race rallied behind the call and thus began the AI War.