Clio and Cy: The Apocalypse (10 page)

“People love dogs. You can never go wrong adding
a dog to the story.”

― Jim Butcher

North Carolina:

Clio glanced at Russ with wide eyes and looked back down at
the dead
bull
. She shuttered and
wanted to get the hell out of the woods. Clio wanted to magically transport
herself inside somewhere – anywhere.

Russ looked down at the slender girl, watching her shake,
with her pasty white skin as she stared in a trance at the fallen monster. “You
ok, young lady?”

“Can we go? Please…”

Russ peered up the hill through the forest. “Don’t worry…
It’s just up the hill now…”

“Is your house safe?” Clio asked.

Russ started walking up the incline and Clio stayed as close
as she could to him. “It’s safe,” he said.

Clio glanced back at the
bull
and turned away, seeing the other two monsters lying dead in front of her.
“Good,” she said.

Lady wagged her tail and pushed her nose into Clio’s hand.
They liked each other, and as far as Lady was concerned, they were already
lifelong friends.

“Let’s keep moving, youngster.”

“You can call me Clio… if you want.”

Lady barked twice. “Ok, youn… Clio.”

“Call me Russ, then,” he said surprising himself. Russ
usually made people call him sir or Mr. Tucker. “Russ,” automatically rolled
out of his mouth instead.

“Never met a Russ before,” Clio said glancing back at the
dead monsters one last time.

“Never met a Clee-O before.”

Lady barked and ran around both of them wagging her tail.
“This is Lady,” Russ said as he bent down to pet his dog between her ears.

“I like her,” Clio said bending down to give her a hug.

Lady let out a lovable howl and dragged Clio over the dirt.
The twelve-year-old let go and stumbled back to her feet. “I like her a lot,”
she confirmed brushing the dirt off her knees.

It was a welcome vision.

The home was in front of her.
Yes!
Clio thought as they crested over the hill and saw the house.

Russ looked at the young girl. “There she is. Home sweet
home, youn… Clio.”

“Thank God.”

“Told you it was close.”

Lady ran around the perimeter as if she was a centurion
guard going out ahead of the emperor. After making a full lap around the house
she galloped up the front steps in short strides. Lady barked and sat down, as
if she were signaling that it was now safe to enter.

For those left standing, the home was well maintained. Clio
noticed chickens and a pen with several pigs on the side of the farmhouse. The
swine manure was stinky yet inviting to her in a warm way.

“Good girl,” Russ said after he went by his dog on the
porch.

Clio bent down to give the dog another hug. “Good girl, good
Lady,” she said as the dog started licking her face. Lady enjoyed the saltiness
and the taste of her young skin as much as Clio enjoyed the new friendship and
affection.

“Come on girl,” Clio said as she held the door open for a
Lady. “Good girl!”

The screen door was heard closing behind the front in a
muffled snap after it latched shut. Reinforced, the main door had been layered
with extra boards. All of the windows were boarded up with crosses cut out of
them big enough for a rifle barrel to fit through. Puncture holes were also
peppered and drilled out to see what you were shooting at, Clio surmised. If
need be, Russ was ready for war. He reminded Clio of her dad in that way.

She glanced down at her pistol. “Here, let me have that. Got
a charger for it in the kitchen,” Russ explained as he took it from her.

Clio felt a little safer knowing the weapon that helped get
her through the woods would soon be back online.

Several rifles were on a rack in the hallway. “I’ll teach
you how to use those if you want,” Russ said, noticing Clio eyeing them.

“Ok… I guess that would be good, huh?”

“Always good to know how to handle yourself, young Clio,”
Russ said.

Clio walked over to the display and ran her hands over one
of the rifles. “Reminds me of my dad…”

“What, the guns?”

“Yes…”

“Well… your dad sounds like a hell of a man if you ask me.”

Clio ignored the compliment. Her dad was a hell of a man and
he could handle himself, that was true, but she couldn’t help wonder what happened
to her mother. “I’m worried about my mom,” she said.

Russ washed his hands in the sink and didn’t respond.

“I couldn’t see the RMB when I came out of the tunnel,” Clio
stated. “It was too far away.”

Russ kept washing and talked over the running well water.
“How far was it? The tunnel underground… how long you have to go…?” he asked.

Clio didn’t want to think about that horrendous passageway
ever again. Snapshots of the darkness and the flashlight shining on evil things
burst into her mind. Images of the monster she’d first encountered blinded her
memories like an awful strobe. Hissing, she could hear the thing as if it were
behind her at that very moment.

Russ dried his hands on a towel, glancing in Clio’s
direction. “You ok?” he asked.

Clio turned around to ensure nothing was behind her. Tears
streamed from her face as she looked away. “I wish I could forget that place. I
wish I could forget all of this… I miss my mother so much… I…”

After walking over to Clio, Russ put his arm around her.
“It’s ok, shh… shh… it’s ok now,” he said. The physical contact made him
realize how much he missed his own family.

Twisting in his embrace, Clio turned and bore into the old
man’s body and nuzzled as hard as she could. “Why did all this have to happen?”
she asked with her mouth pressed to Russ’s chest.

“Say that again slower, young lady,” Russ said gently
pushing her head away.

Clio looked up at him with swollen red eyes. “Why did this
happen?”

He shook his head. “I don’t have the answer to that, Clio.”

Showing her first sign of moxie, Clio’s eyes shot anger.
“Someone has the answer,” she said pulling away.

“Someone has the answer for everything I suppose,” Russ
replied. He wanted to tell her something more, something useful, but he
couldn’t. He didn’t know a damn thing about this war. He only knew what he saw.

“When can we go look for my mom?” Clio asked.

“Is it possible for home to be a person
and not a place?”

― Stephanie Perkins

Alexandria, Virginia:

Sunset:

Dr. Pressfield had spent the greater portion of the last
five hours pacing the living room. He’d check Cy’s progress on his computer and
then go back to wearing a hole in the wood floor.

Each time Cy’s signal disappeared, Dr. Pressfield had a mini
heart attack.
Is he ok? Have Destroyers
killed him? What’s he doing? I shouldn’t have done this…
back and forth he
worried.

Cy’s signal was close.

Dr. Pressfield walked out onto the front porch when it was
less than a mile from the house. Marcus traversed the porch’s wood planks,
pacing, shielding his eyes and scanning the horizon.

The sun peacefully settled over the street. Higher branches
moved as a gentle breeze sifted through the leaves like invisible wheat. Only a
handful of people remained in the homes along the neighborhood’s quiet
sidewalks. Like most, Dr. Pressfield’s street was deserted and largely
demolished. His house got lucky.

“I told you not to worry, Dr. Marc…”

“Ahh! Shit, Cy! You scared the bejesus out of me,” Dr. Pressfield
announced after his cyborg came around from the back of the house.

Cy climbed the porch steps and let the backpack slide off
his shoulders. Presenting it like a gift, he held up the pack. “Brought this
back for you, Dr. Marcus...”

Dr. Pressfield grabbed the bag and didn’t look inside; he
kept his gaze on Cy. Relieved, the scientist’s heart sang and his eyes watered.
Thank God he’s ok…
He couldn’t hide
his love for this thing he’d created and, recently, gave up trying.

Cy gently hit the backpack. “It seems to be in working
order,” he confirmed, brushing off the pack. “Maybe a dent or two,” he said,
shrugging and smiling.

“I’m so proud of you, Cy,” Dr. Pressfield announced, looking
inside the backpack. “So proud,” he said in a cracked voice, reaching in and
giving it a quick once over.

Cy had never sensed such powerful emotions from Dr. Marcus
before. The cyborg realized that his feelings were also strong… and new. They
were foreign… His technology and his flesh joined together and burst in colorful
explosion. The cyborg’s sense of self and his place in the world were never so
apparent. Like never before, he realized who he was. Why he was here.

“I’m proud to have served you well, Dr. Marcus,” Cy said as
Dr. Pressfield looked up from the generator inside the backpack.

Taken aback, Dr. Pressfield thought his cyborg was becoming
emotional too.
Can’t be
, he thought,
Cy’s not tearing up… that’s impossible…
isn’t it?

Dr. Pressfield headed for the door. “Come on Cy, let’s go
inside,” he said as his hand reached for the doorknob. Pausing, Marcus didn’t
open the door… he turned back around to glance in his cyborg’s eyes again.
He does look emotional, I’m sure of it.
Dr. Pressfield let go the knob and spun to face his cyborg letting his body
catch up with his head. “Cy… you ok?”

Cy pointed to his face. “You mean this Dr. Marcus?” as a
single teardrop fell from both eyes. Two perfect tears rolled down the cyborg’s
cheeks.

Dr. Pressfield searched for the correct response… “I’m… Cy,
I’m not sure I know what…”

Cy reached up and wiped his face with both hands. “I’m ok,
Dr. Marcus. This is more than ok,” Cy said, exposing his palms to Dr.
Pressfield as if he were showing old wounds that had healed.

“This feels beautiful Dr. Marcus.” Cy retreated his hands to
his sides, feeling the cool air against the wetness of his palms. “These are
new feelings for me Dr. Marcus. I hope they return to visit me often,” Cy said,
looking back down at his hands, clenching them, as if he’d lost something.

“I’m glad you’re experiencing them,” Dr. Pressfield
responded, feeling weird for saying it.

“Don’t feel strange, Dr. Marcus. Thank you for all of the
wonderful things you’ve given me. I feel so much beauty and it’s all because of
you… you’ve given me life and I dream… I dream that there is so much more to
come...”

Dr. Pressfield looked out and nodded with wonder before
opening the door.
I guess it’s possible,
Dr. Pressfield thought,
I’m not sure how?
I guess it is though… he’s part human anyway… but I didn’t design him to be
able to cry… to feel so deeply…

Dr. Pressfield searched the corners of his mind on how this
was happening. Before his brain fried in meltdown, he gave it up. It’d been a
long day and he didn’t have the energy
.
Marcus
Pressfield had a hard enough time with his own emotions at the moment.

They walked inside the living room and stood near a sofa.

Dr. Pressfield suddenly realized Cy was soaked and filthy.
“Run into trouble out there?” Dr. Pressfield said patting Cy on the shoulder,
getting his palm wet.

“I guess you could say that, Dr. Marcus,” Cy said with a
smile.

Marcus grabbed Cy’s soaking shirt and pulled it away from
his cyborg’s body. “Looks like more than a little,” he said, letting it go and
allowing it to snap back into place, deformed on the spot where he’d pinched
the cloth.

“Did you know I could swim, Dr. Marcus?” Cy said
rhetorically with a playful arrogant smile.

“Yes, wise-ass... I knew you could swim.”

“Ooh. Wise-ass… I like that one, Dr. Marcus.”

Dr. Pressfield turned around and began walking into a bedroom.
“Come on, and let’s get you out of those cold, wet clothes.”

“I’m not cold, Dr. Marcus.”

Dr. Pressfield turned around and faced Cy, letting out pent
up fear built over the last five hours. Bottled emotions fizzled out like a
shaken soda pop when he spoke. “Yes, Cy, I know you’re not… but you’re making a
hell of a mess… that water is getting all over this floor!” he said pointing
down with an angry look.

Cy glanced at the floor with sadness. “I do apologize, Dr.
Marcus. I’m very sorry,” he said with an extra pathetic frown.

Dr. Pressfield realized he’d overreacted. “Cy, no, hey… it’s
ok. Nothing to be sorry about… I’m not mad at you… I…”

Cy looked up with a big grin. “I got you Dr. Marcus. I was practicing
being a Wise-ass? Was my ass, as you say, wise enough…?”

Realizing that he’d been fooled, Dr. Pressfield shook his
head. “Not bad, Cy… Not bad at all.”

“Does this mean you’ll keep me now, Dr. Marcus?” Cy said
beaming from ear to ear.

“Perfect Cy... That’s what I call a real wise ass.”

“I think I’ll dismember the world and then I’ll dance
in the wreckage.”

― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman

Atlanta:

Dr. Pavlov was consumed by his vengeful obsession and
watched several split screens on a computer.

He played the footage sent to him by his Ker in their final
moments. Tapping his fingers on the screen, he moved images back and forth,
replaying them like a madman. His fingers spread out to enhance one particular
image as he made the split screen disappear into one. He watched in disbelief
at the sights of a young man moving like a panther. Springing like a wild
beast, it appeared to be a twenty-something-year-old human.
Impossible,
Dr. Pavlov thought, seeing
it evade and then dismantle his Ker with rocks, before snatching a weapon.
He can’t be human… No man could move like
that…

His mind wandered into the possibilities of an alien life
form… then to the even more unthinkable….
Maybe
God has sent his savior to kill me
. “Stop it! You’re being ridiculous!” he
scolded himself.

The images of the Marines wasting Destroyers in Coronado
were troublesome, but he’d seen it before. He’d come to expect heavy resistance
from RMB Pendleton. Soon enough, he’d take care of them. But this man… this
boy
was a new threat that haunted him.
The recorded images he saw inside Washington DC and the Lincoln Memorial shook
him to his core.

What is this superman?
He could jeopardize the plan to wipe out the rest of civilization.
Where did it come from?
Pavlov searched
his mind and came to the same answer over and over. The theory of Occam’s razor
was enough to give him his only logical choice. The super human could have only
come from one mind.

The
superman
carried the distinct ingenuity of someone he once knew – his old friend’s
fingerprints were all over the
wonderboy
.
Marcus
Pressfield
, he thought. “That crafty son of a bitch did it…”
Extraordinary work Dr. Pressfield… I’ll see
you again soon my old colleague - and your super cyborg….
“I look forward
to meeting him.”

Dr. Pavlov liked to keep things in order. He liked to keep
on task and on schedule. Just down the road was his next target, the new
Capital, and first things must be first. He wanted to get at the Commander in
Chief.

The President of the United States was taking residence in
what used to be the Georgia Governor’s mansion. Leading a path to the new White
House, West Paces Ferry Road was a few miles away from Dr. Pavlov.

When it was time, he’d stroll down West Paces Ferry Road to
the old Governor’s mansion and finish them off.

He’d started the war from Georgia, and he was going to
finish it from there.

Funny
… Dr. Pavlov
thought about how things worked out, the new Capital ending up in Atlanta. He’d
taken it relatively easy on the state of Georgia; after all, it was still his
home and destroying it, at least right away, didn’t seem
necessary. Other than Columbus and West Point and a
few other bases, he was soft on his home state. Meeting his wife there, Pavlov
had many good memories of the place tucked away in the twisted corners of his
tortured mind.

But the other States… Dr.
Pavlov and his machines destroyed them without mercy.

At what remained of the
world’s most powerful nation, he laughed.
Goddamn
monkeys…
America’s leadership was nothing but a bunch of crooks; that’s how
Pavlov saw it. Trying to hold on to what little power they had left,
scared shitless no doubt,
they were a
pathetic group. The sorry ass groups of freedom fighters, (
huh
, the term made him chuckle) would be taken care of soon enough.

The surviving forces from
Ft. Bragg and a few other bases took residence in Buckhead Atlanta, guarding
the President from a close distance. All of the eastern bases were destroyed.
From top to bottom, Dr. Pavlov’s Ker decimated and stamped out every major U.
S. instillation other than Pendleton, Jackson and Lejeune. As only Marines are
equipped to do, Camp Lejeune stormed to the aid of Fort Jackson, which is how
it survived, later becoming RMB Jackson.

In some cases he only had
ten or twelve Smartbots for each base. It was enough to take out the runways
and infiltrate past the initial response given
by shell-shocked Soldiers, Airmen,
and Marines.

Dr. Pavlov’s continental
U.S. teams of robots were armed before they went in for the kill. They needed
to be locked and loaded before waltzing across the perimeter of American
military bases. He knew Uncle Sam could be caught with his pants down, but he
also knew he’d fight back harder than the Euro trash forces did once he figured
out what the hell was going on.

Among other things,
striking at night was his
key
to
success.

-
First:
the robots took out the surrounding power grids.
That’s right bitch! Your lights are going
out!

-
Second
:
they hit most of
the runways, leaving some intact.
Oh, you
wanted to use these so you could take off and run like cowards? Nice try
fagots!

-
Third:
they took out the fighters and bombers other than those
saved for later.
You’re not going to like
what happens after these joy riders get skyward!

-
Fourth:
level tanks, heavy ground artillery, and the armories -
after securing a few choice items from them.
Who’s the big gun in town now you pussies?

-
Fifth:
plant atomic weapons at the heart of the larger bases and
detonate silos.
Wait till these go off
you goddamn monkeys!

-
Sixth:
mop up the remaining soldiers.
How do you like getting wasted with your own weapons, you murdering
thieves?

-
Seventh:
fly jets and bombers and unleash hell like they did in
Europe.
How do you cowards like being
killed from afar? Who gives a shit, die bastards!

He planned on taking out
the President and the rest of the government in broad daylight. His new and
improved Destroyers weren’t ready yet, but the government didn’t pose much of a
threat. They had light arms and a thousand troops… maybe; that was about it.