The Bionics (The Bionics Series Part 1) (2 page)

I often tease him
that if he didn’t have titanium ribs and a set of
robotic legs
, he could be on one of those electronic billboards in the city, posing in his underwear.
Dax
always laughs at me, but I t
hink it’s true. Then I think of
what a shame it
is
that
guys like
Dax
can’t be models
. They can’t be anything but dead or in hiding.

Him
finding me three years ago
was
one of the best things that ever happened to me, because it saved my life—
he
saved my life. He turns to me and smiles and I smile back. Besides Dog, he’s the only one that can make me do that.

“Ready, Blythe?” he asks, reaching for the remote and turning off the television at the height of
President
Drummond’s speech.
The image of our brown-haired, blue-eyed national leader disappears and I am relieved to be free of his deceptive gaze.
“I think I’ve had enough of that asshole to last me all week.
How ‘bout you?”

I snort as I stand and sling my pack over my shoulders. “I don’t know why you watch that garbage. All they do is fill the airwaves with his messages and his voice. If you’re not careful, you’ll
become one of his mindless drones
.
You’re already
part robot
, so you’re
halfway
there.
”

Dax
laughs
and stands, pulling on his blue-
jean, fur-lined jacket. I always joke that it
makes him look like one of those old-fashioned
pilot
s they have photos of in the museums
. He pulls a skull cap over his dark
hair
and I dig mine out before stuffing my ponytail in it and covering my ears. I have gotten used to bundling up every morning before starting out. Ever since the war, the burning out of the ozone layer and our nation’s pitiful attempts at constructing a synthetic replacement that left our planet in even worse shape, the weather is unpredictable. While August used to be the hottest month
of the year
in the state of Texas, today we will more than likely find ourselves tramping through snow.

“What do you think, Blythe,”
Dax
asks as we leave the house, Dog trailing obediently behind us, “keep or burn?”

I stare up at the smooth, white exterior of the house with its round windows
and
clear, gla
ss roof. It’s a beautiful house—this is one of the few areas in the state not affected by nuclear war—
but too conspicuous for us to use as a hideout in the future, so I tell
Dax
we should burn it.
If the M.P.s should come back looking for more of our kind, our fingerprints and hair fibers will be everywhere. We can’t leave any hint of our presence in this house or neighborhood and since we can’t use it as a hideout, we’ll burn this beautiful
place
to the ground.

He finds a gas can in the garage and goes back inside. Dog and I stand on the brown, withered grass and wait for
Dax
to
come out. By the time we set off
on our way, the house is lighting up from the inside with orange flame, soon to be no more than a pile of smoldering ash.
We really kick it into high gear then, putting as much distance between us and the house as possible before the
M.P.s are alerted of our presence and show up
.

As we walk, I reach into one of my many pockets and pull out a pair of gloves. They don’t offer much protection from the cold, but I wear them anyway because they’re better than nothing. It’s a beautiful morning, even if the sun hasn’t come up yet. A few stars remain in the sky, and that pretty mix of pale blue, orange, and pink has just started to spill out over the horizon.

It is now
5:00 a.m.

We’re making good time, although I dread going back to
headquarters empty-
handed. Coming back with even one refugee would be worth it, but at this point it seems like too much to hope for. We’ve been in Dallas for five days now, combing various neighborhoods for signs
of
life or people in hiding.

“Do you think there’s anyone left in this neighborhood?” I ask
Dax
as we walk. I am keeping a sharp eye on our surroundings, counting on my bionic eye to give me readings on any nearby signs of life. It’s picking up the body heat signatures of me,
Dax
, Dog
,
and a rabbit hopping past us across the street, but nothing else. It’s got our environment’s temperature read at thirty degrees and is telling me that there is a seventy-five percent chance of sleet and freezing rain tonight.

Dax
shrugs. He is looking for signs of life too, even though he knows I’m more likely to spot them first.
“I doubt it,” he says. “Looks like we got the short end of the stick this mission.
”

I nod in agreement but don’t say anything else. With the house in that condition and still standing, it was more than likely an arrest had been made. Some poor soul had been imprisoned before we had a chance to get there and save them. Now, there was no telling what
President
Drummond has given his puppets at the Restoration Project leave to do to people like us. I shudder at the thought.

“We can’t change what happened at that house,”
Dax
says, and I know he’s sensed the direction of my thought
s
. He knows that I tend to take these things personally. “We save the people we can, Blythe,” he reminds me, repeating the age-old mantra of the
Professor
. I know he is right, but I still can’t help it. Seeing that house go up in flames reminds me of another time I stood outside a burning house, barely making
it
out alive. That was the last night I ever laid eyes on my family.

I never will again.

“There are plenty of houses down this street to check,” I say, quickly changing the subject. “Hopefully I’ll get
a readout
and we don’t have to go back to
Jenica
empty
-
handed.”

Really, I don’t give a flying fuck about
Jenica
but I need an excuse to voice my desperation at needing to find someone
…
anyone.

Dax
glances at his watch. “We have a few hours before the hovercraft makes its rounds. Let’s get moving.”

***

By noon I am discouraged, crank
y
, hungry and ready to go back to headquarters. Not a soul exists in this abandoned neighborhood. Either
Jenica’s
intel
was wrong, or the people we’ve come to find are long gone, probably incarcerated or dead.

We’re standing on the corner of what was once a busy intersection, in front of a row of hollowed-out storefronts.
We’ve walked for hours toward the rendezvous point; a section of town long since abandoned for the newer, more modern houses, offices and shopping centers. Soon, bulldozers will take out what remains here and gleaming, towering white buildings will replace the ones we stand in front of now.
I lean against
a storefront window
beside
Dax
, watching Dog run around in circles and try
to catch the snowflakes that
started falling about an hour ago.
He’s an ugly little mutt, but he’s mine. Well, ours. Dog is just as much
Dax’s
as he is mine.  I glance at my watch just as the humming sound of the hovercraft reaches my ears.

“On time as always,”
Dax
says with a snort. “Do you think she schedule
s and times her bathroom breaks
?”

I cut
Dax
a look out of the corner of my eye.
“
Jenica
?
Yea
h
, I could see that. Urination scheduled for five o’clock p.m.”

Dax’s
guffaws
become full-fledged laughs as the large, oblong shadow of the hovercraft blots out the meager light of the sun
. I picture
Jenica
in the cockpit with her
black, waist-length, bone-
straight ponytail and sharp features.
Dax
and I have a running joke going about that ponytail. We are both of the opinion that it holds her face up. No
way are
her eyes really that narrow and sharp, or her cheekbones so well-defined.
Technically, this only applies to half of her face, as the other half is made of titanium, but still.

The hovercraft lowers over us and the hatch opens, releasing the ladder for us to climb in.
Our pilot and team leader,
Jenica
Swan,
is waiting, along with the six other members of our crew. Her starched, black uniform is spotless as usual, not a crease out of place or a speck of lint to be found. I don’
t think s
he
’s
got a
single
split end in that sleek ponytail.

Dax
and I slid
e
into our seats in the front r
ow, directly behind
Jenica
, and buckle our harnesses.
One look over my shoulder reveals our crew and the bedraggled group of refugees they’ve found. I nod in greeting to the crewmembers and try to smile encouragingly at the
dozen or so people
they rescued. I know what they’re feeling, and realize that many of them have been through what I’ve been through. My eyes lock with a girl no older t
han me, with smooth, cocoa-
colored s
kin. Her eyes are dark and wide
and her hands are shaking. I don’t see any machinery so I wonder if she has bionic organs of some kind. There are others there too,
family members of those with more obvious hardware
,
but this girl is
alone and something tells me she’s one of us. Then I wonder
if she’s lost her family like
I have
, since none of the other rescued people have her dark skin or luscious features.

I want to encourage her, to tell her that I know where she’s been and that we’re here to help; she’s safe now. But none of those words come and I turn away from her, closing my eyes against her pain. It is too much for me and reminds me of things I’d rather forget.

Ignoring
Dax’s
concerned look, I gaze out over the now moving horizon over
Jenica’s
shoulder. We make fun of her, but that
is one dedicated member of the R
esistance. She’s also one hell of a pilot.
I o
ften wonder about
Jenica’s
past
and why she’s as hardened as she is. I’ve never known a child to be born that w
ay. S
omething had to have happened, but behind the machinery that takes up most of one side of her head and face, I can’t find a clue. She’s as hard as ever and I wish I could be more like her. She doesn’t seem to care when we come back empty-handed. I, on the other hand, can’t stop thinking about it.

Seeing th
at
empty
, trashed
house in Dallas brings back so many memories and I can’t help but think of my own family. Those thoughts bring an acidic taste to my mouth. I turn toward the window and stare at the moving clouds beside me and wonder if that taste will ever go away.

***

Two

Blythe Sol,
Dax
Janner
, and
Jenica
Swan

Restoration Resistance Headquarters

August 15, 4010

I am grateful when
Jenica
lowers the hovercraft over the
desert
landscape of Nevada. After so many years away from my hometown in Georgia, the
rust
-
colored
walls of Red Rock Canyon look
more and more like home every day. Calm sweeps over me as we hurtle along through the canyon, shaded from the stifling Nevada heat
by the mountains jutting up from the ground
. While we encountered snow in Texas, the state of Nevada and its desert stretching away from the still-bustling Las Vegas, is
nonetheless
hot as hell. In fact, global warming and our ruined ozone layer have rendered it even hotter.