Today's Reading
PRELUDE
The weeds were high, almost as high as his chest, and they scratched the boy's arms. Burrs stuck to his clothing and caught on his legs. He was tired, so tired that he could not think about how much or he would stop right where he was. He would drop to his knees and he would let the weeds fold over him and hide the sky. But the soldiers might still be following him, so he could not risk stopping.
And so he did not think. He just listened to the breath rasping in his throat and felt the sweat tickling down his temple.
It had been his birthday last week, but no one had celebrated it. He was eleven now. His boots were a little too small, but he hadn't told anyone yet. He had debated taking one of the rifles with him, but he didn't want to shoot anyone and he wasn't entirely sure the guards wouldn't shoot him if he threatened them. There were no empty threats in his experience, so why would they think any different?
His pockets were empty except for a granola bar and the wad of bills he had swiped from Eli's dresser.
And he was tired.
He was not sure what time it was. The sky was growing purple on the horizon behind him and his shadow stretched out long in front. He was so focused on the ground and his next step that he did not see the woman at first. She stood so very still. As if she had grown where planted.
The boy came up short, swallowing a scream. He held his hands up in front of him in one of the defensive postures they had taught him. His only hope, if she was here to hurt him, would be to surprise her, knock her off balance. Otherwise, she had the advantage of height and weight.
She was facing him and she did not move, but she watched him closely. The boy was not sure she blinked as he studied her. She wore combat gear, camo pants tucked into high boots and a black t-shirt. She wore no armor, but her arms gleamed white and silver in the setting sunlight. She held an M4 carbine tucked close under her arm. There was something preternaturally still and unmoving about her face. A shiver ran up the boy's spine.
"Whitaker's?"
It took him a moment to recognize Eli's last name. He always insisted the kids call him by his first.
"Not anymore."
And he could feel his chest crumpling, his lungs heaving. He gasped for breath and began to cry.
"It's all right. You're safe." The words sounded practiced, but her voice was comforting nonetheless. She slung her carbine onto her back and set a hand on his shoulder. "I will take you someplace safe."
"How do I know—" And he couldn't get the rest of the sentence out, couldn't voice the sheer terror that Eli had planted in his head about androids. The other kids parroted him, talked about their parents being replaced with metal scarecrows. A girl his own age, Lia, said her dad was dead because of them. But sometimes she didn't sound so sure.
"I am AS 542." She dropped her hand. "Sephone," she added. "US government."
The panic was there, in the back of the boy's head, the names that Eli used for the AS. But he couldn't run anymore. And what had he been running toward, anyways?
"Help me," he said. His legs collapsed under him, and he fell. He did not hear her move, but she bent down and lifted him. The movement was easy and smooth as if it were no effort to her at all. Her arms were hard and unyielding around him, strangely transparent against his darker skin.
"I will take you back now," she said.
He managed to nod and then he relaxed in her arms, unable to stay alert, unable to resist any longer. He was tired. And he told himself it was alright to cry. It was alright now.
The gun clacked gently at her back. Now that he was so close, he could hear the slight whir, the whisper of her joints moving. As his eyelids grew heavy, blinking, he tried to recall if his mother had ever held him like this.
He could not remember, and fell asleep.
...
