Deicide

Amara can hear something and she doesn’t like it. It’s why she’s stuffed herself into a crevice, a crack really that has torn down a section of the heavily scoured bricks in this area. If she didn’t know better she’d think something lived down here. That’s impossible however. Nothing that large, and it would have to be large, powerful and angry, lives down in the sewers. Humans, what’s left of them, are by far the largest organic life down here. Then maybe it isn’t organic, is the thought that enters her head. She disposes of it immediately, not wanting to contemplate and allow her mind to run away from her. That can be dangerous she knows, and right now when something is making noise is not the time to let your mind wonder. It’s how you get caught through recklessness and she hasn’t survived all this time on her own to throw it away now. She will get out of the city. She will see the sky, the sun, the world. Even if she can only do it for the briefest of periods before she is forced to slide back down into the subterranean world she has known her entire life up to this point it would be worth it.

None of that matters right now though as she holds her breath waiting for something to happen. The sound is gone but Amara has seen nothing. A couple tense minutes pass during which she is convinced an Inquisitor is going to appear and reach for her, but no such thing comes to pass. In fact nothing at all occurs and so not wanting to keep herself trapped Amara retracts herself from her hiding place. The jagged edges of the rocks on both sides of her scrape painfully across her skin because she is forced to drag herself across those rough edges at points where the gap is narrower than she is. The thin material covering her body that she calls clothes offers little resistance which is why when she is free Amara is relieved that the damage is only minor. If it were not she might be in serious trouble, especially as she hasn’t got anything to treat any potential wounds with. And if left untreated those wounds could easily fester and put her life in serious jeopardy. Put such thoughts aside as no such thing has occurred, she tells herself before nodding in agreement with her own suggestion. And why wouldn’t she because she’s right after all. Plus, there are more important things than ifs, like getting past wherever she is now. After all, just because she hasn’t seen whatever those noises came from, it does not mean they are not present. To be honest she just couldn’t bear to keep herself contained in such a small space for what would be the second time today. Once is more than enough, for a while. Twice seems like tempting a poor twist of fate.

Amara counts days as the periods between her sleeps. Each day she awakens she counts as a new day. The solitary woman has no other way of gauging or counting them. She’s heard, from others, that days proper were gauged by the rising and falling of the sun back when people had lived on the surface. She can’t imagine that. Not just living by such a thing but also the image of it. It must be spectacular she has always thought since having been told. How long ago that was she cannot say but continues to consider such things so that they might serve as a distraction while she creeps across the open space around her. It’s a wide area with piles of rubble alongside the dirt and detritus that has sat here for no one left living knows how long.

If Amara were not in a hurry to vacate this space and press on to another, what she hopes is safer, location she might be inclined to survey the discarded scraps and see if anything is worth taking with her. But she is and so will not.

The redhead manages to cross maybe half the long and yet still narrow in comparison to its length space before she hears a groan. She doesn’t know how else to describe it for it is not a sound she has heard before. In fact, it isn’t even akin to the sound she heard previously. It’s different but elicits much the same response in her, which is to freeze on the spot. She’s shrouded in shadows, the light in this space poor, and her hope is that the shadows will be enough to hide her presence until whatever is creating these sounds passes. But it does no such thing. Rather, it continues to groan and snuffle for several minutes without any hint of it abating or departing.

Amara, still holding her breath, can feel burning in her chest. She knows why, she needs to release her held breath. If she doesn’t she’ll gasp aloud and that’ll draw reveal her presence. Her assumption is that whatever is making the noises is not aware of her at this time. She’d like to keep it that way and so finally, when she can hold her breath no more without gasping she opens her mouth a decent amount and allows an exchange of air. She wouldn’t call it breathing per se but simply an allowance for air to flow in and out off her as necessary. And it’s a successful, as far as she is concerned, seeing as she makes no noise. Hopefully that’ll keep my presence hidden from whatever is making these noises, she thinks. Suddenly groans fill the air. They’re different this time. If she was to describe them she would define them as angry. Her heart rate spikes as a result and she screws her eyes shut not wanting to see what may or may not be coming for her as she begins to edge vaguely forward. In her mind that has to be away from whatever it is.

Unfortunately, her careful movements are not careful enough and the groans become louder as though the something is coming toward her. She stops dead in her tracks and holds her breath once more, but keeps her eyes closed even when she feels a presence close to her. It’s warm, hot even, and radiating that heat outwards. Amara’s brow furrows in response because she doesn’t understand how this is possible. The only things she has ever felt give off heat are people, like her. The machines don’t. At least no machine that she has ever come across has anyway, which is why she risks opening her eyes. As soon as she does she regrets her decision, yet Amara cannot bring herself to scrunch them closed again, so is forced to look at a long snout, a black nose, large eyes, a mass of brown fur and the large blood stained teeth of a bear. Amara doesn’t know that that is what it is. The bear considers her for a while before roaring loudly. She recoils terrified by the creature she is faced with and wonders if this is some new abomination made by the machines to hunt people. It’s clear to her it isn’t friendly and means her harm so it very well could be in her mind. To make matters worse she can’t bring herself to run, though whether she could outrun this beast she isn’t sure as she stands their cowering, waiting to die.

Her eyes are closed again. Amara can’t bear to see what happens next. The bear doesn’t attack as it never gets the chance due to the sudden roar of gunfire. Amara shrieks in surprise, feeling the air centimetres from her face ripple in response to the cutting of the shaped metal projectiles that displace it. The bear roars angrily in response and Amara stepping backward trips over something and falls. She doesn’t get far as she clatters against a pillar, bounces off it and then hits the debris strewn floor of the sewer with a short whelp.

The injured bear meanwhile has turned in the direction of the gunfire and is now on its hind legs snarling and growling in defiance when another burst of bullets slam into the centre of its mass. It groans, clearly in pain, but attempts to struggle forward until a couple more rounds decimate one of the kneecaps of a hind leg. The large mammal falls back onto its front paws at that point but wastes no time in exploding into a barrelling run. However, it is not rushing the unseen aggressors who fired upon it. Rather, it is making a break for freedom. Sadly, it never manages to escape as several more bursts are peppered down its flank. They do the trick and see the bear stumble over its own three working legs and then slam to the floor never to get up again. But the bear is not dead yet. Its laboured breathing is proof enough of that. It isn’t left to suffer for long though as a quick double tap is fired into its head, ending its life.

“Are you OK?” Amara hears a voice say through the ringing in her ears. The ringing is familiar, a result of gunfire she knows but the voice is not. She contemplates trying to run but as she tries to scramble away the pain in her knee ends any hope she has of that and sees her fall forwards. She braces herself, scrunching her already closed eyes tighter still waiting for the sudden impact of whatever is ahead of her. She imagines it’s the floor and that this is really going to hurt but she accepts it.

Amara never hits the floor however because she is grabbed and spared such a fate. She’s thankful not to suffer more pain and then her mind screams at her asking what she is doing? Why she is accepting and not fighting to survive? She doesn’t know but her eyes do fly open to assess and judge her unknown saviour/attacker. There is no way Amara can be sure which they are, though it seems more likely they would be the latter. They might even be responsible for unleashing that thing she’d been face-to-face with upon her.

Amara isn’t aware the bear is dead or that that is what it is called. Still, as her eyes come into focus she finds that she is looking at a face and eyes of a man. She blinks confused and then realising she is up on her feet wrenches herself away while demanding, “Who are you and what…”

Amara never gets to finish her statement as the guy before her with the amber eyes and dirty blonde hair breaks into a smirk before interjecting, “You’ve got a lot of questions I can tell, but what about introductions first?”

Amara snarls and is about to reply angrily when another voice exclaims, “Brett, what you found?”

The man before her does a half turn in the direction Amara too believes the voice has come from but that half turn affords her an opportunity. She takes it and throws herself into a run; her knee is still agonising but isn’t refusing to comply like before. The solitary woman manages three paces and then comes to an abrupt halt. Not one of her own making but due to the man having grabbed a hold of her wrist. He wrenches her back toward him tightening his grip as she goes.

“Get off me!” Amara exclaims while thrashing about desperate to break the hold on her.

“What the…” Someone explains as Amara continues to wriggle and flail.

“Calm, calm, calm. We mean you no harm. We were just hunting.” The man who has hold of Amara, Brett, swears as he whispers the words into her ear hoping that it’ll be enough.

Concluding that she will not be able to break free of this man, Amara calms some time not too long after. She doesn’t trust this man but is now aware of the presence of three others. They are clearly with and know this Brett.

“That’s better. Now I’m going to release you…” Brett explains before one of the others cuts in to remind panicked, “Brett, are you mad, she might be one of them!”

“She isn’t. I checked. Her eyes are all good, natural and human. She’s one of us. So relax and keep those guns lowered.” Brett assures in the seconds before he releases the woman he saved from the bear.

Amara spins on her heels throwing a suspicious glance at each of the quartet of human hunters who had been tracking this bear in hopes of killing it to cook for food. They never expected to find another human down here. It’s been months since they’d been forced to flee the last community they’d been a part of, but they’d been the lucky ones. They’d all heard the screams, pleas and cries. They can’t stop hearing them even now. But now they’re echoes of memories ingrained in their heads, previously they’d been real. The last uttering’s of the doomed.

“I’m Brett, but I think you know that already.” Brett admits now that the woman has stopped spinning about judging and then analysing them.

“Amara.” Is the curt response given by the woman with short scruffy looking red hair.

“Nice to meet you, but I must apologise for the circumstances and the scare. I had no choice. It was either you or the bear and we need the bear, so…” Brett shrugs as if the decision was simple and then continues. “…you know, it was better the way it panned out than what it could have been otherwise. I think you’ll agree, right?”

Amara offers no reply which unnerves Brett, though he makes sure not to show it and quickly moves on. “This here is Walt, Saskia and Abrar.” Each of the trio gives an indication to make it clear which name belongs to which individual. Though, Walt adds a “Howdy” in addition to a nod of his head when Brett calls his name.

“What are you doing here Amara?” Saskia questions suspicious of the redheaded woman who is younger, dirtier and skinnier than her.

“I live down here.”

“Hell we all live down here.” Abrar replies with a roll of his eyes before adding, “What Sas meant is; why are you here, in this area?”

“Abs, play nice.” Brett urges.

“I always play nice and it’s an honest enough question Brett come on. I know you’re asking yourself the same thing you just don’t want to get right to the meat of the conversation.”

“Ever the romantic aren’t ya?” Walt replies with a chuckle.

“Oh bite me pops.” Abrar remarks putting on an accent that is supposed to mirror Walt’s but really doesn’t.

Amara doesn’t understand these people. They make too much noise, far more than she is used to, and that’s including when she’s been in the presence of other larger groups. Still, she offers no answer to the issued question.

“OK, OK, let’s not get into a thing again. It’s been a long day and none of us are in any mood for that. And I doubt from the look on Amara’s face she is either.” Amara turns her attention toward Brett at the mentioning of her name. She had been considering attempting to flee again but such ideas were lost as soon as she heard her name.

“So, why are you in these parts Amara?” Are the next words out of Brett’s mouth. They’re met with suspicion from the solitary woman and urge Brett to add, “Maybe we can help you. After all, you did make it easier for us to get our kill.”

“Your…kill? Amara utters confused.

“The bear is what I mean by that. And you’ve never heard that before? Huh. Oh well, it doesn’t matter.” Brett seems taken aback for a bit as though Amara should know what his words meant. He quickly buries the emotion and then reminds, “You still haven’t answered my question as to why you’re around these parts.”

“Actually it was my question.” Saskia exclaims as she, Walt and Abrar busy themselves with the bear. They aren’t sure how they’ll transport it yet but it looks unlikely that they’ll be able to carry it.

Saskia was, before making her exclamation, going to suggest they carve, cook and eat it here. Then take whatever is leftover with them.

“Sas, stop looking for a fight and get back to the bear, will you?” Brett utters with a roll of his eyes that just about finishes prior to him looking at Amara so that he is ready for a response.

“I’m heading for the surface.” Amara admits sheepishly.

“Pahhahahaaaa. You have to be joking.” Abrar exclaims, only for Saskia and Walt to follow suit with, “Did you hit your head or were you born loopy?” and “That’s machine territory up on the surface now. None of us will ever get to see it again.”

“They’re right.” Brett admits mainly agreeing with Walt who is the only one whose response is actually something other than mocking. Whether Amara understands that or not he cannot say and yet he isn’t willing to make sure either. Time is short in this world for people, like them, so long gone are the days of checking and stressing to ensure you aren’t misunderstood. Brett wonders what it must have been like to have time to do that, instead of having to forever look over your shoulder. It sounds nice and yet is not a life he, or any other human, will ever get to experience.

“Then you’ll have no problem letting me be on my way then, will you?” Amara fires back sounding angrier than Brett, Walt, Saskia and Abrar think she should after what she’s said. That is if what she’s said is the truth. Saskia and Abrar have their doubts but what this woman does with her life is her own concern. She isn’t one of them, as in part of their little quartet, so they aren’t about to get involved when they have enough mouths to feed and are already struggling to do so.

“You’re running. I can see the fear. What…” Brett never gets to finish the sentence he starts as suddenly there is the unmistakable sound of energy phasing. It sizzles and cooks the air for a second before the familiar humanoid shapes of Inquisitor models, five of them, appear between Brett, Amara and Walt, Abrar and Saskia. Brett reflexively reaches out and pulls Amara round his side so that his body is between her and the Inquisitors. He prepares to fire but just as he does the Inquisitors spring into action. One grabs Saskia, another Abrar, two grab Walt and the last hurls itself at Brett, who is forced to the floor. His weapon knocked out of his hand, it skitters away. Amara backpedals instinctively but where she is heading she cannot say. What she can say is that she needs to get out of here, yet it feels wrong to abandon these people. They’re already doomed, leave them! She can’t bring herself to but hasn’t a clue what to do. Then it hits her that she needs to find Brett’s gun.

Amara begins to spin around searching desperately, with her eyes, for where the weapon might be. As she does, Abrar and Saskia draw their weapons and unload several rounds each into their captors. Saskia’s Inquisitor seems to falter and its grip weakens, but just as she tries to wrench herself away it clamps down on her wrist, crushing it. She screams and flails only for one of the Inquisitors on Walt to divert its attention toward her.

Abrar’s Inquisitor meanwhile actually releases its grip upon him which affords him the opportunity to drive the barrel into the base of the wounded machines jaw and fire several more rounds. It has the desired affect and the Inquisitor slumps to the floor.

Walt is already dead. The twin Inquisitors rendered their verdicts and executed the man for several generations’ worth of heresy and non-belief.

Abrar, now that he is free, sees the aftermath and flies into a rage firing wildly at the Inquisitor that is still standing over Walt’s shredded torso. A pool of blood continues to grow around the lifeless form. Unfortunately, just as Abrar reaches the point of collision with the Inquisitor his weapon clicks to inform it’s spent of ammunition, but with him and his enemy so close he hasn’t the time to reload. Desperate, he flips the weapon in his hand intending to use it as a club. It’s the only option available to him.

The Inquisitor ignores the aggressions of Abrar and unleashes a short volley of bullets that shred the man’s gut. However, he refuses to retreat, not that it matters to the Inquisitor who grabs Abrar by the jaw and shoves him back into the wall so hard that the rear of the man’s skull shatters, killing him.

Amara, having found Brett’s gun, leaps for the weapon. She sails through the air and as she does she dares to look in the direction of where Saskia, Walt and Abrar had been. Walt is splayed out on the floor, Abrar is slumped against a wall and Saskia, having felled two Inquisitors, is flying through the air toward the last remaining aggressor. Amara doesn’t see what happens next as she slams into the ground atop the weapon. She wraps her arms around it and pulls the weapon to her body before springing to her feet. Saskia screams. Amara turns, her eyes go wide and just in the nick of time the redhead manages to drop to her knees to avoid being caught by the projectile Saskia who carries on her trajectory, arms and legs flailing wildly. She smashes, spine first, into a support column. Her body bends the wrong way, breaking her spine at the base. She screams but Amara ignores it and rushes toward Brett, his weapon in her grip.

Out of nowhere bullets pepper the redheads’ position. They miss but Amara screams, wishing she knew how to use the weapon in her grasp. Then another round of bullets peppers her position. Sadly, this time several rounds tear through her lower legs. She screams a bloodcurdling cry and falls forward. As the ground approaches she braces and attempts to roll. It half works and her efforts are rewarded when some of brunt of the impact is absorbed. Though, she doesn’t do a complete roll and is left at an odd angle that forces her to watch as Saskia’s life is stamped, quite literally, out. Amara screams without realising it and throws the weapons in her hands toward Brett who is still somehow alive. He catches it, having seen it coming, and jabs the barrel into side of the Inquisitors neck before firing off five rounds. The Inquisitors head explodes upward and then falls back. Brett leaps to his feet. His arms are bloody from his resistance but he ignores the pain and rushes toward Amara. He never makes it as the last Inquisitor unleashes a rocket. It crosses the air in less than a second. The shaped charge in the head of the rocket explodes prior to impact. The explosion directed at Brett’s chest eviscerates him but because of its upward angle forces the bulk of the shockwave caused by the detonation upward atomising a section of the sewers roof.

Amara can hear nothing, her ears are ringing. To make matters worse her vision is doubled and even when she does risk, for fleeting seconds, to look she can see little other than flakes of debris raining down all around her. She rolls onto her back sure the Inquisitor will be upon her any second, it isn’t. She doesn’t dare consider why as she opens her eyes for what must be the seventh time. However, the view she’s greeted with on this occasion is very different, for there are copious amounts of light. Still, with her vision doubled the redhead finds it impossible for the next several dozen seconds to comprehend and consider what she might be looking at. Then, with her vision much clearer, she realises she is looking up at the world above and what she can only assume is the sky. It’s beautiful, filled with tiny specks of white light and a glow unlike she has ever seen before in her life. She tries to move but is met with nothing except severe bursts of pain. It is then that she looks down and finds her legs are mangled and bleeding. Amara ignores the feelings and manages to roll onto her stomach from her back. Her chest hurts, feels tight, and to make matters worse her breathing is laboured, though she urges her arms to comply to her issued commands. She refuses to miss this opportunity; she has to see the sky without being down in these sewers. It’s something she has wanted since she was a little girl, so she begins to crawl. It’s hard going and the rubble that had been the roof of the sewer is sharp and shifts causing her more difficulty than she believes should be facing her considering what she has suffered.

Amara doesn’t dare consider what might happen next, once she has seen the sky. She knows but she refuses to think about it even as she slips back several difficult pulls as a result of the shifting debris.

It takes her minutes to crawl out of the sewer and onto the surface of the world. It’s the first time in her life she has ever been on the surface, but all she can do is stare up at the stars in the clear night sky. It’s wondrous and far more beautiful than she ever dreamed it could be, and yet it isn’t the sight that was explained to her, she knows that. She still wouldn’t trade this moment for anything however.

Then she feels and hears the Inquisitor approach. The ground rumbles under its heavy footsteps. But Amara makes no attempts to turn and face it. She just keeps staring up at the sky. It will be the last thing she sees, that is her decision. No machine, Inquisitor or not, will take that away from her as she lies outside the limits of the city, bleeding to death in the dirt that is the arid land that surrounds the megatropolis of the machines with clean air in her lungs and a cool breeze on her skin.