our squad settled into Gray Horse, a young prisoner named Mathilda Perez was escaping from Camp Scarsdale. She fled to New York City with her little brother, Nolan, in tow. In this recollection, Mathilda (age twelve) describes her interaction with the NYC resistance group, headed by Marcus and Dawn Johnson.
I didn’t think Nolan was hurt that bad at first.
We made it to the city and then we ran around a corner and something exploded and Nolan fell down. But he got right back up. We were running so fast together, hand in hand. Just like I promised Mom. We ran until we were safe.
It was only later, when we were walking again, that I noticed how pale Nolan was. Later, I found out that tiny splinters of metal were stuck in his lower back. But there he stood, shaking like a leaf.
“Are you okay, Nolan?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “My back hurts.”
He’s so little and brave that it makes me want to cry. But I can’t cry. Not anymore.
The machines at Camp Scar hurt me. They took my eyes. But in return, they gave me a new kind of eyes. Now I can see more than ever. Vibrations in the ground light up like ripples on water. I notice the heat trails left on the pavement by wheels that have come and gone. But my favorite thing is watching the ribbons of light crisscrossing the sky, like messages printed on banners. These beams are the machines talking to one another. Sometimes, if I squint really hard, I can even make out what they are saying.
People are harder to see.
I can’t really see Nolan anymore, only the heat from his breath, the muscles in his face, and how he won’t look me in the eyes anymore. It doesn’t matter. If I have people eyes or machine eyes or tentacles—I’m still Nolan’s big sister. It scared me the first time I saw through his skin, so I know how he feels when he sees my new eyes. But I don’t care.
Mom was right. Nolan is the only brother I’ve got and the only one I’ll ever have.
After we left Camp Scar, me and Nolan saw tall buildings and we walked toward them, thinking maybe we’d find people. But there was nobody around. Or if there were, I guess they were hiding. Pretty soon, we reached the buildings. Most of them were all messed up. There were suitcases in the streets and dogs running in packs and sometimes the curled-up bodies of dead people. Something bad happened here.
Something bad happened everywhere.
The closer we got to the really tall buildings, the more I could
Some of the lights blinked regular, every couple of minutes or seconds. Those are the hiding machines, checking in with their bosses. “I’m still here,” they say. “Waiting.”
I hate these machines. They make traps and then wait for people. It’s not fair. A robot can just sit and wait to hurt somebody. And it can wait forever and ever.
But Nolan is hurt and we need to find help fast. I steer us away from the trap makers and the travelers. But my new eyes don’t show me everything. They can’t show me people things. Now, I only see the
It’s dangerous to be people-blind.
The way looked clear. No machine chatter. No shimmering heat trails. Then, small ripples pulsed over the ground from around the corner of a brick building. Instead of a slow swell like from something rolling, they were bouncy, like something big walking.
“It’s not safe here,” I say.
I put an arm around Nolan’s shoulders and steer him into a building. We crouch next to a dust-coated window. I nudge Nolan to sit on the floor.
“Stay down,” I say. “Something is coming.”
He nods. His face is so pale now.
Kneeling, I press my face into a broken-out corner of the window and hold very still. The vibrations are growing on the crushed pavement outside, pulses of static flooding from somewhere out of view. A monster is coming down the road. Soon, I will be able to see it, whether I want to or not.
I hold my breath.
Somewhere outside, a hawk cries. A long black leg pokes into view, only a foot or two outside the window. It has a sharp point on the end and flake-shaped barbs carved underneath, like a big bug leg. Most of the thing is cold, but the joints are hot where it has been moving. As it slides farther into view, I see that it is really a much longer leg folded in on itself—all coiled up and ready to strike. Somehow, it floats over the ground, aimed straight out.
Then, I see a pair of warm human hands. The hands are holding the leg like a rifle. It’s a black woman, wearing gray rags and a pair of black goggles over her eyes. She holds the coiled leg thing out like a weapon, one hand wrapped around a homemade grip. I see a shiny, melted spot on the back end of the leg and realize that this leg has been cut off some kind of big walking machine. The woman doesn’t see me; she keeps walking.
Nolan coughs quietly.
The woman spins around and on instinct she levels the leg at the window. She pulls a trigger, and the coiled leg unfolds and launches itself forward. The point of the claw crashes through the glass next to my face, sending shards flying everywhere. I duck out of the way just as the leg folds back up again, clawing out a chunk of the window frame. I fall onto my back, caught in sudden glaring light streaming through the shattered window. I make a squeaking scream before Nolan clamps a hand over my mouth.
A face appears in the window. The woman pulls her goggles onto her forehead, ducks her head in and out in a quick movement. Then she looks down at me and Nolan. There is so much light around her head and her skin is cold and I can count her bright teeth through her cheeks.
She has seen my eyes but she doesn’t flinch. She just studies me and Nolan for a second, grinning.
“Sorry about that, kids,” she says. “Thought you were Rob. My name is Dawn. Any chance you guys are hungry?”
Dawn is nice. She takes us to the underground hideout where the New York City resistance lives. The tunnel house is empty for now, but Dawn says that pretty soon the others will be back from scouting and scavenging and something called chaperoning. I’m glad, because Nolan doesn’t look very well. He is lying on a sleeping bag in the safest corner of the room. I’m not sure he can walk anymore.
This place is warm and it feels safe, but Dawn says to be quiet and careful because some of the newer robots now can dig very well. She says the little machines patiently burrow through the cracks and they go toward vibrations. Meanwhile, the big machines hunt people in the tunnels.
This makes me nervous and I check the walls around us for vibrations. I don’t see any of the familiar pulses rippling through the soot-stained tile. Dawn looks at me funny when I tell her that nothing is in the walls right now. But she doesn’t say anything about my eyes, not yet.
Instead, Dawn lets me play with the bug leg. It is called a spiker. Just like I thought, the spiker came off a big walking machine. This machine is called a mantis, but Dawn says that she calls it “Crawly Rob.” It’s a silly name and it makes me laugh for a second until I remember that Nolan is hurt very bad.
I squint my eyes and look
Then the spiker jerks around in my hands and I drop it on the ground. It lies there for a second, still. When I concentrate on the joints, the machine stretches itself out slowly, like a cat.
I feel a hand on my shoulder. Dawn stands next to me, her face radiating heat. She is excited.
“That’s incredible. Let me show you something,” she says.
Dawn leads me over to a sheet hanging from the wall. She pulls it aside, and I see a dark hollow filled with a crouching nightmare. Dozens of spider legs lurk there in the darkness, just a few feet away. I have seen this machine before. It was my last natural sight.
