alive, slide it over a metal skeleton so you can’t tell who’s human and who’s a machine.”
Ever positive, Virginia refused to accept the nightmare scenario.
“If that was true, there’d be no survivors to escape and tell that story.”
The Frenchman was shaking his head. “What I would not give for a tomato. And a sip of a decent shiraz.”
The woman who held a different theory crawled back to her space.
“I don’t know if one is true or the other. It’s just what I heard.”
This time the man who had voiced the terrible possibility voided his frustration on her instead of Reese.
“What difference does it make? So they intend to kill us, or dissect us, or make us slaves. What does the method matter if the end is the same?” He let his gaze roam around the interior of their traveling prison. “What we should be doing instead of thinking about how we’re going to die is trying to come up with a way to save ourselves. Look at us. We’re in a cattle car. We’re on the way to the slaughterhouse!”
While Virginia was hopeful, she was also practical.
“What can we do right now? We’re trapped in here.”
The man’s voice rose to a snarl.
“See what toaster’s piloting this plane and take it over.”
“And crash us into the ground?” Reese shot back. “Besides, what would you suggest we do? Hold a gun to the onboard computer and threaten to blow its circuits out? We don’t have any weapons anyway.” He leaned back against the inner wall of the compartment, one arm draped loosely over his right knee. “No. I’m with you when it comes to trying a breakout, but not while we’re an unknown number of feet above the ground. We hold tight, wait until we land, and then look for the right spot and time to make a move.”
“Yeah, that’ll work,” the man growled. “Wait until we land and they dump us in a pot, or whatever.” His hands bunched into fists. “I’m not waiting around for whatever the machines got in store for me. I’m fighting back now.” He let his gaze sweep the compartment. “Who’s with me?”
The gauntlet he threw down was allowed to lie where it fell as his challenge was met by a deafening silence from the rest of the downcast prisoners. He kicked at the unyielding floor, unable to scuff the smoothly machined surface.
“Cowards.”
Ignoring him, Reese shifted Star against him. Having moved to join them, Virginia took one of the little girl’s hands in her own. “I’m going to tell you a story. Guaranteed to make you smile. Okay?”
Staring up at her, Star nodded.
But she did not smile back.
***
It was raining hard and Wright was cold again. The downpour didn’t seem to bother Williams. Or maybe she was just one of those stoic types who like to pretend they are immune to whatever the world cared to throw at them, be it bad weather, harsh language, or explosive projectiles. He had known many people like that and thought it a foolish way to go through life. Marcus Wright had never seen much point in trying to deny reality.
They had arrived at a racing arena of some sort, and clearly it had been a long time since anyone had taken a victory lap around the old racetrack. With humankind locked in a battle for its very survival against the machines, the devotion—even in another era—of so much time and effort to something so superfluous seemed not merely wasteful but obscene. Wright didn’t care whether the track had been home to pointlessly circling horses, deceived dogs, or supercharged engines masquerading as cars. What mattered now was that it offered the promise of shelter from the elements, which was more valuable than anything it had ever hawked when performing its intended function.
The first overhang they encountered was not large, but it was intact and kept off the rain. Moving as far in away from the weather as the structure would allow, Williams regarded their surroundings with satisfaction. They should be safe here for a while. Though the machines were immune to the rain, they preferred not to operate during strong downpours. Heavy rain complicated electronic perception of their surroundings and occasionally interfered with bipedal movement. Even the most powerful machines preferred to operate on a stable surface rather than mud.
“Looks like a good place to camp for the night.” Williams took a last glance at the compass before flipping it shut and slipping it back into her suit pocket. “I think if we can maintain the same pace as today, we can make it to my base by tomorrow night.”
Wright’s attention remained focused on their surroundings. The track was a useful place to stay because the open area fronting their shelter would allow them to see anything that was approaching while it was still a good distance off. Personally, except for the chill, he was enjoying the rain. In a world gone mad it was a familiar and insofar as he could determine unaffected companion from the past.
Turning away from the wind- and water-swept track, he watched as Williams slipped the pack off her back. She was moving slowly, deliberately. Using both hands she lowered her service belt to the ground. Eschewing comment, he took note of the holster and the oversized pistol it held. That was when he saw the dark stain that had soaked part of her flight suit. She winced as she dragged off the underjacket. As his eyes roved over her, his gaze settled on the gash above her arm. Something gleamed there that was not exposed flesh. In addition to dried blood he saw glints of metal. Evidently not all of her downed aircraft had been washed away by the river. Some of it was still stuck in her shoulder. The wound continued to seep blood, but not copiously. It was not a lethal injury, but it must have been a painful one.
His lips tightened. He ought to have asked how she was feeling. But in the course of the entire long afternoon’s march, she hadn’t said a word about the presence of the shrapnel.
He moved nearer, studying the injury with interest.
“You’re hurt.”
She waved him away.
