Words. They fill the emptiness and then melt away as if they were never there. I shake my head, glance over at the pitchfork resting against the wall. “I should’ve died with them, but I’m still here. Why am I still here?”
Before Lucas can answer I hear rumbling outside. A distant sound like shuffling thunder. A familiar sound.
The sound of BattleMechs on the road.
“I think we have company,” I say.
Lucas’s expression doesn’t change, but he steps forward and waves at me to follow.
We move deeper into the shadows. There’s a storage locker at the back of the barn, with a heavy wooden door that swings open with a groan when Lucas tugs at the handle. He steps inside, switches on a light. “Plenty of fresh manure in the barn and a lot of hot air outside Should mess up a ’Mech’s monitors pretty good. Con wasn’t fooling—these new guys can be pretty nasty if they get a bee in their helmets.”
He smiles as if remembering I already know this.
The barn may have brought back some nostalgic memories, but closed-in spaces bring back memories of war. Of death. Of pain. I take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Gather my energy like a coiled serpent ready to strike...
...and force my muscles to relax. I’ve already brought enough trouble to those I care about. I step inside. Look Lucas in the eye.
“How do you clean memories from your mind, Mr. Lucas? How do you let go?” I lean up against the wall, wrap my arms around my waist. “I can’t get her picture out of my head. Every time I look at a ’Mech, I see her face, charred so badly I only know it’s her because of the medallion she wore around her neck. For good luck, she said. But where was luck when her system malfunctioned? When she was trapped inside that burning hulk of metal?”
“If I had the answer to that question, son, I’d be doing more’n sitting here on this farm waiting for ’Mechs to tromp through my crops.” Lucas starts to close the door, then stops. “I’ll leave it cracked for you, but the light’ll have to go.”
I nod as he switches off the light and eases the door shut.
The room is pitch black until my eyes make the adjustment. Something rustles in the back. Habit forces my hand to the knife sheath, pulls the blade free before I make any conscious decision. A small slice of light sneaks through the cracked door and glows across my blade. I feel the edge, razor sharp and ready to kill. Listen for the rustle.
But whoever—whatever—is in the back of this room is quiet now. Listening for me.
Voices whisper in the corner of my mind. Living nightmares of the dead who can no longer speak. I press the knife against my palm to drive the voices away. Turn my thoughts to the barn and the last words I’d heard my father speak.
“Killing ain’t the answer, boy. Never was. Never will be. You’re nothing but six legs and a strong back far as the military’s concerned—a mountain mule willing to give his soul for a pat on the nose. Our place is here, working with the land. All killing ever got anybody like us is dead.”
Sometime during the last few years my father’s words, words spoken so long ago the memory was just a dusting upon my mind, began to make sense.
Doubt—in the system, in my superiors—crept through my being like an insidious disease, worming its way through my thoughts until every order was suspect, every action tinged with uncertainty. Yet I continued to follow orders until those same orders killed my comrades.
My friends.
The ground trembles—a vibration you can feel in your feet, but can’t see with your eyes. I know from the feel the contingent approaching is small. Probably a single ’Mech on security patrol. From Lucas’s reaction this isn’t an uncommon occurrence, just an unwelcome one, though why ’Mechs are patrolling this area is something I can’t quite figure.
Unless they’re searching for deserters.
My heart skips a beat. My breath quickens. A small part of my mind notices the fear, the anticipation before the feeling slips away. My body is ready to react, like a well-oiled machine, a machine I no longer want any part of.
Another feeling slides through the crack that’s starting to open in my shell. Shame. I came home looking for answers, not to hide in the dark.
I ease open the storage room door, look around before making my move. The barn appears empty. Hay muffles my footsteps as I steal across the open floor and take up position beside the huge doorway.
From my post I can make out the approaching ’Mech—a scarred BH-K305 Battle Hawk. Sunlight slants across the yard, bounces off the metal body in a flash of blinding light. The machine stops, its huge legs casting shadows from the evening sun across the barn. Lucas stands calmly before the ’Mech, rifle resting in the crook of his arm.
Adrenaline stings my gut and pulses through my veins. Have I judged Lucas right? Is the man who now owns my daddy’s house the man I think he is?
A gray-haired woman—sturdy as the land she helps tend—steps out on the porch. I can feel anxiety radiating from her straight mouth. She clenches a towel in her hands, wrings the cloth like a chicken being killed for dinner. Lucas waves her away. After a brief pause, she stomps inside and slams the porch door behind her.
I center myself, try to stem the flow of paranoia. My throat clogs as I watch the Battle Hawk shut down. The egress hatch opens and a chain link ladder clanks down the ’Mech’s side. A pilot—dressed in legless suit and boots—steps from the hatch, his sweat-plastered hair glistening wetly in the sun. The
