Cryo-Man (Cryo-Man series, #1) (14 page)

The sound of scrambling footsteps snaps my mind out of its reverie. It comes from down a nearby hallway connected to the lobby. I rush after the sound, once again calling out my peaceful intentions. I try to be light on my feet but my footsteps are heavy and thunderous, causing the walls to shake and more dust to kick up. I don’t want to frighten anyone but I can’t hide that I’m no longer a normal sight to behold.

“Don’t be afraid,” I call out, my voice hollow within the glass dome yet echoing down the hallway.

I stop to listen for any more movement but hear nothing. I pass several doors along the way and begin to push them open. Some apartments are destroyed and full of junk, others unnaturally empty, as though someone has picked through them. But when I push open a door halfway down the hallway – mistakenly snapping off several locks in the process – I look into a living room that’s surprisingly clean and well furnished. There’s no way this apartment survived the explosion in such pristine condition.

“Is anyone in here?” I ask. “Please, I don’t want trouble. My friend is hurt, he’s a… a human, just like I used to be. I’m looking for any food or medicine you can spare.”

No response. I step inside and glance around for any sign that someone’s here but I don’t see or hear anyone. The furniture inside is sleek, the style of the apartment sparkly and strange, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Upon closer inspection, the couches and chairs have rips in the fabric and chunks out of their metallic frames. They don’t appear to match one another and it’s pretty obvious they’ve been scavenged from the empty apartments. Several more holographic paintings hang – or is it float? – on surrounding walls, the images brighter and clearer than the one from the lobby. I’d love to get a closer look at them, figure out how they work, but I spot the kitchen off to the side and rush into it.

The kitchen is just as clean but doesn’t look as futuristic as the rest of the place. A couple appliances are a mystery to me but for the most part the kitchen doesn’t look different from how it would’ve during my time. I’ve finally found a place that should hold food but when I open the cabinets, I find them bare. I grow more desperate with each one I open so by the time I reach the last one, I pull the door off its hinge and find it just as empty as the rest.

I turn to the fridge, which isn’t even powered on. Not surprisingly, there’s nothing inside. I feel more deflated than ever and rush through the rest of the apartment, looking for a bathroom in the hopes of finding some kind of antibiotics or painkillers or aspirin. But there’s not so much as a single bandage in the entire place. Frustrated, I stomp out of the bathroom, my thunderous footsteps causing something to fall and break somewhere in the apartment.

I push my way through other apartment doors and find the same mix of empty homes and others well preserved. Regardless of condition, they’re all devoid of supplies. I still feel the odd tingling of someone nearby but I no longer waste time with caution. As I search yet another room, I catch movement from the corner of my eye and realize it’s coming from outside. The window blinds are closed but when I try to open them, I realize there’s no drawstring to lift them up. The windows beyond are heavily tinted, obscuring my view of who’s out there, though I see the shadows of several large shapes approaching.

Paranoia has set in and I’m certain a band of evil humans has arrived to rob this place. I don’t know who’s sticking to the shadows in this building but we’re in this together now. I rush out of this apartment and back into the main hallway.

“Someone is coming,” I call out, my voice booming in the silence. “Please, I need supplies more than they do.”

Only one door remains at the end of the hallway and without hesitation I kick my way in, determined to search it before the others arrive. My mind already formulates plans to go to higher floors and hurry my search, try to stay one level above the intruders at all times. But those plans – as well as my own two feet – come to a screeching halt the moment I step inside that last apartment.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A band of humans stands in a row, facing me. Some of their faces are shrouded like E’s but most don’t bother to hide their grotesque mutations. I shouldn’t be surprised to see that more people suffered like E but I doubt it’s a sight I’ll ever grow accustomed to. In fact, I stare at their deformities for so long that I nearly miss the fact that they’re all armed, albeit with mostly primitive weapons like slingshots, chunks of concrete and sharpened pieces of twisted metal.

              But one human stands out above all others. Not only is he taller and larger than the others, he also holds what looks to be some sort of gun, though it’s bigger and has a wider barrel than I’ve ever seen.

             
“Move another inch and I’ll fry your core,” the armed man says, a line of drool escaping the corner of his cracked lips. His eyes are so swollen that I’m surprised he can see me but his weapon never strays from my chest.

             
“What
are
you?” asks another person, this one a woman… at least I think.

             
Most of the humans appear confused at the sight of me; others look to be downright disgusted, as if
I’m
a worse atrocity than they are.

             
“I need whatever food and medicine you can spare,” I say. “My creator is hurt and hungry.”

             
I suddenly notice two things beyond the humans. First are several younger kids curled up in the corner of the room, trying to hide their faces but stealing peeks at me. More importantly are the supplies gathered in several small piles. Despite having a gun aimed at me, it’s a relief to see there’s still
something
salvageable in this land of destruction.

             
“Please, I don’t need a lot,” I say, taking a few steps forward.

             
The humans tense. Those with the equivalent of sticks and stones back away, realizing their weapons will do nothing to scratch my metallic exterior.  But the man with the gun does not budge.

             
“Stop!” the human leader yells. At first I think he’s brave to stand up to me but I see that he looks just as nervous as the others, his eyes darting all around and behind me. “Are you alone?”

             
“Yes,” I say. “And I don’t want a fight. I’m just trying to help the man that saved my life.”

             
The human leader seems to consider this for a moment but his eyes remain wide, jittery. He shakes his head and the large gun rattles in his hand; I’m worried he’ll pull the trigger whether he intends to or not. The man makes me nervous. What I initially thought was a look of fear in his eyes is something different, something more sinister. I wonder if the neurotoxin has affected the minds of these humans more than their physical appearances.

“Maybe we can work together,” I say. “I know a safe place where you and your people could live. It might help limit the deterioration of your bodies.”

One of the women groans and places a hand against her face. The human leader’s eyes turn down as he seems to consider my offer. But his cracked lips curl into an evil sneer, displaying a mouthful of rotted teeth stained with blood.

“You call
us
deteriorated?” he says, spittle flying from his mouth. “And you expect us to believe the words of a bucket of bolts because it’s got a freakish human head spiked to the top? We’ve heard about your robot tricks; we won’t let you lead us to our deaths. You won’t take us down without a fight.”

The others take strength from their leader and step forward, a few offering high-pitched, inhuman grunts of agreement. A little boy – his face heavily scarred – tries to join the rest of the adults but the woman shoos him away. Seeing the child makes me think of the boy from my memory; the emptiness I feel in my chest has nothing to do with my mechanical innards. The boy looks at me in awe and for a moment, I forget that a gun is leveled at me. But seeing the leader’s hands shaking more uncontrollably snaps me back to reality.

“I have no weapon,” I say, showing them my hands and arms. “And for the record, I never asked to be turned into this. I was once a regular person, just like you, but I became sick and would’ve died if my creator didn’t help.”

“I’d rather die than be turned into
that
,” the leader snaps.

I’m getting nowhere with this guy. I’m probably lucky he hasn’t pulled the trigger yet. I’d rather handle this situation peacefully but I’m starting to understand why E was skeptical about my chances of dealing with humans. I turn to the woman, who continues to shield her child from getting closer. She’s just as deformed as the leader – her eyes just as wild, darting all around – but her concern for the child tells me she still has a hint of humanity within her.

“Please, I have my own boy; I miss him with all my heart,” I plead to her. “If my creator doesn’t get food or medicine, he’ll die, and so will my chances to get back memories of my child.”

The woman seems to look all around me without ever looking
at
me. But she slowly lowers her metallic spear and puts her arm around the boy.

“Where you from?” she asks.

“It doesn’t matter,” the leader snaps at her. “You can’t trust him.”

“You
can
,” I say.

The leader rushes angrily toward me until his gun is only inches from my chest. I think I’m quick enough to snatch it from his hand but I’m afraid what that will cause, afraid how the other humans would react – and in turn, how
I
would be forced to react to
them
.

“Let’s listen to what he’s gotta say,” the woman says. “If not for our sake, for the kids. They deserve better than ending up like us.”

“And you expect that
thing
to give them a better life? It would just as soon snap your neck than help.”

“You mean the way it already has?” she fires back at the leader. “How many boltheads you seen stop to talk instead of shooting first?”

The man still sneers but takes a small step back. I’m beginning to wonder if I misjudged the
real
leader of this group.

“What’s your story?” the woman asks.

“I… I don’t really know much about myself,” I say honestly. “I was revived deep underground in a facility for – ”

The same shadows pass along this apartment’s windows. Any human that lowered their weapon suddenly snaps to full attention, though none look at me. Everyone turns toward the window and the man with the gun rushes across the room to look through the blinds. I don’t know why they’d be so nervous of other humans outside, though the shadows through the windows seem to rise much higher than the people in this room…

“It’s a whole death squad!” the man with the gun hisses. The rest of the humans gasp in fear. “He brought them here, must be some kind of scout. I told you we couldn’t trust this thing.”

The gun is once again leveled at my chest. I shake my head and turn back to the woman, whose eyes have gone wide and seem to glow red with a combination of anger and fear.

“No, it’s not what you – ”

I don’t get out my explanation before the woman attacks, hurling the spear at my chest. I turn out of the way but not before it cracks against once of my solar panels and ricochets off. The rest of the humans descend upon me, pouncing with a rabid fury, striking me with weak weapons. I raise my hands to defend myself but resist the urge to fight back. I don’t know what’s happening – or what a ‘death squad’ even means – but I still hope to avoid hurting anyone.

“Stand back!” yells the man with the gun.

I know what he’s planning and shake my head to stop him. But most of the humans immediately follow orders and the man doesn’t hesitate to fire. I react instantly, the girth of my massive body accelerating faster than what seems possible. I don’t know if there’s such thing as robotic adrenaline but a blast of it flows through me.

I leap to the side and run along a nearby wall as the man pulls the trigger. My body is parallel to the floor as a ball of static blue light crackles beneath me, barely missing my body. In the split second I see it, I realize the strange electrical pulse would
not
do wonders for circuitry inside my metallic body.

I expect to land on my feet but feel a momentary loss of power; I must not have been far enough from the pulse to avoid being affected. I collapse to the floor. Though I never lose consciousness and continue to hear frightened cries from the humans, my vision goes black for a moment and I’m afraid I’ll shut off and die. But my power
loss
is more like a power
flicker
and my vision returns soon enough to see the electrical pulse crash into one of the humans that didn’t get out of the way quickly enough.

In an instant, the human is fried to a crisp, his body crumbling to burnt pieces before it even hits the ground. I stand and stare at the pile of ashes that had been a living person just seconds ago. I want to apologize for what happened but the apartment bursts into chaos. The humans cry out in shock and scatter, leaving the man with the gun as my only real threat. The time for diplomacy is over.

“Shoot it!” the woman yells as she gathers up her child.

“The damn thing has to recharge!” the man says.

At first I think he’s talking about me until I see him staring down at his gun, shaking it. My first instinct is to escape among the chaos but I came here for supplies. Leaving empty handed is not an option. With a single bound, I land in front of the armed man. The apartment door explodes behind us and the rest of the humans scream. The man’s eyes widen with fear but I hit him with a backhand as he raises the pulse gun. He’s somehow able to get off a wayward shot that doesn’t come close to hitting me. I didn’t mean to hit him so hard but the man’s body soars across the room and smashes into a wall. There’s a sickening thud followed by the crunch of bones as his limp form crumbles to the floor. I know he’s dead.

I feel the shadow looming behind me and turn in time to see another robot collapse in the doorway, tiny flashes of electric static running along the length of its body. The man might not have hit me with his final shot but that doesn’t mean his aim was off.

“Run!” another human yells.

A second robot begins to push its way by the fried one blocking the doorway. The humans with the best primitive weapons race toward the door, fighting what will clearly be a losing battle. Even with its path blocked, the functioning robot immediately shoots and kills a pair of humans. Despite nearly being killed myself, I want to help these people though I know I can’t risk E’s life by staying here.

I turn toward the pile of supplies, most of which have been picked clean by the women and children that rush to the far side of the apartment. The young boy from earlier trips over a tin can, his tiny arms filled with too many supplies to carry. I offer a hand to help him up but the boy looks frightened, not that I blame him.

             
“I won’t hurt you,” I say.

             
“Stay away from him!” the woman yells.

             
When I turn to look at her, the boy stands up and scrambles away, joining what I assume to be his mother. The woman grabs a sleek chair and hurls it through a nearby window. With as many supplies as she can carry and the boy in tow, the pair of them climbs outside as the squad of robots pushes into the apartment. Several bullets slam into the window frame a split second after the boy is gone. The sight of him in trouble makes me want the memories of my own boy even more.

             
I turn and grab as many scattered supplies as I can. There’s not much – certainly not enough to justify how long I’ve been gone or how much danger I’ve faced – but at least it’s something. I glance back to the apartment door a final time, where robots have finished dealing with the pesky humans, all of whom are on the floor, already dead or nearly there. I’m not sure if the ‘death squad’ has identified me as an enemy but I don’t plan on hanging around long enough to find out. I run down the small hallway to the back of the apartment, collecting everything dropped by fleeing humans.

             
The window in the back bedroom has also been broken and I look out to see mostly women and children scattering across the massive debris field. Considering their fear, full arms, poisoned bodies and the beginnings of nightfall, I’m surprised how well they leap from one rubble pile to the next. I follow in their tracks and hear several people yelling in fear; they still don’t realize I’m not the enemy, though I guess nothing has happened to suggest otherwise.

             
A long burst of gunfire erupts from within the building. I imagine that the few human fighters to initially survive the robot attack have now been put out of their misery. A deep rumbling shakes beneath my feet and I look back to see part of the building starting to sway. I don’t know how it survived K’s bomb so long ago but the building doesn’t seem likely to survive this robot attack. Several assassin bots appear in the busted window frame and I watch them take aim at fleeing humans, aiming their weapons to begin picking them off.