The Dark Knight (Apocalypse Weird 2) (14 page)

Bertram chewed his thick lower lip.

“Now,” said Cade quietly.  “Let’s drop off the net and close
her down.  I’ve covered our routers in old received message traffic.  They’ll
think we’re just another dead station sending and receiving on automatic.”

Bertram reached down and physically disconnected the
routers.

“Should we shut down the mainframe in the library?” asked
Cade.

If they did, thought Bertram of the salvaged mainframe, it
might not ever come back online again.  One day, if the library didn’t get new
equipment, that was going to happen. 

One day.

“No.”

They watched their double-blind monitored routers.  The
pings danced all over the place.  The lag was the lag.  Nothing stabilized. 
Nothing was fixed.  Nothing suddenly improved.  If the Hound had gotten lost
somewhere in Tustin, they’d never know.  If it had gotten close, they might
know.  If it found them, well, they said “SkyNet” or whatever the dammed thing
called itself could nuke from orbit if it was important enough.

If it knew, thought Bertram to himself, that we’re the last
storehouse of all human knowledge, it wouldn’t even hesitate to drop a bomb on
us, right now.

They watched everything for another hour, switching the
cameras between all the feeds outside while monitoring the root systems crawl. 
Watching for changes.  Cade continued, long after Bertram had gone back to the
views on the CCTV.  The empty road.  The ruins of the silent gray high school
near the bridge.  The worn out frozen cars along the freeway heading south,
forever not making their way to safety.  Forever not escaping the last day of
human civilization.

Night was coming on.  The winds were picking up outside.  A
camera showed a gray and white grainy image of fast moving thunderclouds out
beyond the coastal hills.  Bertram didn’t need color to know everything outside
was gray and covered in blasting grit and ash from a thermonuclear holocaust
twenty-five years gone.

He moved closer to the space heater and thought a bit more
of the stew might be nice for the evening.  He looked forward to shutting down
for the night.  At midnight.  Then he could crawl into his bunk with a Raymond
Chandler and pretend Los Angeles still existed.  The way it had been, back
then.  Long before he’d ever been born.

In the last of the washed out daylight, they saw Cory appear
on a grainy grey and white CCTV monitor.  He climbed the embankment near the
old transformer station below the library.  Out of the dead swamp alongside the
railroad tracks.  Cory stood in the alleyway, dressed in a mask and cape.  The
cape flew away from his large body in the oncoming storm.

“Look at this,” said Bertram.

Cade sent himself in his rolling chair along the battery of
monitors and crashed into Bertram’s chair.  “Is it him?”

Bertram shook his head slowly.

“No, doesn’t look like the guy we’ve been seeing.  Not at
all.”

“So if it isn’t him,” asked Cade.  “Then who is it?”

Cory had wandered through the fog as
the buzzing of the insects grew louder and louder.  At first it sounded tiny
and close.  Like another gnat.  He’d even slapped at the air around him, waving
the insect away as it came near and then flew off, or so he imagined.  The fog
grew thick and swirled about, so thick that Cory couldn’t even see the ground,
while the buzzing grew and grew as if many, many insects were everywhere,
hovering and dashing.  And then there was a moment...

... as though a soap bubble had bent and then burst.

... as though a bell, deep and low, had been struck.

... as though that sound were so ingrained into the very
fabric of the universe that once it sounded, it was as though it had sounded in
many places all at once.  Its echo seemed to reverberate through everything,
even one’s mind.

The air was much colder now.  Less sweet.  It tasted of ash
and dust and iron, and even though there was fog, the air was dry and the fog
was disappearing as Cory pushed through withered skeletal trees and dry, dead
grass grown very tall.  Cory approached a small slope covered in piles of
ancient dead, brown, black and occasional crimson leaves.

Cory followed a barely worn path to the embankment, turning
once to look back for the strangers that must have followed him down into the
swamp.  The sky was dark, fading to black.  Early evening and cold. 
Instinctively, Cory looked for the moon. 

If Daddy is in trouble, he thought, I’ll see the Bat Signal
on the moon.

But there was no moon and the clouds seemed to rush across
the sky.

Goosebumps rose along Cory’s exposed arms.  The air was
growing colder by the second.  The sweat under his mask was freezing.

Cory climbed the hill, came to a small crumbling set of
stone steps guarded by rusty handrails, and pulled himself over and onto the
cracked steps of the narrow stairway.  Dead weeds pushed up through the cracks
in the concrete.  He followed the narrow stairs up to a rusting chain link
fence and pushed through an old gate that swung open on a creaking note above
the rising howl of the wind.

A rectangular building with a roof like a flat hat, or
that’s how it looked to Cory, waited, surrounded by a leaf-covered parking lot
that bore great cracks and rents in it.  Faded black and rusty brown leaves
stirred and spun in sudden chaotic gusts.

The building looked familiar to Cory, but somehow
different.  More worn out.  Older than it should have been.  It looked like the
community library he and Daddy would sometimes go to on their “hikes”.

Beyond the low flat square of the building, the shattered
remains of a tall bell tower loomed against the night-dark storm. 
Neighborhoods, at once familiar and different to Cory, rose away on the low
hills surrounding the place.  All the houses were covered in ash and blackened
as though by some great firestorm.  Gaping dark holes and burned out structures
sprawled beneath rotting black timbers that seemed to strike a gallows’ pose in
the early evening.  The black holes of windowless spaces reminded Cory of the
depthless eye holes in the mask of the Scarecrow.

Cory shivered.

And then a dog came around the side of the familiar-not
familiar flat-hat building.

To Cory, the dog was like a police dog because it was a
German Shepard, even though Cory didn’t known what a German Shepherd was.  He
only knew that Officer Wong, one of Daddy’s friends, had a dog that looked like
this one.

The dog stopped near some steps leading up to the building
and watched Cory.

Cory liked dogs.  He walked forward, putting both hands out,
and after a moment the German shepherd approached, sniffing Cory’s hands. 
First one, then the other.  Then the dog heeled, looked over its shoulder and
beat its tail against the crumbling parking lot as Cory rubbed its neck and
stroked its sides in the rushing wind that seemed to rise and howl through the
ruins all around.

“Be careful with strange dogs, Cory,” he whispered to
himself.  Then, as he patted the friendly dog some more, “be careful,” he
whispered again, repeating Daddy’s instructions.

Now there was a man standing on the steps where the dog had
first appeared.  He was tall and rangy and thin.  He wore a ratty old cowboy
hat.  He had a scraggly beard and long hair.  He was dressed in a heavy coat
and warm clothing.  He raised a hand covered in a fingerless mitten and waved
to Cory.

“Howdy, stranger,” said Cade, holding the high explosive
white phosphorus grenade behind his back and out of sight.

Cory stood.  The dog crossed back to the man in the cowboy
hat, then turned back to Cory who remained standing and silent.

The wind howled and roared all about them, sending more
leaves off in sudden meaningless cyclones.  The air felt dry and cold.

“Whatcha doin’ out here,” asked Cade, adding, “Friend,” at
the end.

Cory shook his head only slightly, meaning to answer, but
unsure if this man was a stranger also.  Cory reviewed his understanding of
strangers.  From the initial explanation by Daddy, and then onto teachers, and
finally the ones he’d met recently in the night and with the girl named Heather
who’d gone off with the mean boys.

And Mrs. Sheinman.

Cade slipped his finger around the pin ring on the grenade. 
All he’d have to do is flick his finger and the pin would come loose.  Hold it
away from the grenade as he rolled it at the Terminator.  The killing machine. 
The infiltration unit.

He’s big enough to be one, Cade said to himself.

“I’m looking for Daddy,” said Cory, calling out above the
now blasting wind.

Damn, thought Cade.  Damn.

The Cans were getting good.  Better than they ever had
been.  There were rumors they even had infiltration units that could fool the
dogs.  Maybe this was one of ‘em.

But Cade had to make sure.

Wasting a human life was one thing.  There were so few left
to fight the Cans.  Every loss was just more damage to the gene pool, a cup of
spilled water, really.  And then there was the grenade which was another
thing.  They had three of these.  If it was a Can, the explosive would probably
just slow it down.  But that’s all Cade needed to do to get the rest of his tricks
ready.  Just slow it down.  But if it was just some stray human, a wanderer, a
transient, a survivor, another member of the small and increasingly exclusive
club called humanity, then using the grenade was a waste.

And...

Wasting a human life was something also.

Cade balanced all of this against the value of the building
behind him.  The last known database of all human knowledge.  An old community
library from the Before, turned server farm for the resistance of man against
machine.  They called the machines “SkyNet” because they had no name for it. 
Because it had never cared to identify itself to humanity.  Instead, it was
only interested in wiping them out.  Someone said the name came from an old
movie. 

Cade had never seen a movie.

“Last chance, kid,” muttered Cade.  Then, “You resistance? 
What unit?”

“Daddy didn’t come home last night,” wailed Cory above the
rising nightly storm.  “I need to find him now.  I think...” and then the wind
carried his voice away, but Cade thought he heard something about a scarecrow.

And now, as the stranger talked more, Cade knew.  Humanity
had a lot like this stranger in the days after the bombs “SkyNet” had used to
nuke humanity back into the Stone Age.  Humanity had many, many slow children. 
The voice.  The flat tone, and now as Cade covered his eyes from the skirling
wind and scathing dust, he could see better.

“Kid’s slow,” Cade muttered to himself.

He slid the grenade back into the pocket of his long coat
and walked forward.  The closer he got, the more he could see.  The mask, the
cape.  The backpack.  Strange.  But when he saw the eyes, he knew there was
nothing vat-grown about the stranger.  The kid.

Machines like to fix things.  They can’t help but try to
make it perfect.

Inside the eyes, Cade saw fear.  Worry.  Concern.  Humanity
stuff.  And they, the eyes of the boy, they were searching for someone to help
him find what or who was lost.  That was something humans did, something
machines didn’t understand how to imitate.  Yet.  The owner of those eyes knew that
other people helped someone who was lost, or someone who was looking for
someone who was lost.  Helped when help was needed.

That’s right, Cade said to himself.  We help each other. 
That’s the difference between organized resistance humanity and the savage
cattle crawling under ruins of all the great cities that once were, avoiding
the HK’s and the Terminator squads.

We still help each other.

It was also the difference between them and the machines.

“Have you seen my Daddy?” asked Cory.  The voice rose just
barely above flat in pitch.  There was almost an emphasis in it somewhere.  A
plea.  A waver.  A broken heart.  A question.

“No, kid.  I haven’t,” said Cade.  “But night’s comin’ on
and we got to get inside.  Will you come in out of the storm and share food
with us?  We’ll see about finding your Daddy, okay?”

Cory’s teeth were chattering now.  He felt tired and weak
and confused.

And very hungry. 

Cade gently took Cory’s arm and led him up the gritty steps
of the old library and in through the main door.  The wind howled, screaming as
it blasted through the night-dark skeletal trees and across the silent ruins of
neighborhoods, shrieking low horror through old broken windows and blasting out
from missing doors in the remains of long-gutted houses.  Homes.

The world turned from gray to black and surrendered
completely to night.

Cade had closed the main door to the library behind them,
shutting it, and Cory felt the silence of the waiting books and the old warm
carpet wrap around him like a comforting blanket.  He heard distant computers
tick and hum and there was a fire going in the makeshift chimney within the
reading lounge.  Cade led Cory over to the fire and set him down on old worn
cloth cushions inside deep chairs that felt just right.  Cade took a blanket
and draped it over Cory’s shoulders and then went to find Bertram.

Cory sat shivering and watched the fire.  There was a low
mumble between Cade and Bertram, somewhere, discussing Cory.

Nearby, the German Shepherd turned circles and for a moment Cade
watched her, wondering if the Terminator had fooled her long enough and now
she’d let them know the kid was one.  Now that it was inside the last castle. 
It would be too late.  Much too late.

But she just turned in a circle and finally lay down, facing
away from them, watching the main door and the night beyond its barrier. 
Bertram came out with a bowl of stew and lumbered over to the chairs.  He set
the bowl in front of Cory, then heaved himself into a leather chair across from
the fire.  Shadows and firelight played across his bushy brows and jowly face. 
His tiny coal black eyes watched Cory.

“Eat,” rumbled Bertram.

Cory took off his mask and wiped a heavy hand across his
forehead, itching furiously at some sudden irritation.  Then Cory picked up the
bowl and took the old bent spoon and began to eat, blowing three times on each
bite as was his constant habit.  His method for coping.  Three short puffs.

It was good, Cory liked it.

The more he ate, the more Bertram and Cade relaxed, knowing
this stranger was not an infiltration unit sent by the Cans.  A Terminator.  A
nightmare killing machine here inside humanity’s most valuable resource.

“You’ll stay here tonight,” rumbled Bertram in the silence
between pops in the fireplace.

Cory put down the bowl and wiped his mouth with his bare
arm.

“I have to find my Daddy,” he whispered.  He was tired, the
sudden cold had taken everything out of him.  “I have to.”

Silence.  The fire popped again.

Outside, the wind howled across the roof and thundered off
through the night.

“Well, that will have to wait until daylight. No one’s
finding anyone out there on a night like this.  The last of summer is always
like this.  Or at least, has been since the bombs.  It’s far too cold now. 
You’ll die of exposure by midnight, especially with flimsy gear like that.  Now
eat and rest, boy.  You can sleep here tonight, on that couch.  We’ll get you
another blanket and keep the fire going just for you, even though it’s not our
normal protocol.”

Bertram took off his coat and began rub his hands near the
fire.

“What’s your name, son?” he asked.

Cory stared off, at nothing.  At whatever Cory stared at.

When he didn’t say anything, Bertram cleared his throat. 
“Batman, is it?”

After a moment, Cory nodded once, slowly, then whispered, “I
am the night.  I am vengeance.  I am Batman.”

“Finish your stew... my lad,” sighed Bertram and added a
groan as he stood.  “Cade, we’ve got to talk a medic through removing an
appendix.  Seems Alpha Company’s XO has gone and had an attack over at the Huntington
Beach Bunker.  They’re going to do the surgery near midnight after their medic
comes in from patrol.  So it’ll be a long night and we’ll need a secure line.”

Cade said nothing, merely picking up his coat as he stood. 
They left Cory to the warmth and the fire and the quiet of the library.  Cory
continued to eat, his eyes slowly closing between bites, getting heavier and
heavier.  When he finished, he put the bowl down and took off his cape and
backpack.  Then his utility belt.  His shoes.  He lay down on the couch and
pulled the heavy blanket over himself once more.  Then he got back up and went
to pet the dog, which was his way of thanking her for coming to find him when
he was scared.  A way without words.