Click here to read Part One of our tale.
Click here to read Part Two!
Click here for Part Three.
PART FOUR
Michael
and Sara raced down the hall, pushing workers out of the way. More robots
joined in the pursuit, their metal feet clanking on the floor as they gave
chase, all the while shouting their commands to halt. Even some of Michael’s
co-workers hollered after him, telling him to give up, to give in, to blend in.
One man even reached out, anger marring his features.
“What
do you think you’re doing?” the man snapped. “Have you lost your mind?”
Scowling,
he wrapped strong arms around Michael, to pin him in place, but Michael jerked
wildly, slipping from the grip. In one fluid move he curled his fingers into a
fist and punched. He’d never hit a man before, and was struck by how painful it
was. Nevertheless, it did the trick. Surprised, the co-worker sprawled to the
ground, his nose busted.
Michael
stood over him, then regarded his shaking hand, exhilaration pumping through
his veins. He laughed, elated, until Sara tugged on his arm, grinning as well.
“Hurry!”
They
did. Michael saw a side door up ahead that would take them down the fire escape
to the floors below, but as they were about to reach it, anther monitor
emerged. It pointed at Michael, its feminine voice deeper and agitated, “STOP!”
Michael
and Sara slid to a halt as the robots closed in, blocking off every avenue of
escape. Sara clung to him, trembling, and Michael worried what their fate would
be. At the very least, they would be forever separated from each other,
re-stationed in two cities on opposite ends of the country.
But
the likeliest outcome was that they both would be liquidated for their
rebellion.
“I’m
sorry, Sara,” he shouted over the increasingly loud commands to get on the
ground and submit.
“Don’t
be,” she said, looking into his eyes. “For a moment, we were free. Truly free.”
He
smiled and realized that, if these were his last moments on Earth, there was
only one thing left to do.
He
leaned down and kissed her. She cupped the back of his hair, pulling him
closer, melting into him. Michael wrapped his arms around her, determined to
never let her go.
A
loud crash shattered their kiss. Michael parted from Sara and turned to the
glass wall at the far end of the hallway, looking out over the city. Presently,
a hovercar sat parked in the hallway, broken glass littering the carpet, and
one robot pinned underneath the heavy vehicle. In the cockpit—
“Rip!”
Rip
undid the hatch on the vehicle and stood, crowing. “C’mon, little brother, get
a move on, will ya!”
Michael
laughed out loud, clutched Sara, and made a run for the hovercar. Monitors
reached out for him, their cold metal fingers clamping the air around him,
missing him by inches.
A
phalanx of androids swarmed them, but Michael helped Sara into the cockpit as
carefully as he could. One droid secured his arm and Michael kicked at it,
roaring in rage and adrenaline. He wouldn’t go back! He would be free!
He
stamped with his foot until the robot let go, its neck spurting sparks where
Michael had broken it. He scrambled into the hovercar as Rip pulled away. One
of the droids leapt through the broken window, sailing through the air and
landing squarely on the hovercar’s hood.
Rip
floored the engine—somehow he must have rewired the controls and shut off the
automatic pilot—and swerved, trying to dislodge their unwanted occupant. “Thing
won’t budge!” Rip grunted, jerking the yoke, but unable to lose the mechanical
parasite. “You’re gonna have to go out there, dude!”
Michael
gulped and looked to Rip. “What?”
“Go
on! You were born for this!” Rip guffawed, then reached up and jettisoned the
canopy lid. Hard winds pummeled them and Sara screamed, strapping herself in,
clinging to Rip’s tattooed arm as he drove. His long, braided hair whipped in
the gusts, and he just howled in laughter.
Michael
felt like he would vomit, but steeled himself. Ahead, the robot’s fingers
punched holes in the hood as the thing pulled itself up slowly. Straining, the
mechanical beast reached out with a clawed hand, relentless in its pursuit.
“Scribbler
Morrison, Michael A,” the woman’s voice remained calm, even as the robot
struggled to hold its grip. “Return to your designated station immediately.
Failure to comply will result in your liquidation.”
“Michael!”
Sara squealed.
Michael
grit his teeth and wobbled to a stand in the cockpit, slammed by winds. “I’m
done taking orders!” he roared, the ferocious gale stealing his words, but not
his passion. Letting loose a roar, he dove forward onto the speeding car, grappling
with the robot. The monitor used its free hand to swat at Michael, and he took
a hard slap to the face, but he would not let go.
He
rose up on the monster, yanking at it, trying to dislodge it, to save Sara. A
wild, uncontrollable rage coiled in his gut, swelling to consume every nerve.
It powered his fingers as he tightened his hold on the robot’s neck. Wires
popped loose, sparks shot out, and Michael grimaced, snarling now. “Die!” he
spat, cold inside. So wonderfully cold and numb to pain and fear and worry and
doubt.
Rip
was right. He was a killer. An animal, caged for far too long.
He
savagely ripped the monitor’s head off and heaved it over the side of the car. Sparks spurted from the
neck stump, and the robot’s body twitched, loosened its fingers, and slid off
the hovercar like so much useless junk.
Michael
held onto the car as it sped on, breathing heavy, but cooling. He faced Rip who
offered him a hearty thumbs-up. “Always knew you had it in you, Mike!”
Michael
sneered, feeling powerful—indomitable. Godlike.
Then
he saw Sara watching him, apprehensive. His rakish grin softened and faded to a
frown.
* * *
They
rode in silence for the rest of the trip once Michael pulled himself back into
the cockpit. At last they left behind the city, finally reaching a lush
landscape of green, teeming with real, organic life.
The
Wilds.
Michael
and Sara held hands as they soared over the mysterious forest, quietly savoring
the sight. Michael only spotted a few homes out here, small cabins hewed from
stone and straw, with pleasant smelling aromas wafting from their chimneys. At
once he was struck with terror. Where would they live? How would they eat?
Surely they’d have to eat animals.
The monitors forbade meat, keeping their human drones on a strict vegetarian
diet. Michael realized he would have to hunt, to kill. Learn to cook, to clean.
Everything.
But
he would, he was sure of it. With Sara at his side, he could face any obstacle.
He’d scared her when he lost control against the monitor, but he wouldn’t lose
control again. He would protect her, clothe her, feed her.
“You’re
safe now,” he told her, patting her knuckles.
She
warmed, snuggling close.
Rip
announced, “I think this is far enough,” and settled the hovercar in a soft
grassy field. Michael and Sara hopped out of the cockpit and knelt down on
their hands and knees, feeling the grass. Sara laughed and tore a handful of it
out, holding it under her nose. “Smell it!” she said. “It smells wonderful!”
Michael
did and agreed. Next, he unstrapped his boots and dug his toes in the grass and
soft dirt, finding it cool and refreshing. Rip, meanwhile, just leaned on the
car, crossing his arms, a bemused smirk on his whiskered face.
With
his merriment finished, Michael stood, dusting off his pants, sheepishly.
“Got
that all out of our system, did we?” Rip asked with a mocking smirk.
“Sorry.”
Rip
shrugged, then looked back to the horizon, shielding his eyes against the light
as though he were searching for something. “No problem. Don’t worry—there’s
plenty more to see.” He sighed. “Yep, there we go.”
Sara
stood now, moving closer to Michael, interlocking her fingers with his. They
held close, joining Rip in watching as the sheet of paper from yesterday came
into view, rustling on the light breeze. At length, the paper touched down on
the ground and stilled. Rip presented the paper to Michael with an accomplished
bow. “Your chariot awaits.”
Michael
snickered, then looked to Sara. “What?”
Rip
rolled his eyes. “You think I busted you out of that joint just so you and Red,
here, could go live in some cave out here in the boonies? Ha, you got bigger
things ahead of you, Mike.”
Michael
released Sara’s hand, inching closer to the paper, captivated by it; by the
colors that danced on its surface: The rainbow from his dreams. In his heart,
he heard the whispers, the call, urging him to step into the paper, to join the
light and find his destiny. “What is it?” he whispered, tempted to run and dive
right into the paper, if such a ridiculous notion were possible.
In
a suddenly reverent tone, Rip said, “Just the door, Mike. To take you to all
the worlds in the multiverse. See, this dimension of yours—as crappy as it
is—is only one in a billion. You
think the Wilds is impressive? Wait ‘til you visit the underside of the
Mountain of Or! You just touch the cave
walls, and they sing.”
Michael
took a step back, holding Sara’s hand again. “B-But, I’m not ready. I can’t.”
Rip
rubbed his eyes, and groaned. “I was afraid of this. Look, dude, this life
ain’t for you. I told you that. My Boss has chosen you. We’ve got things to do, little brother. You think those
robots were bad? That’s just the tip of the iceberg! The whole multiverse is nothing
but order and rigidity, instituted by a God whose only desire is to bend you to
his way of thinkin’.” Rip spread his hands wide, clenching them into fists.
“You and me, we were made to rebel, brother. To tear down the rules—the walls
keeping the worlds separated. Chaos, little brother! We gotta make some
beautiful Chaos! Set the captives free!”
Michael
frowned. In his soul, Rip’s words made perfect sense, as though he’d always
been waiting for this day, secretly desiring someone to say these terrible
things to him. But he feared their meaning and the reality of what he was being
called to do.
He
shook his head, feeling dizzy. “No, I can’t. I’m not… It’s too much. I want to
stay here.” He held Sara closer. “With her. We’re just getting started. We’ve
been dreaming of this our whole lives.”
Rip
quieted, his eyes narrowing. Darkening. “Don’t do this, Mike,” he said, his
voice like gravel. “You’ll regret it. See, my Boss? He don’t take too kindly to
rejection. He’s got a lot invested in you. You felt it, dangling on that car up
above the city, wrasslin’ with that robot. That’s Rage, little brother. It’s a gift; makes you strong. But it comes
with obligations. You take off like a stray, he’s gonna tighten the leash. Make
you heel. And it won’t be pretty.”
Michael
swallowed hard, his throat dry. Shaking, he extended a hand for Rip to shake.
“I-I appreciate everything you’ve done, but my answer’s ‘no’.”
Rip
eyed the offered hand, then snarled, touching the tip of his tongue to a canine
in concentration. He grumbled and reached behind his jeans, retrieving a crude,
homemade knife with a lion’s head carved in the handle. “I didn’t wanna have to
do this, Mike. You Morrisons were always my favorite.”
Michael’s
eyes widened as Rip lunged with the blade. Cold hate bloomed in his stomach,
injecting into every muscle, every nerve. Instantly, Michael danced out of the
way of the knife, catching Rip’s blade hand and turning it up. Rip loosed an
anguished grunt, and dropped the knife.
Michael
glanced to Sara. “Get in! Quick!”
Sara
nodded and scurried to the hovercar, climbing into the cockpit.
“We’ll
find you!” Rip hollered. “We’ll find her!”
Rip
twirled with his free hand, slugging Michael hard in the stomach. Michael
doubled over in a cough as Rip groped through the tall grass, grabbing his
knife. As soon as he retrieved it, Michael hurried and swung a leg, catching
Rip in the side. The older man cried out and toppled over onto the soft earth.
Michael
hurried to the car and got in. He powered the engines to life, the thrust motors
pressing down on the grass as the hovercar lifted off the ground. Rip stood,
out of breath, holding his side with a pained expression. “You can’t run from
us!” he shouted over the roar of the wind, waving the blade at the air. “You
can’t run from what you are!”
Michael
grimaced at the man. “Watch me.”
They
left Rip behind, ascending into the sky. Sara looked to Michael, small and
fearful. “Where will we go now?”
He
smiled at her. “Wherever we want.”
Copyright 2015 Greg Mitchell
Tune in on Monday, March 16 for the conclusion to the Hooded Man's tale!
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