The Pieces of My Self

51 - Waiting it Out

LILLIAN

Île Sauvage, 21 June 2174, Tuesday, 5 pm

I heard an explosion somewhere on the decking. A few seconds later, there was a second explosion. Then more.

Zeke sealed the door with six adults, two children, and one robot inside.

"Debra!" I yelled.

His face was solemn. "It can't be helped."

The air inside the bunker was silent except for the vibrations in the walls and floor.

"We can talk in a normal voice in here," he said. "Try not to get too boisterous or make noises that shake or vibrate through the shelter. We should be fine if everyone does their part. We've got a visual camouflage screen, plus audio, infrared, and radio frequency cancellation that should keep us hidden."

I cradled Amara, now unconscious and wheezing. "What were the explosions? Do you think Debra's got a chance? She was trying to get Amara's pills."

Zeke rubbed eyes that glistened in the low light. "They sounded like railgun strikes. I don't know whether Debra's okay. She is very determined. We shouldn't count her out."

I raised my voice. "Amara's sick."

Zeke glared at me and brought a finger to his lips.

I took two deep breaths to calm myself, then continued in a hushed voice. "My daughter can't survive without her pills. Let me go back. I'll find Debra and bring her here."

"It's not safe yet," he said, as he handed water bottles to his injured men. He looked at Grady's frightened face and Amara's limp body.

"Let me explain what happened and what we're up against. The Border Patrol's aerial surveillance caught Paco's boat in open water and fired their weapons when he didn't stop. The other boat had already made it here and was inside the obfuscation perimeter—the field that spoofs navigation and messes up communications.

"Paco was still alive but badly wounded. He made it to the island, but they tagged his boat with a transponder that breaks through our perimeter. So, they got the coordinates of our base and the western inlet where we set Paco adrift. Then they called in frots. They're like mother ships that release swarms of robees to find targets in a two-square-mile area. They coordinate kills with rail guns on the frots. You don't want to be out there with these things flying around, shooting at you."

"So, you think Debra—"

"It's a possibility," he said. "The good news is the robees have a limited battery life. They'll all be dead in an hour."

Or we'll all be dead, I thought.

* * *

I continued to cradle Amara, stroking her hair. Grady held her hand while cupping his eyes with his other palm, cheeks dripping silent tears.

Zeke waited two hours before opening the bunker door, just to be sure. The sputtering rain had changed to a steady drip, and the late afternoon sun struggled to break through the overcast. Amara was unconscious.

Usher went outside, carrying a sack of gear Zeke had pulled from a locker in the bunker. Everyone else stayed inside.

When the robot returned, it reported damage to the camp. The fishing boat, Redemption, was still operational, and half the warehouse was still intact.

"I found four activity sensors," Usher said. "They are still in place. Don't touch them. I put down neutralizers that mimic sensor heartbeat but block everything else."

Zeke and I spoke in near unison. "Did you find Debra?"

"She is dead," the robot said. "A wire projectile pinned her to the decking. I left her there, so they will think nobody else is around."

I felt sick. Grady was goggle-eyed, mouth agape.

"Get outside. Let's talk," I said to Usher.

When we moved beyond the doorway, I kept my voice low. "There are two kids who are about to be traumatized. You'll have to move the body. It can't be helped. The children—"

The machine nodded. "I will put the body in the Wild. You can come back to camp in ten minutes."

I returned to the bunker and spoke with Zeke. "You have three men who need medical help, and my daughter needs medication. Can we collect medical supplies before we leave?"

"I'll see if we can salvage med kits from the warehouse. We can treat the injured on the boat. There's a Houma village southeast of Baton Rouge we supply with medicine. They'll take us in."

"What about my daughter?" I said. "Do they have medicine there for her?"

"We'll take a look."

I heard a rattling sound behind me. It was the robot returning through the hatch, shaking a bloodstained container of pills—Amara's pills.

"I took this from Debra's body," Usher said, handing me the bottle.

* * *

With Grady's help, I put a pill in Amara's mouth and coaxed her into swallowing. I knew it would be a couple of hours before she could stand by herself. We didn't have that amount of time. The Border Patrol could return with their attack drones, and the weather had worsened.

Zeke left the bunker, telling the wounded they should remain until the team was ready to depart. I needed to make a quick visit to our room in the camp to grab a few necessities and took the children with me, carrying Amara.

The camp was a disaster. There was no avoiding the large bloodstain on the decking outside our cabin where Debra had perished. A piece of the lethal projectile still protruded from the planking. Usher must have lifted the body up off the spike.

I pushed Grady past it, hoping he wouldn't make the connection. I was less concerned with Amara, who was still in a semi-stupor.

When I opened the door to our cabin, I saw the dead robee near the door, battery expired. I put Amara down on the nearest cot, asked Grady to watch her, and worked out in my mind the sequence of events leading to Debra's death.

What I found most disturbing was the action of the robee inside our cabin.

Among the junk Debra had spilled on the floor was the picture Usher had given to me. It was foolish to keep it. I should have destroyed it.

The robee, or the processors on the frots, must have recognized Henri Knightly's face. That could be the only explanation. It may have notified LESA.

The projectile had blown through a roof skylight with pinpoint precision, hitting a corner of the photograph.

Zeke's voice came from behind. "I found AmphoraX in our warehouse. There's a village that was supposed to get it. I want Amara to have it. We're loading up the boats to go to Baton Rouge. Are you ready to move?"

I turned to face him. He had come through the open door, dripping from the steady rain.

I pointed to the stake on the floor. "Change of plans."

He walked to the photo and tore it away from the projectile, inspecting it, connecting the dots.

"The photo puts the pieces together," I said. "They'll figure it out. I'm a marked woman. My kids, too. If they're captured, they'll be used for leverage. If I try to hide, they'll find us. We need to go on the offensive and bring down Mangalotte. It's the only way we can be free."

Zeke raised his eyebrows. "We can't leave the children here during the storm. The Dome will be risky, but going to New Houma is also dangerous. I wish there were another way."

I watched him pick up Amara from the cot. She was now half awake. He cradled her in his arms and walked toward the door. "Come to the boat," he said. "We'll go for Plan B."

I took Grady's hand andfollowed Zeke. At least this way, there was hope. We had a chance.