The Machines

Dull rays of sunshine peek through the slats in the cellar door leading to the outside world. Flecks of dirt and dust float in the air, highlighted by the sunrays. The air is musty from remaining stagnant the last few days. But it’s better than the thick, filtered air of the bunker below me, underground. The entrance, a thick metal door, lies behind me a few feet.

Supply runs are once a week by the adults. At seventeen, I’m not allowed outside. It’s too dangerous. The machines are always hunting. As such, it’s been over a year since I’ve gone above ground and breathed fresh air. I snuck out then, too, and was almost caught by a Guardpod. An oval machine with arms which hovers four feet off the ground and programmed for one thing: find humans.

It’s been twenty years since the plague killed most of the world’s population, allowing machines to become the new apex predator. They govern the world. They make the rules. When AI took over thinking for humanity, machines began to believe humans were the plague of the earth.

So, when my best friend Stacey suggested we go on a supply run of our own, I was suspicious and hesitant, but she convinced me to say yes. It’s difficult to resist her. She’s beautiful with deep, dark brown eyes, mocha hair and skin, and tall frame. Taller than me by a whole inch, and I’m five foot six. Now, I’m staring at the only way out of the bunker questioning my life choices.

“Come on, Luanna,” she eggs me on from behind me. “It isn’t a snake. It isn’t going to bite you.”

“No, I know that,” I insist, quickly.

My nerves bounce around in my chest as I stare at the doors to the cellar. Stacey wasn’t around three years ago when the machines took Dad, so she doesn’t understand my fear. Her family is still intact. They joined us a year and a half ago—Mom found them hiding from the machines while she was out on a supply run and invited them to stay with us. I had no one my age to talk to until Stacey.

Three other families have joined our community as well, but I didn’t connect with anyone else, even though there are a couple other teenagers now, too. Stacey pushes me to try new things, whether it’s flood or a game. Or leaving the bunker for the first time in over a year. I’ve been too scared since Dad never came home and almost getting caught the last time.

“I know you sneak out all the time, but this is still hard for me,” I remind her. She’s well aware of how I lost Dad.

“It’ll be fine,” she presses, slightly annoyed. “I barely ever see any machines, and you need the fresh air.”

“That doesn’t mean we won’t see them,” I say, making excuses to stall.

“Let’s go!” she insists, nudging me from behind.

I take a deep breath in and walk to the three steps to the cellar doors. The doors push up and open easily, creaking quietly on their hinges. I wince, worried a Guardpod might have heard it, but I don’t hear the tell-tale whirring of gears anywhere.

Exhaling, I make my way up the stairs into fresh air and bright sunlight. It’s as fresh as it can be with the constant scent of oil all around from the machines. The grass is yellowed, and the air is brisk. A soft breeze touches my cheek, blowing away a little of my anxiety. A bee buzzes close by.

Exasperated and sick of my stalling, Stacey grabs my hand and leads me off to the left, around the front of the house and away from the bunker. The further away we get, the more my anxiety builds.

“Where are we going?” I ask, stumbling as I try to keep up with her.

“I just want to go to that department store really quick,” she explains, pulling me along behind her.

“Why do I need to go with you for this?” I question, hesitant still and very much afraid.

“Because you haven’t left the bunker in over a year now,” she tells me. As if I need reminding. “You can’t let your fear hold you back.”

“There, I’m out,” I reply, tugging on her hand a little. “Let’s go back.”

“After we get what I need.”

Walking through the small town is actually nice. It’s peaceful. Tall grass and trees have overgrown, covering everything in a yellow-green color. Long abandoned homes and businesses alike are covered in vines and shrubbery—so much so you can’t see inside windows any longer. Weeds have cracked open sidewalks making them uneven as I step along them.

I imagine it looked very different back when the town was called Augusta, before the plague.

It isn’t long before we reach the building with the word Dollar General scrawled across the front. The glass doors long since smashed out, Stacey enters first through the knee-high grass now guarding the doorway, dropping my hand. Inside, the shelves are mostly bare, my family having picked off most of the items. Now, we mostly live off the land above the bunker, so I’m confused as to why we are here.

I enter the building just in time to see Stacey duck into an aisle off to the right near the end of the row. Sighing, I jog to catch up to her, calling out to her.

“Stacey!”

Rounding the corner, she comes into view about three quarters of the way down the aisle. She’s staring at the few boxes of tampons still on the shelf.

“That’s what we came here for?” I ask, annoyed and a little louder than I meant.

“I need them,” she whispers through gritted teeth.

“Fine,” I relent. “Grab them, and let’s go!”

“Worry wart.”

A whirring sound by the door stops me from responding. Stacey pauses mid-grab and stares wide-eyed at me.

A Guardpod!

The oval machine enters the store just as I jump into the aisle. I run as quietly as I can to Stacey and push her to the other end. We crouch and hide behind the end cap, waiting to see which way the Guardpod goes, listening for the whirring of gears.

Thankfully, these machines are slow, so we can outrun it as long as it doesn’t alarm a Catcher first. If we can get to the bunker, we’re safe. IT’s two long miles away, though.

The whirring starts to ge tsofer, letting me know it’s going in the opposite direction. I almost cry out with relief.

“We have a chance,” I whisper quickly to Stacey, turning to her.

I’m terrified to my core, but I’m able to find enough clarity to get us through this. Stacey is frozen in fear, judging by the glazed look in her eyes.

“it’s going the other way,” I continue, grabbing her about the shoulders and shaking her a little so she at least looks at me. “We can make it if we go now.”

She doesn’t respond, just shakes her head, tears forming in her eyes.

“Come on,” I insist. “We can do this! On three, okay?”

Still, Stacey shakes her head, a soft sob escaping her throat.

“It’s going to be okay,” I reassure her. “One, two, three!”

I push her hard around the end cap and back down the tampon aisle, a hand on her upper arm to guide her. She goes without fighting me, letting me lead her away from our hiding spot. Another sob escapes her lips as she stumbles forward.

We’re fast but not quiet enough. I slip on some old cardboard and lost my footing, but only for a moment. It’s enough to alert the Guardpod to our location. As we’re running through the exit, it comes back up an aisle and spots us.

“Humans detected,” a robotic, monotone voice sounds from the machine. “Alerting nearby Catchers.”

“Shit,” I curse under my breath. “GO, GO, GO!”

Shoving Stacey forward, I let her go so she can run at her own speed. She’s a little faster than me, so she runs ahead a few feet, not once turning back to see if I’m behind her. Back down the street and upl the hill, two miles seems more like then when there’s a Guardpod on your ass. It may be fifty feet behind me, but it’s more than enough to get caught.

Stacey reaches the cellar doors before I do, jumping down into the small cellar and dashing toward the large, metal bunker door. I’m about to join her when a large triangular machine on the wheels of a tank rumbles out from the tree line.

A Catcher!

Heart beating a mile a minute, I race into the cellar without worrying about the doors in time to see Stacey pull open the bunker door and duck inside. I’m right behind her a few feet but not fast enough.

Something metallic and strong wraps around my ankle and pulls, knocking me to the ground in a cloud of dirt. I turn back to see the Catcher in the entrance to the cellar, unable to go down the steps, a long arm coming out of the side of it.

“Luanna!” Mom screams to me from inside the bunker.

I look to see her in the doorway. Stacey is in her way, closing the door so Mom can’t get to me.

The Catcher’s arm pulls me along the dirty cement floor and up the stairs. Doors on its front open as it continues pulling me up. I drag my hands across the floor, clawing at anything to grab hold of to help me break free.

Tugging on my leg hard, there’s a pop as my ankle is freed from the machine’s arm. I run, stumbling on my broken ankle. Just as the bunker door is about to close, I Reach inside, shoving my arm in the way, so it doesn’t shut me out.

Stacey doesn’t see my arm, though. So, the door presses against my arm, trying to close. I scream as pain shoots down to my fingers and up my shoulder from my forearm. Yanking hard, I get the door open just enough to slide through the opening and help Stacey close us inside. Clinking comes from the other side of the door as the machine’s arm pokes at it.