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  “Food!” a voice snapped. Janice jumped at the sound of the voice. She laughed when Richard jumped too. They helped each other up as one of the outsiders poked their head in to add, “We eat around the fire.”

  The evening came on fast, turning the dim gray of the day into black. The light of the fire was bright and the pockets of fog thin enough to let her see nearly everyone, including Harold. The leader of the Outsiders sat cross-legged, a large collection of food in front of him. To his left, woman and children sat—a hungry stare fixed on the food. A smaller fire had been built and set ablaze to their left, and it was there that Janice saw Harold.

  “Please,” the leader motioned across the fire. There, between the woman and the men, Janice sat with Richard. They were close enough to the fire that she could feel the burn on her skin. A splash of ash and a hot ember spat from a hissing log, the smoke caught her eyes and watered them. She nodded to the leader—a thankful gesture for inviting them to eat. From the corner of her eye, she saw Richard nod, too and heard a low hunger pang erupt from his middle. The leader made up a large plate, passing the food over to one of the women who placed it in front of them. Wild vegetables and chunks of meat. While the meat was raw, it looked fresh. Long thin slats of wood stood upright in the sand. The woman plucked the stick, showing it to Janice and Richard, and then speared a piece of meat on the end.

  “For the fire… like this,” she said, dangling the meat near the fire. Within moments, the smell of food came to her, and a hunger pang answered. For the next hour, there was little said. They ate and smiled at one another, enjoying the hot meal and a warm fire.

  “What were you doing out here,” the leader asked, throwing scraps of his food to some wild dogs. Janice hadn’t noticed the dogs before and wondered if they had been there all along. The dogs barked and bit at one another, fighting over the tossed food. The leader snapped his hand and grunted a low guttural sound. The dogs stopped at once, picking at the scraps before running beyond the reach of the fire’s light. The act was impressive. In their commune, dogs were difficult to tame, let alone keeping them as pets.

  “Not many dogs in our Commune,” Richard said. “That’s impressive.”

  “We grow our own food,” the leader laughed, motioning to the meat and grabbing a nearby pup. He brought the pup onto his lap and made a smacking sound with his lips. A terrible thought came to her. She turned her head away, certain that the leader was going to snap the pup’s neck in font of them as a show of power. “Kidding!” he bellowed and laughed. As he glanced around, the others joined in the laughter. “They’re our hunting dogs. Rabbit, squirrel, an occasional cat.” The pup panted joyfully as the leader dug his fingers into his scruff, petting him. Janice’s belly rumbled as she quickly digested their first food in what must have been a day or two.

  “We’re going to the machine,” Janice began to say. Her throat was suddenly dry, leaving her voice to sound scratchy. I’m sitting too close to the fire, she thought, reaching for some fresh water to cool the burn.

  “We’re going to try and find my son. To bring him home,” Richard finished for her. She saw him glance at her as if apologizing for cutting her off.

  “Are you one of the Executives?”

  Janice looked at Richard, surprised by the question. “No… but how do you know about our Commune’s executives?” Janice felt Richard move, ready to reveal that his wife had been an executive. She placed her hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze: an inconspicuous hint to keep that information quiet—for now, anyway.

  “I couldn’t be sure. Mostly I only know the rounder ones to be the executives from your Commune,” the leader added.

  Janice felt a flush creeping up beneath her coveralls, embarrassed by the leader’s words. She pulled her arms around her front as if she could hide her size from the group. Nobody seemed to notice though as the tall man picked at his teeth and continued. “The fat ones. They travel to and from the machine. Sometimes they carry things. Sometimes they don’t. And then there are your morticians… that’s what he called himself. But he wasn’t going to the machine, not that last day. Instead, he took to the ocean like a fish.”

  The fire snapped, sending a spark up into the air, rising and dancing on the heat until it disappeared into the fog. Janice waved her hand, throwing air over her skin. The fire was too hot, too much for her.

  “The ocean? What did he tell you?” Richard asked. When he noticed Janice waving off the heat, he handed her his water. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. Just a little warm,” she answered, lying and realizing that she might not be fine. The flash of heat spread all over her body, and she added,“It happens.”

  “The mortician said that he was done. That he was done working for them,” the leader began. “When we came upon him, he told us about the blood and how his job was to pass the body on to the farming floor, but to save a little blood for the machine.”

  The leader became a blur, and Janice felt herself sway like the flames flickering above the burning tinder. She blinked away the soft images settling in her eyes, and focused on what the leader was saying.

  “Blood?” she asked.

  From the leader’s hand, he produced a small glass vial, perching it on the tips of his fingers. While the fire’s reflection bounced from the round glass, there was enough light to see the dark mass of blood filling the tube. The leader passed the blood to one of the women, who then gently placed it in front of Janice.

  “Look at the lettering,” Richard directed, turning the vial over to the reveal the strange writing. “Just like the index card.”

  Janice lifted the vial of blood. The hardening liquid turned from a deep magenta into a brighter red as she looked through the glass. Why would their mortician collect blood from their dead?

  “What happened next?”

  The leader stopped picking at his teeth and lowered his hands. He pursed his lips, sucking in the air and revealed an odd grin. From the stories of her childhood, Janice expected to see monstrous teeth, ragged and filed down to sharp points. But she saw none of that. He was just a man.

  “Your mortician gave us a wave and walked out there,” he answered, pointing toward the sounds coming from the ocean.

  “The ocean,” Richard said, sounding grave. “You’re saying that he walked out into the ocean?”

  “He did,” the leader countered. “But he said something else… he said that they only live a year, and then they bring us back. And then your mortician added that he never wanted to come back.”

  Another wave of heat swam up Janice’s back, and sweat beaded on her face. Her insides felt hot and for a moment she thought the flames had somehow jumped inside her lungs, burning her throat and mouth. She drank and listened, trying to understand what it was that the leader was telling them.

  The fire’s smoke shifted with a short breeze and closed around her and Richard like the fog. She was certain that the air had become hotter, baking her insides, coursing up her spine and through her veins, burning. She tried to catch her breath, but felt as if she would suffocate breathing in the heat.

  “What does any of that mean?” she heard Richard ask.

  “And we’ve seen the girl,” the leader added. “The one with the red hair.”

  “That’s impossible…” Richard said. She heard the tension rising in his voice, but then his words faded into a chorus of ringing bells that thumped in her head like a million heartbeats. The fire was gone too, drifting out of sight, and Janice realized then what was happening to her. She was falling backward and was going to pass out.

  6

  Her legs weak and the faint urge to cry made her lips tremble. Isla stepped back uncertain about the stranger in her lab. Was it possible? Was it true that someone else in this place was like her?

  “Aware,” she murmured, wanting to hear the words in her own voice. “Tell me more.”

  The man’s shoulder slump forward with a forced sight, and at once, Isla sensed his hesitation. But not
quite a hesitation. Annoyance maybe for having to explain what he meant. Had they had this conversation before? She glanced at her lab journals, trying to recall any clues from the past thirty years.

  “How long did you say you’ve been here?” She asked.

  “Forever and ever,” he began to say, waving his arms around. “I started this—all of this—and I’m going to end it.”

  She considered the possibility, and a touch of warmth gushed inside her. Pride. Certainly, if she was brought back because of how good she was at her job, there could be a keeper of this place.

  “You’re like the man in the lighthouse. Aren’t you?”

  Phil Stark raised his brow, a smile brimming as he considered the comparison. “I suppose you could say that. But we only last a year. Never anymore… or less. That was a part of the original design. Insurance, you might say. Keeps us aware types from getting any strange ideas,” he rapped his knuckle against the side of his head as he told her this.

  “The year was your idea?”

  “Oh no. No no,” he answered shaking his head harshly. “I didn’t know about the year until that first time—” His voice faded and his expression went blank as his eyes drifted past her.

  “First time?”

  “The first time I killed myself,” he said abruptly, his focus regained. “It was a death sentence, really. I just didn’t know the sentence had been passed—living in the machine, watching my daughter visit, watching others that I knew visit, and never being able to do, or say, anything. I tended to the internal workings of the machine, keeping my mind occupied until I couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “And then the machine brought you back,” she added, continuing his explanation. “It brought you back and now you only have one year like the rest of us.”

  “And I did it again and again—a sickening Groundhog Day—but you probably don’t get the meaning,” The man added, nodding, his expression bearing a shame that reminded Isla of a shame she once brought upon herself.

  “You said you helped build the machine?”

  “I’m the original architect,” he answered. Her eyes followed one of his hands as he tucked it away in his pocket. He motioned upward, pointing above them. “The idea was simple. They gave us this technology, telling me that it would save our planet. But that isn’t at all what it was for.”

  “Your leg,” she said with alarm. A small blossom of red had begun to spread on his pant-leg.

  “That,” he said, shrugging. “That’s nothing. Just an old injury. Stupid cut won’t close. But I see your hand is doing better.”

  By now, Isla had forgotten about the wound on her hand. She turned her palm over, checking on the bandage. The tidy little wrap held tight and had stopped the bleeding.

  “What was the technology for?” she asked, thinking of the mineral analysis that had become a part of her every day. “What exactly have I been helping with?”

  “The machines are for them,” he answered, adding nothing more. Phil grimaced as he spoke—a look of punishment in his expression. The blood on his coveralls grew into a longer stretch and nearly reached the top of his knee.

  “What do you mean for them?”

  “They want the planet for themselves. A thousand years, like baking a cake in an oven. You’ve been mining the ingredients, feeding it into the mix and the machines have been pumping the batter out for hundreds and hundred of years.”

  Isla felt her legs give. She braced herself, understanding what they were doing. She caught the edge of the lab table and herself before plopping down into her seat.

  But the machines were meant to save us, she told herself. Rescue them from our past.

  Her heart pounded in her chest, souring with the realization that she helped know one. Her stomach turned, threatening, but passed with the shiver of cold sweat. The first tear cut into her cheek—dismal. She let it travel until it fell to the floor, paving the way for more. And as she sat, crying silently and mourning her actions, Phil went on and on, saying something about terraforming and talking about the great plan and how they had all been betrayed. She became lost in the drone of his words, letting them circle around her like a great storm, spinning out of control until she was dizzy.

  “Seven machines, and a thousand years… mining into the Earth until they all converge and become one! Don’t you see… they are all connected!” Phil continued to yell, his head rocking up and down as if preaching to some ghostly congregation. By now, Isla couldn’t be certain that the strange man was aware of her. “And when that happens… when the machines converge on that one single point deep in the middle of our planet—well… the world we once called home will be lost forever. FOREVER! And I hate to break it to you boys and girls, if we don’t act fast, if we don’t do something now, we’re gonna fly right past that point, and we won’t be able to turn back… we’ll miss the exit ramp boys and girls. Oh, it’s coming… Oh, it’s HAPPENING!”

  “ENOUGH!” Isla screamed, unable to listen to any more of the man’s ramblings. Phil stopped abruptly, his mouth left in a hanging sag.“Tell me what to do. I want to help shut the machines down!”

  Phil seemed to step out of his preachily pose, advancing toward her slowly, and then knelt down at her feet. He pulled a bloodied hand from his pocket and wiped the tears from her cheek.

  “Thank you,” he told her, looking impossibly exhausted. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

  7

  The first hand to grope her just had to be a figment of her imagination, blindly feeling her belly and taking a long time before pulling away. But the second and third hands were more than obvious. One rested on her breast, clutching, spinning her around as she tried to get free.

  Her heart went into her throat, and Sammi began to breath heavy as the terror of the machine suddenly became real. Declan lead them through a maze of bodies that seemed to become heavier and congested, closing in around them. Another hand was on her, gripping her shoulder this time, spinning her back in the other direction. She let out a short scream, but held in the tears and clutched at the tether strap for assurance.

  How many times had she crossed from one corridor to another without so much as a brush against someone else? A hundred? A thousand? The lights stayed dimly lit, blinking a message for all the passing eyes except for hers. Sammi tugged on the tether strap until Declan turned. His expression was tired with worry.

  “I can’t keep up,” she mouthed. “Slow down—”

  Sammi’s words were cut off by the sudden commotion of bodies coming between them. They were drowning in a wave of arms and legs and heads that seemed to be going in every direction. Or were they? Hands were on her breasts again; they were on her backside and her legs and arms, swarming her, trying to lead her down one of the other corridors.

  “Declan!” she screamed, but a low groan swallowed her words as her attackers aimed to steal her away. “Declan! They have me!” The low groan became louder. Mouths sagged open, spilling the guttural sounds in an oddly unified chorus. She gripped the tether strap and pulled. The sound of slapping flesh and grunts and tumbling bodies came then as Declan emerged, swinging his arms and legs to fight off their attackers.

  “Hold on!” he yelled over the chorus. “Hold on and don’t let go!”

  “They want our baby!” she screamed, realizing the horror of the truth. Pain erupted behind her eyes as she read just a hint of the message spewing from the lights. She turned away, unable to finish. “They want my baby!”

  She followed Declan, holding his hand and wrapping her other hand around the tether strap. The chorus of groans became deafening—it was an impossible sound that she was certain would disintegrate the fragile clockwork deep inside her ears.

  “Hold onto me!” she heard Declan screaming. His other hand swung around wildly, connecting with a younger man’s face. The man’s nose exploded and spewed blood and snot. Declan hit him again, knocking him out of the way. He then elbowed an older woman and kicked at another man, clearing a path as if the
y were being swallowed by a forest of man-eating vines. Only the vines were fleshy with sprouting fingers that clutched at the air, trying to take hold of her.

  Why do they want my baby, she thought, more frightened than she thought possible. Fear tumbled inside her, stealing her breath and dimming the sight of Declan in front of her. Hold on… Hold on! When the jab of an elbow caught her side, Sammi doubled over. Declan pulled on the tether, and she struggled to get back to her feet. A wet kiss from something warm ran between her legs, taking all of her breath with it. Oh, please let that be pee. Please!

  Hope came in the form of a small keyhole. Just a glimpse of light at first, jutting from an open door in the corridor on the other side of the hub. Sammi saw something unlikely then and guessed that she had to be imagining it. She saw a man standing at the door, waving. But he was waving his hand at them, motioning to the open door. Declan saw it too and began to lead them in the man’s direction. A voice. She heard a voice amidst the incessant groans. The stranger was yelling something to them, too.

  “This way!” she heard him say. “Over here. It’s safe.”

  But in an instant, the machine turned on the stranger. The lights blared a new set of messages and the bodies swarmed on him. She watched as a folly of hands pulled on the man, gripping at his arms and head. He was tall and strong and shooed them off like flies. And what she saw next had to be a mistake. The man laughed as he fought the swarm. He laughed, swinging his arms, punching and kicking until the opening was clear. The stranger seemed to enjoy himself as he opened a woman’s head and broke a man’s arm.

  The distraction was all they needed, and Declan hurried them to the open door, thanking the man as they slipped inside. Scratches on her neck and face began to rise and burn, and the painful sting on her scalp left her certain that some of her hair remained in the clutches of their attackers.