For Nara

In the future, children are dangerous, many contracting a disease that mutates and kills adults. The problem is, it's not detectable until adolescence... and the government is determined to contain it

 

“Nara, get away from the window,” Jackson picked up his little girl, her tiny weight resting against his arm.

             “Why?”

             Jackson pulled the shades down over the window, “Because people shouldn’t see you. They        might,” he paused, “get jealous,” he put her down and knelt beside her.

            She cocked her head, “Might get jealous?”

            He grabbed her hands, the size of his swallowing hers, “Of how pretty you are. That’s why.”

            She smiled, “Ok, Daddy. I believe you.”

            He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder, her little arms curling lightly around his neck, her fingers pressing into his short, blonde hair. How could anyone do such terrible things to something so innocent? But they were, and they would if they found her. He placed her into a bed in the attic, each step upwards making him feel more and more heavy. Thereafter, he watched her while she slept. What would he do?

            He knew that only last week the block, two away from his own, had been swept for stowaways. Jackson remembered hearing screaming mothers and fathers in the streets. He was faintly aware of a gunshot in the distance. He could barely keep the images of the families, getting ripped apart, out of his mind. Every scream and crying child made him awake in the night, frantic, afraid that his own home would be next; that his own little girl was its creator. He would kick at his sheets in a cold sweat, rushing to the upper story to find her, confused and tired, exactly the way he had left her. She had been asking for a time what was wrong but his constant fear had become a nightly staple and she stopped inquiring after so many nightly visits. Her big eyes would open into little slits and sometimes she might whisper.

            Jackson would simply run his hand through his hair and sigh in relief. On several occasions he had slid, sickened, to the floor outside her door and big tears would well up in his grey eyes. He would cross his arms and close his eyes as an immense pressure made his stomach turn. He was a soldier. He had seen things so violent he would never forget, yet the thought of losing his little Nara was more terrible than any battlefield.

            He watched her in the candlelight, sometimes until the candle extinguished itself, the wax running over the lip of the plate and fusing to the table. Long hours he spent staring at her face, afraid he would not see it the next night. Nara’s mother had died having her and an emptiness had consumed him ever since. Things would never be the same. Nara would never grow up in a world like the one he had known. Jackson leaned on Nara’s bed. His thoughts rested heavily on his mind. His eyes began to close. Soon, he was fast asleep.

            He awoke in a stupor, Nara still sleeping soundly. The sun hadn’t yet risen and the pitch-black attic was cold. It had to be early morning, yet the streets did not stir. Jackson held up his hands and breathed hot vapor onto them. Steam rose from the attic sink as he washed his face and shaved. He had only just finished when he heard something. He grabbed his candle. Surely no citizen would be in the streets at that hour. It could only mean one thing: a raid.

            The candle illuminated the stairwell in a silent glow. Jackson let each footfall relax into the floorboards as he neared the second story, careful not to let anyone outside know of his wakefulness. He stayed close to the walls to avoid being seen and blew out his candle before opening his own bedroom door. From memory he crossed the room to his dresser, digging impatiently until his calloused hands closed neatly onto a black .177caliber Beretta. The sun had begun to rise and a dim light wormed its way through the thick glass of the windowsill. He peered cautiously down the street through his window. His heart began to race.

            In the morning light, sure as he hoped not to be, were Blackmen; purveyors of the voice of the government. There stood a tall captain in the street, his pointed orders sending teams of up to six men from house to house. A woman screamed, the sound of pain ripping at Jackson’s own heart. He had felt the tremors, the mere beginnings of that pain before, on the nights when he cried outside his daughter’s door. The captain pointed to his house suddenly, but Jackson did not see it. He was racing to the attic to wake Nara. He had to hide her, had to get her away.

            In a single movement he swept her up in her blankets and began to run down the stairs, being as quiet as he was able. Nara stared fearfully up at him, her eyes wide and questioning. He reached the first floor and lifted up the trapdoor to the basement, barely a six by six hole in the ground, and placed her delicately into the hideaway. She looked ready to say something but Jackson shook his head and placed a finger to his lips. He closed the door slowly and winced at the creak it made as it shut. The first knock on the door had barely been sung by the time he pulled a rug over the outline of the trapdoor.

            He waited a moment, tucking the Beretta into the back of his pants before walking slowly over to answer. Hopefully the Blackmen Officer would believe him to be too young to have children and back off without a thorough search. But, just in case, Jackson flipped his safety off.

            He fumbled with the door handle and acted groggy as if he had just woken, “Yes?”

            The young officer shoved a piece of paper in Jackson’s face, “Marshal Anders Sedgewin, second             degree Blackmen Officer,” the man stood straighter, “By order of High Marshal Ferrence             McGowans this block is due to be searched for stowaways on the first of January, 2238,” he stammered, “Today.”

            Jackson started. Only one officer had come to his home. The others that had intended to search with Sedgewin had broken off to help one of their own as a man armed with a shotgun made his way down the steps of the house across the street. The young officer was new and green and naïve.

            Jackson rubbed his eyes sleepily, “Come on in.”

            The young officer’s eyes stared at him cautiously, “Come…come in?”

            Jackson shrugged, “It’s cold as hell. I don’t want to stand here with my door open all day.”

            The officer hesitated. Jackson knew that no one in their right mind would ever let a Blackmen into their home with stowaways in the house and that was what he counted on. The green officer would falter and mistake cunning for hospitality. Jackson would look like a soldier who’d been awakened from a premature hangover; clearly no one suited to be a father.

            The officer took off his hat and tucked it beneath his arm, “Do you mind if I ask Sir; are you a    veteran of the Tuirren War?” He motioned half-heartedly at a scar above Jackson’s brow.

            “Yeah, why do you ask?”

            “Just checking your file Sir. It is Sir, right?”

            Jackson nodded, “Yes. Corporal Dwayne M. Jackson, to be precise. Is that what it says there? On            that piece of paper?”

            “Yes. It is. And it says here you haven’t served in around six years? Is that right?”

            “Yeah kid. It is. Now why in the hell are you waking me up so goddamn early? I have a headache           that could sink a ship. And don’t you know you’re supposed to brief military officers before    coming to give them orders at six in the morning?”

            “It’s not orders Sir…it’s…stowaways…remember?”

            “Oh, ok. Well, make it quick.”

            The officer glanced behind Jackson, “What is that?”

            A tiny coat was hanging up inside one of the house’s cracked closet doors. Jackson hadn’t seen the open door in his rush to hide Nara. It was clearly a child’s. In seconds Jackson had pulled out the Beretta, the metal barrel placed against the young officer’s temple.

            The young man dropped to his knees, his breath short and surprised.

            Jackson leaned in close to the man’s ear, “Make a sound and I’ll blow your brains across the         floor. Do you hear me A. Sedgewin?”

            The man nodded.

            Jackson knelt down to the officer’s level, “Yeah, I’m a veteran of Tuirren. I’m also a veteran of    South Maddow and Half-Crest. I was a POW for two years during Half-Crest. Do you see this scar?” he pulled his t-shirt collar down so the officer could see, “I got that from a Bahud General when he tried to cut my ear off.”

            The young officer made a whimpering sound and closed his eyes.

            “He didn’t succeed in doing so. Get up.”

            A shot went off outside. Two.

            The officer began to tremble but stood as he was told.

            “Go out there and tell your superiors that you searched this house,” Jackson turned the man until he was in a chokehold with the gun still at his head, “And you found nothing but a drunken    soldier with a grudge,” he turned the officer around again and released him, “Tell them anything different and I will find you and I’ll save a bullet for your head. Am I clear?”

            The officer stumbled back and Jackson fixed his collar, “Now go out there and do your country   proud officer.”

            Jackson re-opened the door and the officer stumbled out. His superior greeted him and wiped his brow. The man with the shotgun lay dead in the street. Blood formed a puddle at the young officer’s feet. He said something and the older officer nodded. Jackson was relieved as they walked away. He had to get Nara out. The young officer’s tongue would surely slip up eventually and there would surely be more men with them when they returned.

            Jackson waited until the inevitable screams faded out and the officers could no longer be seen. When he opened the trapdoor, Nara jumped forward into his arms and started shaking.

            “It’s ok, baby, they’re gone. They left,” Jackson struggled to hide the fear in his own voice.

            When he set her down his hands left her trembling.

            “Ok, baby, do you remember the bag I told you to pack? The one just in case something bad         happened?”

            “I remember daddy,” she crossed her arms and pulled the oversized blanket around her shoulders.

            “I want you to go and get it ok? And then go straight to the attic and wait for me there.”

            Jackson nodded for her to go and she slunk up the stairs, the blanket trailing behind her. It only took a short time for Jackson to gather his own belongings. He muttered to himself, recalling the items on his endless mental checklist. He grabbed matches, candles, a flashlight, extra clothing, and a stock of canned goods. He clipped on a holster for his Beretta, the familiar weight bringing back bad memories.

            He rummaged through his dresser again, finding a pile of paperwork.

            “Where are you?” He whispered.

            His thumb cruised over page after page, the loose leaflets fluttering to the floor. He stopped suddenly, pulling a small photo from the bottom of the stack. It was the only picture left of Nara’s mother, Ellen. Who knew how long it had been moldering away in that dresser. Jackson rubbed the picture and tucked it carefully into his inner coat pocket. You’ll always be here he thought as he straightened the coat over his heart.

            A knock came to the first-floor door suddenly. Jackson paused. He didn’t lie to the officer. He would kill him if he’d ratted on him. Another knock. He walked cautiously to his closet, feeling a slit below on the inner wall. With a snap it opened, an assault rifle and scope sitting neatly in front of him. He grabbed the gun and banged in a clip, placing seven more into his rucksack. He had always been one for constant paranoia and an assault rifle seemed logical. Many men wished him dead and many women too, for that matter.

            He snapped his backpack over his chest and slung the rifle over his shoulder. A canister of fuel and a small military tent rattled as he walked down the stairs to the first story. Jackson was glad of all the weight he’d had to carry in the army. He could now do so without fatigue and he could run with that same weight for hours. He could run with his daughter for hours, if it came to it.

            Another knock reverberated as Jackson neared the door. He could hear a man curse and hear another man tell him to be quiet.

            “Maybe he’s not home,” said one.

            “Yeah he is,” said the other, “The Blackmen said they did a raid on his house this mornin’. Said   he was drunker than a f*****g sailor. Said he seemed real nervous though.”

            The other man scoffed, “Nervous? What would he have to be nervous about? He doesn’t have a kid does he?”

            The first man knocked again, “Well, I’m not sure you know. A Blackmen officer said one of ‘is    neighbors saw a little blonde girl looking out the second story window. Said she was real secret-like as not to be seen.”

            The other man seemed sullen, “Let’s hope the Blackies were wrong. I hate to see such a fine fella             in such a twist. Damn kids being ripped from their parent’s arms. It’s damn unnatural you know.”

            “Shut up Edgar will you? I can’t say I quite like the way things is going in the world right now    but I don’t run my mouth about it. Christ, if you talk like that back at the pub we’ll be barred for sure. You know how that bartender is; man isn’t a Blackie but he sure as hell agrees with their            measures.”

            Edgar took offense, “Now we aren’t at the bar now are we? I’m just saying is all. I mean, not all the kids can have Salivus can they? And not all of them will pass it on to their parents right? What a horrible disease, I tell you.”

            “Now that I can agree with Ed. Ok, well, I don’t think he’s home. Might even just be passed out             upstairs or something. Let’s just go.”

            Jackson leaned around the side of the door and watched the men walk away. They weren’t Blackmen. They were just average citizens but Jackson’s mind saw them as alien and suspicious. Nothing would get near Nara, nothing. They weren’t dangerous as far as Jackson knew, but a creeping feeling came over him as he trudged up the stairs. What if he had shot the men at the door? His mind had immediately sought the violent action and that thought scared him. How could he be a father to Nara? Over the years, his thoughts had become more twisted, darker. Jackson could no longer remember the times before the sickness and wars. Before Sativus, the demon virus, threatened to take the only bright thing in his world.

            The horrid virus had been plastered over multiple streams on the internet when it first surfaced, a Doomsday virus, capable of annihilating entire cities in a matter of months. It was suspected to be a biological weapon of a sort at first, rumors circulating that it had been introduced by Russia or China, the go-to scapegoats of old. Then, in 2227, almost a year after the virus’ introduction, the truth was revealed. Americans didn’t want to believe it at first. Jackson was sure that nobody did.

             The first strain had been found in Detroit, Michigan. A supposed freak accident turned epidemic, a child’s parents had simultaneously become ill. Upon arrival to Sinai-Grace Hospital the parents, a Mr. Simon Lochte and his wife Marilyn, were exposed to nearly fifty adults who caught the virus through aerosolization as the couple was escorted to the emergency room. In two hours, as Jackson recalled reading on a news website, each spouse began bleeding from various orifices; eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. Doctors were baffled. At first, doctors were calling the virus Chapare arenavirus; a rodent-spread virus first emerging in the early 2000’s. The belief was quickly recalled, however, as new symptoms began to emerge.

            In twenty-four hours, victims of the virus would begin complaining of headaches, blurred vision, and the incessant taste of blood in their mouths. These symptoms were followed by general weakness, coughing, wheezing, confusion, and, after around ten days of suffering from the virus, convulsions, rotting of the skin, yellowing of the eyes, and finally, death.

            Jackson remembered hearing report after report as cities surrounding Detroit began to become spun in the web of the virus. The Canadian border quickly closed, fearing the United States had unleashed a virus similar to the one uncovered by the Romanian government in 2093. Three of the forty-one counties of Romania were infected by a bacterium called “Elevasis”. The country rebelled against the illness, quarantining the counties and eventually reverting to the gruesome process of extermination of their own people. The illness was contained and died out, but at a cost so great the country fell into despair and chaos.

            As the virus spread from the U.S. and to the populated meccas of the world, it seemed the as-of-yet unnamed infection would destroy the human race. Finally, in late December of 2193, a female scientist by the name of Celina Abbacus discovered the grisly virus’ identity and gave a name to its face. Named Sativus, the Latin word for cultivation, the virus was discovered to be largely airborne with the ability to infect through mucous membranes. It was bad enough that it spread through the air from adult to adult, yet the most shocking quality of the virus was its effect on children. It spread first from rodents, on to children, then to adults; namely their parents first. Children seemed untouched by the virus until puberty, when the rush of hormones somehow mixed, over time, with the Sativus. This confusing mixture combined, children growing up with the virus inside them were like time bombs.

            Infected adolescents were hard to detect, able to spread the virus like any adult but not to one another, making them virtually immune but not unaffected by the virus. These newly grown adults usually proved to be sterile with memory problems and steady loss of eye pigmentation in the iris. Makeshift hospitals and living quarters were easily infiltrated by the infected individuals in the beginning. One Simon or Marilyn could infect an entire colony of survivors and their children; in one night spreading the Sativus through every child in the area; in one week spreading the virus to every adult.

            The virus died out in rodents but had spread through humans so entirely that it had caused irreparable damage to the race itself. Hope, however, wasn’t lost. Jackson had seen reports of apparently immune adults. That included adults whom had survived the virus after suffering from its effects. Jackson had been tested regularly during his service in Tuirren and had shown no signs of the virus although his exposure to the virus had been numerous. That gave him hope. And, even if he wasn’t immune, that meant that Nara surely didn’t carry it. That was a relief in itself. Nara had been tested during her first birthday and hadn’t had the virus then. She hadn’t been checked since; the growing fear of exposure had made Jackson nervous and secretive.

            Nara was hidden away. But Jackson couldn’t hide her forever. The Blackmen were searching everywhere. He had to get Nara out of St. Louis City. Her fate would be sealed by a grave if he did not.        

            Jackson opened the door to the attic, “It’s time to go baby. It’s time to leave.”

            She sat in the floor by the bed, brushing her blonde hair, “Ok Daddy. Who was here?”

            Jackson frowned, “I’m not sure baby, but they weren’t bad. At least, I don’t think they were. Are            you packed?”

            Nara zipped the brush back into her backpack, a ragged old thing with a white cat on it.

            She stood up and brushed off her clothes, “Are you sure they weren’t bad?”

            Jackson sighed, “Yes, baby. It doesn’t matter anyway. They’ve gone.”

            She pulled the pack over her slender shoulders, “Oh. Are you sure? Who’s that?”

            Jackson strained his eyes towards her, “What?”

            Nara’s eyes became large and fearful, “Something is in the house. Listen.”

            Jackson pulled his knife carefully out of its holster and placed a finger to his lips. Nara dropped to the ground and edged beneath the bed, catlike. Jackson placed his feet cautiously on the wooden floor, heel to toe. The second story floorboards creaked with the weight of the intruder. As Jackson neared the landing he dropped and peered around the rail.

            It was a Blackman, a tall, thick b*****d. Jackson eyed the man. The man’s gun glinted almost patronizingly back at him. Whatever happened, shots could not be fired. A single bullet would alert anyone within earshot. More Blackmen might be downstairs or outside. Jackson weighed his options. He could wait until the man came up the stairs and then he could ambush him. That seemed to be his best bet. Without a sound, Jackson slid back until he reached Nara’s room. He slid his pack from his shoulders, pressed his back to the wall beside the doorframe, and waited. Each step the man took made Jackson’s muscle strain, made his breathing shorter.

            Finally, the man’s hand came into view. Like a spring, Jackson launched forward, sinking the blade into the man’s neck. The man let out a piercing yowl but Jackson muffled it with his hand. Blood shot across the floor as Jackson coaxed the man to his knees. Jackson’s wound had been fatal and soon the light faded from the man’s eyes, the rise and drop of his chest quickening and then extinguishing. A pool of blood formed beneath the man’s head, a halo of Crimson. Spatter had landed on Jackson’s face. His hands were covered in it.       

            Jackson wiped his hands on his pants. It wasn’t long before he could hear someone else approaching. The steps fell hard and hurried. Before Jackson knew it, another Blackman was on the landing. Anger turned the Blackman’s face red as he saw his fellow man before Jackson’s feet. Jackson did not falter. He sprinted forward catching the man off guard and knocking him into the wall. The man reached for his gun but Jackson threw it to the ground. The man tried to scream for help but Jackson pushed his hand to his mouth. As he did, the man bit down, his teeth sinking into Jackson’s hand. Jackson let out a moan, muffling it as best he could.

            Jackson stared into the man’s eyes, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

            The Blackman held Jackson’s knife at bay, the blade growing closer and closer. Finally, with all the strength he could muster, the man overtook Jackson. Jackson stumbled backwards, the knife thudding on the railing. The man lunged for the gun but Jackson kicked it and it fell loudly down the wooden staircase. The Blackman followed quickly after it, Jackson behind him. A few steps from the bottom, Jackson leapt upon the man, pushing him to the ground as the man stretched his hand out for the gun. The man’s fingertips latched on to the pistol and he began to pull it towards him. In seconds, Jackson plunged the knife through his hand, pinning it to the floor. The man let out a cry of pain, flailing helplessly beneath Jackson’s weight.

            Jackson brought up his leg and pulled a second knife from his boot, “I am sorry it had to be this   way but nothing will take her away from me.”

            The man clawed at Jackson as best he could, his arm flailing, more blood pooling on the floor as he tried to lift his injured hand around the blade. Jackson placed the knife to the man’s throat, below his ear, the motion of the cut so clean it made Jackson want to shiver; the uniformity of it. The man gagged a moment, and then he was silent.

            Jackson stood, the familiar sticky film of blood giving him cold chills. He had been covered in more of it than that, memories of battles past. He had done horrible things for horrible people; Irreparable things. He recounted memories that had been locked away, the faces of death; the tremors of post-traumatic stress that every soldier buried somewhere and hoped to never dig up.

            He set quietly on the steps a moment. Was he evil? Was he good? He had slit a man’s throat who threatened his daughter. His beautiful daughter. His Nara. He would not leave her to be taken into custody, to be sent away to the camps of the Mutos, to be sent away to die. He reconciled that his actions had been balanced. He killed a bad man to protect an innocent. But, then again, how had he known the man was bad? Was the man simply doing his job? No. You had to have a mean streak to want to be a Blackman; to take children from their parents; to slaughter their parents in the street. Yes. It had to be done.

            The killing was just another part of the justice. To be a killer, one had to step in for the lawyer, the jury, and the judge. Jackson knew that. Most soldiers realized it. But guilt had always plagued Jackson. He had spent uncountable nights bathed in his own sweat, thrashing out at the faces of the dead hovering above him, crying and mumbling penitent ravings to his own exhaustion.

            He sunk his bloody fingers into his blond hair and let out a heavy sigh. He picked up the knife and searched the first floor. It was thankfully empty, the streets quiet. Only two Blackmen had come but there would be more, soon as the others did not return. Jackson washed the blood from his hands and face, the white sink swirling his sins down the drain. His hand throbbed as he wrapped it in gauze. He looked into the mirror as he dried himself, the glint of fire in his eyes. I am a monster, he thought, How can I love her? How can I take care of her? He bit the inside of his cheek, because I am all she has. That’s why, because she would be alone without me.

            Jackson wiped the blood from his boots and quickly changed clothes. Nara couldn’t see him that way. It was bad enough he kept her up some nights with his screams. She didn’t need to see him covered head to toe in blood. After, he went up to her.

            He closed the door to her room behind him, “Come on out baby. They’re gone.”

            She leaned curiously from beneath the bed, “I thought they got you daddy.”

            She crawled into his arms.

            “No baby, they didn’t get me. But I need you to do something for me ok? I need you to close your          eyes when I take you downstairs.”

            Her light blue eyes blinked sweetly as she nodded.

            Jackson slid his pack onto his back, “Come on baby.”

            He picked her up. She was getting too heavy to carry but he didn’t want her stepping in the blood.

            “Ok, close ‘em and don’t open ‘em until I say so. Promise.”

            She squeezed her eyes shut and Jackson lugged her down the steps until the second man’s body was out of sight. They took the back door of the house, a door that let out in an alley.

            “Ok, you can open them, baby.”

            Jackson held onto her hand as if she might float away. Blackmen were everywhere. More screams and shots began to echo from streets on either side of the alley. Jackson tucked Nara in his coat. She held her little ears with her hands as the sounds of pain reverberated from brick to brick. Jackson wished to spare her the memory but they had to get away. The alley ended on a very open street. Traffic had been stopped so the Blackmen could search houses on either side of the road.

            Jackson kneeled down to Nara, “Act like me baby. Do what I do.”

            She nodded and kneeled down to mimic him.

            “Good job honey.”

            Jackson ran to the first car and knelt behind it. The driver stared at them in fear. Jackson raised his hand in pleading. Everyone was afraid of children. They had been the unavoidable petri dish for the disease. Their little bodies were not only alarming, they were dangerous. The woman behind the wheel stayed frozen. Her lip quivered as Nara looked into her eyes. Jackson motioned Nara to move to the next car as a Blackman began to walk away from them. They moved across the three rows of traffic until they reached the other side, the drivers each making the same face as they approached. Nara shadowed Jackson around the corner and into another alley. The next alley was long but Jackson could see cars driving past its mouth on the other side. Blackmen were surely not active in that area but the alley had little cover. If a Blackman looked down it he would surely see them.

            “Walk faster baby,” Jackson let her lead so he could somewhat hide her behind himself.

            The street beyond was nearly empty of people. Jackson pushed Nara into his coat again although he realized she did not blend in. He clearly had a child beneath it, but it seemed to comfort her a little and it was better than nothing. One person passed by, two, each walking a long circle around them. They had neared a second block when, suddenly, someone started yelling.

            Jackson looked in dread behind him. Three Blackmen had burst from the same alley. They rushed frantically from car to car, apparently thinking Jackson had caught a ride. Then, his eyes met one of theirs. The first let out a holler, his cronies flanking him. More of them came from an alley in front of Jackson. Jackson pushed Nara to the ground, trying to take his rifle from his shoulder. Something struck him, a bullet. Pain ripped through his arm as he took the rifle in his hands, another shot hitting him in the right shoulder, causing him to spray bullets into the street.

            “Stay away from her! Stay away!” his screams sent fear into the Blackmen’s hearts.

            Jackson focused as the pain blinded him. He shot two of the Blackmen down but the two behind him forced him to the ground.

            “Nara! No! Nara!” he struggled but the men held him in place.

            One of the men scooped up Nara, kicking and screaming, and began to walk away. Jackson watched as a woman in a medic’s outfit came up to the Blackmen and Nara. They held Nara’s hand out to her as she pricked it with a needle and collected her blood. The woman shook her head and pointed somewhere.

            Jackson fought with the rage of a bull, head-butting the man holding him and kicking in panic. The Blackmen stripped him of his weapons and tied back his hands.

            “Please! She’s all I have! Please! She’s only six!”

            But his screams came unanswered. Jackson’s eyes became heavy as they walked off with Nara. His blood ran warmly down his side and his tears dropped onto the sidewalk.

            A man came up to him, his officer’s boots distinguishing him from the others, “Knock him out.”

            Jackson looked up just in time to see the butt of his own gun as it met with his head.

 

 

            Jackson’s eyes flickered open in a haze. The sluggish feeling of drugs pressed on him. He had been sedated. His head and body ached everywhere. A movement caught his eye. He followed it left and right as it crisscrossed over his arm, then his shoulder. It was a hand, but not one of a human. Its precision and demeanor was that of a machine. He had seen androids working in the field as medics. They had nearly outnumbered their human counterparts. He had always disliked them.

            “Hello Corporal Dwayne Jackson. You should be asleep,” the woman stitching his arm tilted her head.

            “What’s going on? Where am I?” Jackson’s eyes went in and out of focus to the point of motion sickness.

            The woman paused and finished closing the wound, “Your wounds were not fatal but were          bleeding incessantly. You are at the Saint Louis VA Hospital for medical treatment. You require rest and blood.”

            Jackson looked at the sutures on his arm, “Rest. Huh, why didn’t they just kill me?”

            The woman blinked at him, “They cannot. Military officials are higher ranking than Blackmen      and therefore it is not for them to decide.”

            Jackson sat up, “I wish they programmed rhetorical questions into you b******s.”

            The woman took a step out of his way, “That is not a very nice word Corporal Jackson.”

            He sighed and put his hand to his face, “But of course they program manners.”

            It dawned on him suddenly, “Where is my daughter? Where is Nara?”

            The android made a face of confusion, “I do not know what a Nara is nor where your daughter is.           Do not get too excited Corporal Jackson.”

            “You haven’t seen me excited you piece of scrap metal. Where’s my daughter?”

            The android seemed nervous but only appeared as such. They didn’t have true feelings although they were made to express them. Jackson limped across the room to the open door. Nurses eyed him suspiciously as he walked down the hall.

            One stopped and held her hands out to him, “Whoa there Sir. Where do think you’re going?”

            Jackson bit the inside of his cheek, “Isn’t there someone here I can talk to? What’s going on             goddammit?”

            She sighed, “You’re dripping blood on the floor Sir. You need to go back to your room.”

            Jackson looked down. Sure enough, his IV had come out, blood dripping merrily onto the white floor. He hadn’t even realized its existence until then. The drugs had truly done their job. He couldn’t feel his arm at all.

            “I will nurse but first I need to know I can talk to someone. Please,” Jackson felt silly begging      her.

            He didn’t even know if she was human.

            “I’ll try and call someone Sir. Just go back to your room before you cause more problems. You’re             screwing up the flow of traffic in here. Go biohazard up your own room please.”

            Jackson grinned a bit. Humor. She was human.

            The android greeted him as he came back to his room.

            “Hey Marge, I’m back.”

            She pointed to her nametag, “My name is not Marge. As you can see my name is Ellen.”

            A pang of sadness came over Jackson. Nara’s mother was named Ellen. She was gone. So was Nara. He was alone.

            Jackson stared at Ellen a moment, “I hate you people.”

            Ellen stared blankly at him, “We are not people.”

            Jackson rubbed his eyes, “And of course they program a response to everything.”

            Even through the jokes he could feel his eyes watering.

            Ellen re-attached his IV, “I am sorry you are unhappy.”

            Jackson turned onto his good side and shut his eyes, “I guess it’s pretty obvious. Even you can     tell.”

            He heard her cross the room and close the door. The drugs weighed heavily on him but it was tears that made him fall asleep.

            Jackson awoke in darkness. His room light had been turned off sometime while he was sleeping. He lie there a moment absorbing the stillness. She’s gone, he thought, They took her away and she’s either dead or with the Mutos. It’s all my fault. I should’ve stopped them. I should’ve died for her. He sat up in the darkness and wrapped his arms around himself. But I tried, didn't I? Goddamnit, at least I did that. He felt the punctures in his hand. They had been wrapped intricately in a fine bandage. It wasn’t enough. I didn’t try hard enough. They have her. It’s all my fault and they have her.

            A knock came at Jackson’s door and the lights flickered on.

            “Jackson?”

            Jackson recognized the voice. It was his friend he met in Half-Crest: Erik Staffner. Jackson wiped the tears from his eyes.

            He wouldn’t look at Erik, “It’s not a good time Erik but hopefully you’ve brought me some             information?”

            Erik crossed the room and pulled up a chair beside Jackson, “Damn Dwayne. What’d they do to you?”

            “They took my daughter Erik. They took her away. The Blackmen.”

            Erik placed his hand on Jackson’s shoulder, “You’re daughter? I didn’t know you had a daughter.             Why this? Why’d they shoot you?”

            “Are you that stupid Erik? I know you’re younger than me but get serious alright?”

            “Come on Dwayne, don’t call me stupid. I’m just trying to help. So they shot you when you tried            to protect her?”

            “Yes, Erik. Well, I took down a few of them before they took her. I didn’t know what to do.”

            Erik took his hand off of Jackson, “You mean you killed Blackmen? Good God Dwayne! They’re           just doing their job!”

            Jackson faced him finally, “Have you ever had any kids Erik?”

            Erik shook his head.

            “Then shut up. They might’ve been doing their goddamn job but guess what? They’re goddamn   job is being baby killers.”

            “They protect the public from disease.”

            “They take children from their families! They kill children! What kind of job is that!?”

            Erik sighed, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just…I can’t agree. Lily…she was down and out. She       joined them you know.”

            Jackson looked fiercely at Erik, “Lily joined them? Your Lily?”

            Tears almost seemed to well up in Erik’s eyes, “What Lily do you think I’m talking about? Yeah,             my Lily. They promised her a position and she took it and I…I can’t say they’re baby killers. I           know the truth Dwayne. Don’t make me face it. I haven’t seen her in weeks.”

            “I’m sorry. Why are you here anyway?”

            Erik sighed, “Staff Sergeant Blakely thought I’d lessen the blow, being we’re friends and all.”

            “Lessen the blow? Of what? Do you know something about Nara?”

            “No, Dwayne. You’re position. You’re rank. They’ve reduced you to a private.”

            “A private? That’s what this is about?”

            “I talked to Staff Sergeant Blakely and he said he pleaded with them. They were going to ex you            out. They were going to give you a dishonorable discharge but he convinced them to not do it. “

            Jackson shook his head, “I don’t care. I mean, I do, but not right now. Where  is Blakely? I want             to talk to him.”

            “He’s outside. You don’t care? Damn Dwayne. That’s your life right there. I thought you might   give a damn about it.”

            “It isn’t great? Is that what you want me to say? I’m in shambles alright? Just go get me Blakely,             now.”

            “I’m up, I’m up. I’ll be right back.”

            Jackson twitted his thumbs but stopped quickly. The pain of the bite made his hand throb and it was getting harder to move. If he could only escape the hospital... He glanced at the door, an idea quickly forming; Erik would be back soon. Carefully he grabbed one of the steak knives from the tray, left by the android. He tucked it beneath the sheets and waited. Blakely would know what to do, but it was always good to have a plan-B...