David Hanrahan - Archon of the Covenant

“We can’t have that creature following us. It’s dangerous. If it gets hungry, it will try to attack you.”

“No it won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because its hungry right now. We both are. They threw both of us in that dark place on the same day. It was injured, and the other animals kept nipping at it. I kept throwing broken wood at them. But I can’t walk so well. I felt so bad for it. I tried my hardest. I mostly kept them away and, finally, the wolf stood up on its own and we traded places. The wolf would snarl at the others when they started to turn on me. We’ve helped each other ever since. So, you know, that wolf is with me.”

The machine pulled a Ziploc bag of granola bars from the bag and a small blanket and handed them back to the girl, shaking them at her as she stared back at the spot where the glow had appeared but was, now, gone. She grabbed the Ziploc bag and the sentinel drove onward, off the road, towards the main column of the closest overpass. They nestled into the berm of the highway. The sentinel locked its tri-axel into place. The crescent moon appeared in the night sky and DDC39 spoke to her:

“I need to shut down for the night.”

“What’s happening? Where are you taking me?”

“I promise to tell you more in the morning. I need you to be safe tonight. Go to sleep and don’t wander off. If there is trouble, yell and I will come to your aid.”

She crawled off the rumble seat and curled up under the sentinel’s base, tugging at the blanket and digging her feet in between the tires. The sentinel initiated its shutdown procedure and the world closed around them.

• Solar power cell — 1%. Solar armor — 81%.

• Drivetrain — operational

• Visual/cortico/thermal/radar optics — operational

• HD/Comms — disrupted

• Water — 100%. Napalm — 100%

• Railgun — 24% capacity

• AAR — healthy, vaccinated girl in tow; posthaste vector to final checkpoint

• Shutting down core operation and initiating battery recharge

A sound stirred the sentinel early in the morning. The soft glow of the sun had only just begun to rise beyond the faraway ridgeline of Rincon Peak and Mica Mountain. The interstate corridor was still dark — a faint ray of light glowing off the reflective highway sign above. Patches of weeds that had popped through cracks in the asphalt concrete rustled in the wind. The sentinel pinged the periphery — no closing movements, no significant heat signatures. The sentinel looked down at the girl, who was curled up beneath its base. She coughed. The sound was her, the tiny creature nestled between the polycarbonate axels of the wanderer. The sentinel clicked between thermal and x-ray optics, auditing her bio-signs. She was running a fever. The cool desert air had dropped the temperature dangerously low overnight. She looked up at him.

“I tried not to wake you.”

“It’s okay. Let’s get you into the sunlight.”

She crawled out from under the sentinel’s chassis and hopped back into the rumble seat. The sentinel unlocked and drove back into the blacktop. It stopped abruptly at the scattered belongings of the open luggage and picked up a plastic cup that had blown back and forth between the two bags. The sun began to peak over the eastern highway berm. The machine and the girl rolled south along the I-19, passing under the interchange and emerging into the dawn on the southern outskirts of the city. They pulled off the highway, into hardened earth beside the road. The sentinel’s solar armor glimmered in the half-light. A thicket of trixis and chuparosa listed in the light easterly breeze coming off the distant Starr Ridge. The terror of the city drifted into the ether and was quieted, however momentarily.

The girl hopped off the rumble seat and the sentinel handed her the plastic cup, which she inspected, rolling it about in her hands. As she did, a small L-nozzle flipped open from the side of the sentinel’s trident arm.

“Water. Hold the cup up.”

She held it aloft, underneath the nozzle, and a light trickle of water poured into her cup and stopped as it neared the brim. She stepped back, a smile on her face, and drank from the cup.

“Eat your granola bar.”

She screwed up her eyes at the sentinel and then, padding her sweatshirt pocket, nodded happily and took a granola bar from the Ziploc bag, chomping at it in big bites. She looked around, bobbing her head back and forth as she chewed.

“I’m not fully re-charged yet. We’ll need to rest here while the sun comes up.”

She plopped down in the dirt, plucking petals from a nearby chuparosa stem. Somehow, she was happy. She looked up, thinking of what she wanted to say.

“I knew you weren’t my mom.”

“How did you know that?”

She looked down and took another bite of her granola bar. A line of ants was crossing the desert floor beside her. She peeked her head down at them, tipping the cup slightly over them, a single drop of water falling into their path. She sighed and looked up at the sentinel again.

“Everyone is sick. People are crazy. I’m not crazy though.”

“I know. You’re a healthy girl. We need to keep you away from the people who are sick.”

“Why are they sick?”

“Something happened with the air. It affected the human central nervous system. The advanced part of the brain decayed and twisted. And people were no longer able to think normally. They became like animals.”

The sentinel stopped and turned to her. She was watching the sun rise, rocking back and forth on the ground. She looked at the machine, its optical array, and shrugged.

“Why is everyone else sick but I’m not?”

“Do you remember your time in the Biosphere? Did anyone give you an injection?”

She looked off into the distance and stopped rocking.

“Gilberto gave me a shot. My mom and Terrence got a shot too. My mom has long hair. She gave me a bag of Gummy Bears and I ate the whole bag. Did you know if you eat a whole bag of candy you get sick? You shouldn’t eat that much candy.”

“I don’t eat candy. But that’s good advice. I think you’re not sick because Gilberto or someone in the Biosphere was able to give you a vaccine.”

“Why did God let this happen?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Don’t you know who God is?”

The sentinel panned around, pinging the periphery of their position. It switched between optical frames, keeping a vigilance on the sunrise of the Arizona Abaddon.

“Where are the other healthy people?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you know?”

“I was commissioned at the Martinez Manufacturing Complex and my first stage program was to search this region for survivors — people who were immune to the disease. I followed the signs that led me to you. My second stage program is to take you to coordinates not too far from here. South. That’s where we’re going.”

“I’m a survivor.”

“You are. How do you feel?”

“I feel like a survivor.”

They rested in the low tide of sunlight. The girl followed the trail of ants as it snaked into the microscopic crevices of the drought plains. She hopped up and down on one leg and then plopped down again, sitting aside the sentinel as it adjusted its solar plates in the shifting sun. She looked up at the sentinel, searching for the words again, and then she excitedly asked her question:

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t have a name. I have a serial number. It’s DDC39.”

“I wonder if I have a serial number? I could be Becca number one maybe.”

“Okay Becca number one. I’m almost fully recharged. We’ll head out soon.”