G. Wright - Broken Things

Its eyes were open, giving him the uncomfortable feeling that they watched him.

He gripped his flashlight tightly, knuckles white with tension and leaned in to look closer. Yes, the chest moved, ever so subtly. The robot’s lungs still worked, pushing out stale air, and a sound, if he listened carefully, like a death rattle.

“Well, son of a bitch,” he said, “I think you’re still functional. How did they miss that?”

The android turned its head to face him.

Gus shouted and took two steps back, dropping his flashlight. The thing didn’t move any farther, and he chuckled in relief. “Oh man, you startled me.”

He bent down to grab his flashlight. He’d never been the most limber of guys, even in his youth, and touching his toes remained an impossibility to this day. He squatted down, feeling for his flashlight amidst the heavy shadows that blanketed the floor. He hadn’t turned it on. He just liked the feel of its weight in his hand.

He found it under a bench where it had rolled up against the legs. He stood up, legs protesting, and found himself face to face with the rotting android, its face inches from his own. Despite himself he dropped the flashlight again. He hadn’t even heard the thing move. Its foul breath hit him squarely in the face as its arms shot out to grab him by the neck.

Gus had a lot of weight advantage. The android had strength built into its bones. It fell on top of him, hands tightening like vices. He fought for air, struggled to pull the thing’s wrists away but to no avail. It brought its face toward him, teeth snapping eagerly at his face. His vision blurred, mercifully hiding the thing’s visage as it dug its teeth into his cheek, but nothing diminished the pain.

Nobody living remained in the building to hear his screams.

It stumbled down the hall, blood dripping from its mouth and chin as it followed the fear scent. It kept one hand on the wall for balance, leaving a sanguine smear in in its wake. It wore the guards clothing about its emaciated frame, hoping to give it some semblance of its humanity. They hung from it only slightly better than its rags, but maybe enough to fool someone at a glance.

Its limbs worked again, maybe not perfect, but well enough. There were parts of it still broken, but it could walk again! Its arms had more strength than ever.

It had taken the guard’s keys along with his clothing. It opened the door quietly. The child slept. The fear felt so much different when they were awake. It never truly went away with the abandoned children. It permeated their dreams, laced their thoughts.

They’d given the boy such a small room, so devoid of hope. It walked cautiously into the room, careful not to wake him. A bowl of soup sat cooling on the table, untouched. The boy’s captors had left his light on. It clicked the switch, plunging the room into more forgiving darkness. It stopped next to the cot, leaning over him. It brushed a strand of hair from over the boy’s eyes, causing the boy to stir restlessly. Did it haunt the boy’s dreams? How did it rate amongst all of his other fears? Did the boy even dream?

A single drop of blood fell from its lips onto the boy’s cheek. It reached out to wipe away the blood, but only smeared it.

It didn’t sense any further damage to the child, but they hadn’t bothered fixing him either. Should it care if they had hurt this child if he wasn’t real? The fear felt real though, as real as anything he’d ever sensed before.

There was a greater purpose at work here, even if it didn’t understand yet. It would reveal itself in time.

“Soon,” he whispered to the child, and stepped back as the boy shifted uneasily. With practiced ease he slipped out the door with hardly a sound.

Josh got up, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He’d had the weirdest sensation, like somebody had been talking to him in his sleep. The darkness disoriented him and for a moment he thought he might be back in his old room in the safety of his parents’ house. The illusion lasted but a second. It all came rushing back, the mountains, and the ride back with that evil Mrs. Hart, and the guy that planned to tear him apart.

It had to still be night, but he couldn’t tell, with the only illumination coming in beneath the door. He focused on that slim band of light to find his way across the room and felt around until he found the light switch.

He blinked and squinted until his eyes adjusted. The room remained as bland as ever. He got up, used the small toilet, and settled in to think about the last of his remaining time. Someone had placed a bowl of soup on the table while he had slept. He thought that a pretty lousy last meal, all things considered, but his stomach didn’t complain.

After quickly eating he paced around the room. Maybe there would be someone else here that actually cared. How could so many people working with kids be so cold?

On a whim, he walked over and tried the door. The handle felt sticky, but he ignored it. It turned easily, they had forgotten to lock the door, or thought he was too broke to care. If no one were about he could just walk out. He could go home! He slowly cracked it open and peaked.

The hallway’s dim lighting made the place feel cold and desolate. The sound from his damaged head echoed off the walls, and he wondered how far away someone could hear it. He cautiously looked both ways. The hallway had several other doors much like his own.

It smelled strange, reminiscent of something he’d smelled before, something like rotten meat. Dark blotches on the white tiles led down the hall to his room, ending at his door. That’s oil or something , he told himself, it’s not blood . It sure looked a lot like blood though. They’d brought the thing back with them. If it were loose in the building, it might try to find him again. He looked both ways, making sure that it wasn’t trying to sneak up on him.

If that were blood on the floor, what was on the door handle? He looked down at his hand and a shiver raced through his body. The palm and fingers of his hand were stained with drying blood. He wiped them on his jeans, his feet moving him forward of their own accord as he lurched away from the door. It swung and slammed shut behind him. He flinched, hoping nobody (or no thing ) had heard it.

A large thump made him nearly leap out of his shoes, and he let out a tiny shriek before he could bite it back. It came from the room next to his. It could be someone working late, maybe somebody repairing something.

The thumps turned to knocks, and the knocking to pounding. He slowly backed away from the door until he bumped into the wall on the opposite side. He didn’t know which way to run. Did it matter?

“Who’s out there?” came a muffled voice beyond the door, “Let me out!” The voice did not belong to an adult, but a kid.

Josh ran to the door and pressed his ear against it. “Hello? Are you a prisoner too?”

“Hey! Yes! Open the door!”

Josh grabbed the handle and shook it, but it wouldn’t budge. “It’s locked. I can’t open it!”

“You’ve got to get me out of here,” the kid hollered back, “Find the keys!”

Where would they be? Why hadn’t they left this kid’s door unlocked too? He hurried down the hallway, trying each door in turn. They were all locked. He hesitated, if he delayed too long, someone was bound to find him, these places always had security. He came to the end of the hallway to a door with an opaque glass window. Though it had no sign, it looked important. As luck would have it the handle turned easily, revealing a large office.

This room had a large window behind it, and the lights of downtown Boise shown through, providing enough illumination to see what he was doing. Josh breathed a sigh of relief, morning hadn’t come yet. He pulled out the drawers, digging through them one by one.