I Would Walk 1000 Miles

I remember the last time I saw him.

I didn’t think there would be a last time I saw him.

I was walking to our favorite pub in the snow. A holographic Yoda dressed as Santa was waving at me from one of many festive homes, the light reflecting on the soft white ground. My boots crunched on the sidewalk and another holograph leaned out for a “high five.”

I ignored it. Just a meaningless animation.

My frozen feet picked up the pace. I was excited to see Kevin and my other friends because we had been estranged for a while. Kevin and I had a rough break-up so I took time away from the whole group. Like, threatening-litigation-tough. Like, fighting-over-the-cats-tough.

After six months or so, our mutual friend, Killian, encouraged me to come back around.

Kevin and I had a couple of tentative, civil discussions over video chat. I admit that I still felt the old spark, but, I didn't want to rush into anything. We agreed to hang out as friends.

So, there I was, just half a block away from the building which was squeezed between two streets, with a little concave circular entrance, as though someone removed a perfect cylinder from one corner. An old, wet, weather-worn awning sat over the door, doing little to protect anyone from the weather and, in fact, dripping cold water on their heads as they stood waiting to get inside.

Just as I arrived, as I waved my wrist in front of the ID scanner, as the dark warmth and lull of voices inside felt so welcoming, I saw his face for an instant–and then he was gone.

We were all gone.

There was a bright blue light. An electrical explosion. And what followed was pure chaos. People running. Buildings on fire. The whole dystopian scene.

The consensus up until that moment was that sentient programs were rare. It was supposedly new technology. Of course, by the time the public learns of new tech, the military and rich CEOs have been using it in the shadows for decades.

I looked for him–for any of my friends–but all I could see were people running. And they all started to look the same, covered in grey ash from soot, smoke, and rubble. It seemed the longer I picked through and climbed over the remains of our pub, the less likely it was that I would find anyone. The shouts were dying down. The sound of people running was fading away.

I heard something else break the dull, vague hum of people still running and yelling in the distance–Crash, bang, clang, scrape. This was metal on metal, or metal on pavement, which was a noise that my brain couldn’t even compute. It took me a moment. Perhaps the closest thing I could imagine was a construction zone.

But the noises in a construction site were slow, as big machines swung scaffolding into place. This was fast. Crash-clang-bang-scrape!

I ducked behind half of a remaining wall and peaked over–it looked like a spider. But its legs were two stories high and its body was the size of a small apartment. My heart leapt up into my throat.

Where did something like that come from? How could it have been hiding in the city–or had it already traveled from some kind of science lab miles away? I stared in awe, slack-jawed, not sure what to do next.

It stopped running and was picking through the rubble.

With my survival senses kicking in, I tore my eyes away and looked for an escape.

Across the street, through the smoke and snow, I caught a glimpse of movement–human. Someone dashed and then disappeared. Squinting, as the smoke allowed for another window, I saw that the building had been blown away so thoroughly, the entrance to the basement was exposed.

When the machine turned away to zap something–or someone– I went for it. Heart pounding, I sprinted so fast I almost tripped on some loose bricks, but recovered, skidding right up to the basement entrance and hurrying down the stairs.

Now my heart was deafening in my ears, but I willed myself to make as little noise as possible, turning to see if the machine had followed me. I winced. I couldn’t think or feel much other than letting my body calm down, letting the adrenaline subside. There was no burst of light, no clanging outside.

I felt less panicked, but still alert. Anything could be down here, including smaller machines.

I had seen them before. In the shopping plaza.

We were on the floating dais. It wasn’t really floating, but there was an interconnected line of raised platforms with walkways and ramps going up and down in various directions, with a large green space and restaurants below.

The sun was shining and people were perusing, chatting, sipping, pointing.

Killian was with me, and we just got some plant-based protein drinks that were UV-activated. Holographic info screens and clerks lit up the walkways, even in the day time. But I noticed one kiosk in the center of our dais that didn’t have a holograph. The clerk was human.

He had a peculiar light-up headband with a strip of plexiglass that curved around the front of his face and hovered in front of his left eye. He was also wearing a glowing, flexible ring on each hand wrapped around the fore and middle finger. His hands danced like a conductor’s; one doing a swish, another moving smartly up and down, and the other now making an elegant circle.

As he did this, a spherical machine was hovering around his head. It swooped, it darted, it stopped, and then took off again.

The sphere had holes that were outlined with spinning rings. The rings, with lights to match the conductor’s finger-bands, seemed to propel and steer the hoverball. The blur of whirring neon made for a mesmerizing spectacle.

Kill and I stared, holding our forgotten drinks.

“What else does it do?” Kill asked, not even thinking to greet the person controlling it first.

The clerk smiled, a confident smirk, and said “Watch this.”

With a complicated gesture, a few flicks of each hand in different directions, the sphere started emitting music! Another gesture, and the volume increased. Now more people were staring, wandering over, smiling, some of them dancing.

The clerk danced too, making wider gestures, as the ball whipped around, hovering in a big circle over the crowd, blasting music.

Other kiosks held little machines in different shapes and sizes with various functions. One could carry heavy objects; another served as an in-house assistant, and there was one that had a weapon. It was just a water gun, but the possibilities were concerning.

Of course, at the time, those machines all seemed like harmless fun. After all, they were still controlled by people.

But that was weeks ago.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark corridor, I heard the scuffling of feet to my right, and headed that way. I was both sneaking and jogging, doing a cartoonish dance, landing on my tip-toes but moving as quickly as possible. One hand in front of me and one behind as I scaled the wall, my satchel dangling uselessly on my arm, with nothing in it to help me.

My lip gloss wasn't going to do much against a killer machine.

I already tried tapping my wrist to activate my mobile interface, but it didn’t work. I’d have to try and contact my family later. Thankfully, they lived out of state. But–was this only happening here?

I turned down another corridor. It wasn’t pitch black, because there were bars of light and little control panels spaced out every 20 feet or so. I forgot this was a government building. Passed it every day–never gave it a second thought.

I remembered friends telling me all government buildings had a back-up, localized energy grid and food storage. Food storage! Would anyone else be coming for it?

As I was nearing the next corner, the voices became louder–panicked. There was a loud CRASH, more yelling, and I peaked around to see a group of people hitting a machine with pipes and bricks.

“Get it! It’s going to sound an alarm!”

“Find the chip!”

They meant, of course, the CPU, a chip the size of my pinkie nail that controlled the machine.

The machine seemed to go down but one of its assailants was bleeding. I faltered. In a split second I had to decide whether or not to try and help, or just to announce my presence! But in that moment whether it was nervousness or logic–since I had no first aid skills and no supplies–my voice left me.

Before I could think too long about it, they were gone, hoisting up their friend and hurrying away.

I could have told them about the food and supplies hidden in here somewhere. It had been minutes since the apocalypse started–was I already feeling the competitive nature of survival? Did it change me that quickly? I shook it off.

We were all in shock. There was nothing to do at that point but breath, focus, and look for the safety bunker.

I wound my way toward what felt like the center of the building, until I saw some very secure-looking double doors down the hall. Just as I got within reach of the doors, a holograph blinked to life! My heart leapt out of my skin as the holo lit up the corridor, digital voice echoing down the halls. It took me a moment to realize that the hologram was greeting me.

It was pre-programmed. It wasn’t sentient.

I sighed with relief. Of course, even if a holo was sentient, it couldn’t do anything but send out an alert. Could this one be hijacked? I had no idea.

I argued with the thing and told it we were in a city-wide emergency.

"I have not been alerted to any emergency."

"You have no access to the outside world!"

I showed the holo that my mobile interface was down, using a tapping gesture to activate it.

"See? No contact. Isn't that an emergency?"

The holo tried to communicate with its grid, or network, or whatever it used, to no avail.

Finally, after taking all of my personal information including my blood type, it allowed me to enter the storage room. The storage area was impressive. An underground bunker. Bunk beds. Food for months.

It was tempting to stay there indefinitely, but I was already feeling claustrophobic. Besides, I had to try and contact my family and friends! So I found metal lockers and grabbed a military backpack, filled it with food and some first aid supplies, ditched my purse, and wound my way back outside.

Blinking into the sunshine, I crawled over rubble, sneaked through alleyways, and stayed out of site.

Weeks went by.

I escaped the city, and, like many others, raided grocery stores and abandoned houses. Though I am decently fit for a modern city girl, other people who were stronger, faster, and more prepared occasionally passed me in groups and gave me a passing look. I knew what the look meant: you’re going to slow us down.

Sometimes they would stop to talk and trade food and supplies, but it was clear that I wasn’t invited to join the party. So I continued on alone.

The best thing I got from the other travelers was information.

Many theorized that the machines were sticking to the cities for the time being. Plenty to destroy and, I supposed, develop there. They also said that, even if machines take over every city, they may avoid extreme temperatures.

Machines are smarter than we are to a degree of thousands. And of course, they are stronger and live, theoretically, forever, so long as they have the materials to build, sustain, and repair their bodies. However, they are still made of physical material and sensitive to the elements. They might avoid snow, extreme heat, and heavy rainfall.

Even the holographs need a point of origin, which could malfunction in extreme weather.

Now, as I activate the solar-powered speed boat with a rental key that I stole from the visitor's office in a nearby State Park, the quiet is almost as alarming as the explosions. Any moment I half-expect a giant machine to come crawling over one of the mountains lining the shore.

My family and I used to go to Lake Michigan every summer. I never sat on the lake while it was snowy. It was beautiful, peaceful, and a little spooky.

The sun is setting. There are more stars than I have seen in a long time.

Without any communication lines open, I have no idea how I will find my family. My only hope is to look for my friends, since they might have gone the same way I did. And then, somehow, I’d have to find a way to contact my family later. I could send a pigeon, I thought, if only to make myself chuckle.

I don’t know what the machines’ end game is, or what they are doing to the people who didn’t get away. Culling the herd? Rounding them up for slaughter? Kidnapping and enslaving them?

All I know is that right now I am alive.

I have a companion with me. He sleeps on the other side of the boat, the lapping of waves lulling him instead of waking him. He’s older and has a gun, so, maybe he will come in handy.

There I go thinking in terms of leverage and survival again.

But the truth is I’d rather not be alone. Whatever happens.

We are running low on canned food and power bars. The man said he can fish but we don’t have anything to fish with. The only hope we have of survival are encampments. And they don’t last long. Even out here, machines are sending scouts.

Like I said, they’re smart. They might not want to bother sending the big guys out here, but small flying machines can scope out survivors and also do a lot of damage. I already found one encampment that seemed to clear out in a hurry, and one injured person who said there was a machine shooting bullets.

We patched him up and moved along. He didn’t want to join, and couldn't walk, anyway. Hopefully his friends would come back for him when the danger cleared.

Beyond the encampments, there is a stronghold. It’s far–really far. Greenland far. I’ll be lucky if I get half-way through Quebec.

It’s all any of the travelers talk about. An underground city! Some experimental project that was supposed to be a safe-guard against global warming. Apparently it’s in a very good spot to protect against machines, because it was designed to close off all entrances in case of fire, flood, snow storm, etc.

Locals with military experience, I’m told, are already putting up a perimeter, and others are coming with supplies to make it livable. For now, as long as you can pitch in and help, everyone is welcome.

Could I make it that far? I can do snow. I’ve been camping. If I’m careful enough, and luck is on my side… who knows. I’m not giving up until I’m dead or missing half my limbs. My companion is older but wily. He was the do-his-own-yard-work-and-build-his-own-deck type. If he doesn’t abandon me, maybe we can make it together. Maybe we’ll find others to travel with.

Half-way through the night, as the cold begins to eat through my clothes I wake my companion so he can look out and I can sleep.

We look silly with mismatched layers of clothes. Whatever we could find from empty houses and generous travelers. Our best find was a sleeping bag that keeps you warm down to zero degrees Fahrenheit. We are taking turns with it.

I think about my friends. They are smart and determined. If I made it this far, they could, too.

Maybe, just maybe, they are headed toward Greenland. It seems like everyone else is.

As I go to sleep under the stars, I think about my friends and family. And Kevin.