Chapter 8 #3
They’re soaring past brambles, dust flying with each hoof strike.
Though she knows—well, she thinks—it’s all fake, her heart jumps.
Their horse is running full speed toward the cliff edge, showing no signs of slowing down.
At the last minute it brakes, sliding as it spins to face their attackers, throwing her and Res6 forward.
Her hand darts toward the red switch, and she’s just grazing it when the horse rears back, kicking at the attackers defensively.
They scream, sliding back. Before they fall off the machine, Res6 throws his arms around her and grabs the horn. The horse’s hooves slam into the ground with such force that a fissure forms in the rock at its feet. At least the Scottish cowboys have stopped shooting.
The one sporting a bright rust handlebar mustache and matching rhinestone chaps slides off his horse and inches toward them. He holds his hand out. “Hand her over, partner. Nice and easy.”
“Maybe if I go with him, the program will end?” she asks.
“I’ll never give her up,” Res6 shouts, out of nowhere.
Does he do these simulations often? If so, color her intrigued—just maybe next time, not a low-grade scary one. At least until she’s used to them.
She shakes her head. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
He lifts his hand, pointing a finger gun at the leader. The others step up behind him, and she only now notices they’re all wearing yellow star-shaped badges that say “Deputy Lawman.”
A laugh bursts from her chest. “Wait, Res6—they think you’re the bad guy.”
Feeding into her amusement, he growls, “You’ll have to kill me first!”
“Oh God, don’t encourage them!”
The cowboys raise their six-shooters. “Look inta the black eye o’ my pistol, for it’ll be the last ye’ll ever see, ye ken!”
Their horse prances nervously, its ears twitching. Beneath them, the ground shakes. The horse takes a few unsteady steps toward the cliff’s edge.
Res6 squeezes her tighter. “This can’t be good.”
A shriek rips from her chest as the ground drops out from beneath them and they tumble. Her stomach lurches as rocks race down the cliff beside them, followed by a chorus of yeehaws that echoes over the distance.
“Hold on!” Res6 calls.
She throws herself forward, wrapping her arms around the horse’s neck.
The machine flops in the opposite direction.
She slides up its neck, and the horn digs into her pelvis.
Trying to ease the discomfort, she shimmies but slips.
The side of her face slides against the cool metal, the safety glasses screeching as they dig into her skin.
When her cheekbone brushes something knobby, there’s a click.
Suddenly the horse stills, righting itself. She slumps back down its neck, the horn digging into her ass. “Oh my God, I think I stopped it.” Her voice is unsteady but relieved. Res6 lifts her off the horn, settling her back into the saddle. The simulation dissolves into a benign prairie once again.
The system, in a cheery feminine tone, announces, "Guests are allotted ten minutes to disembark the animal and return to the staging area, at which time the room will rearrange for the picnic activity."
“I just need a second,” she says, noting her mildly panicked breath. “I didn’t expect that to feel so real.”
He holds up one of the little squishy fake bullets so she can see. “In a way it was.” He flicks the bullet to the ground, and she notes the dozens of others, plus a few clinging to her chaps. “I’m sorry . . .” He hesitates. “I didn’t mean to cause you more trauma.”
She huffs a laugh. “I’m fine. A little shaken, but it’s all good.
That was a great introduction to what the simulation chambers are capable of,” she says, trying to make light of the mildly perilous situation.
His intentions were good and she doesn’t want him to feel bad or discouraged since he’s trying.
It’s not like he put her in real danger.
“True,” he says, shoulders trembling as if he’s chuckling.
The warmth of his chest seeps into her back.
He doesn’t budge. Only releases a deep sigh, relaxes into their position, and slips an arm around her waist, which makes her feel .
. . comforted? Is Res6, the inventor of the horrid manupartners, managing to comfort her?
Impossible. He probably needs a minute, too.
“That excitement was quite unexpected,” she says.
His arm tightens, as if he doesn’t want the moment to end. “Agree. I’ll speak with—”
“No, don’t get the nice woman at the front desk in trouble.
We probably pushed the wrong button,” she says, indulgently leaning her head back against his chest. When was the last time she leaned against anyone?
Maybe her dad, when she was in middle school?
It feels nice. Too nice. Ever since she woke up in this new world, all she’s wanted is for someone to hug her and tell her everything will be okay. He doesn’t stop her.
A few moments of comfortable silence pass before a big red digital clock appears in front of them, counting down from four minutes. “I guess we’d better disembark,” she says.
He swings down from the saddle before reaching up to help her off. When they are safely back in the staging area, she peeks under the blanket covering the food. “What surprises do you think are in here?”
“I know what I asked for, but your guess is as good as mine,” he says, removing his chaps.
He folds them and replaces them in the bin, then turns her toward him and unbuckles her blue pair.
The action is so surprising, she lets him do it.
But that isn’t him being caring, she reminds herself.
He’s used to having a manupartner. Maybe they can’t undress themselves. That’s it.
“Haggis sandwiches?” she asks, tossing the safety glasses into a bin labeled Discard Reusable Items Here. Surely the peril is over. “Oh, I know, cow tongue burgers? That matches the theme.”
Res6’s nose wrinkles. “That sounds incredibly unappealing. If we fish out any theme-related lunch items, we’re reporting the woman at the front desk.”
“Agreed.” She takes the blanket and he follows her, carrying the basket to the center of the room. Once they have it set up, and the thankfully-not-gross veggie burgers plated, she settles onto the blanket, watching as he does the same.
The gold of the field brings out the gold of him: his eyes, the shiny blond of his hair, his warm skin, the stubble on his sharp jaw. He’s truly, unfairly beautiful.
He ruins it by opening his mouth. “What?”
“Nothing. I was just wondering what you hoped to accomplish with this excursion. Is fake horseback riding a thing in the future? Or are we going to get chased by gun-toting bandits often?”
He takes a long breath and releases it dramatically. “Is it a cop-out if I repeat that your guess is as good as mine?”
“Yes,” she says, taking a bite. “This is good, by the way. I’m ready for a real answer.”
He frowns. “How about I read somewhere that horseback riding was de-stressing?”
“You mean distressing?”
“No, Electra.” He waves a hand through the air as if he can bat away her comment. “Relaxing, or, I don’t know . . .”
“Have you ever relaxed before? I hate to inform you, that’s not what it feels like.”
“Perhaps the narrative I read was referring to the calm state after an adrenaline spike—” His eyes go wide as a berry smacks his face.
“God, Res6. Do you always have to be so serious? I was teasing you.”
He stares down at the uneaten part of his sandwich like it might contain answers. “You were teasing me.”
She watches him for a minute. Has his skin become a shade paler? “Are you okay?”
“It’s been a long time since someone did that.”
“Oh.” The safest thing she can think to ask is, “Who?”
Res6 nods to himself like he’s come to some sort of conclusion. “Hopefully, you’ll get to meet him soon. I think you’ll like him.”
She shakes her head. Maybe her hearing is a problem. “Res6, you didn’t say who.”
He glances off into the distance, and his voice is wistful when he says, “My brother.”