Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Even before he broke into a sprint, Ronin knew there’d be no outrunning the storm. Their only hope was shelter. He overclocked his processors, scouring his memory bank for any semblance of shelter nearby—a building, a cave, even a partially collapsed wall to hide behind.
Lara clung to him with her face buried against his shoulder.
The wind was strong at his back, pushing him forward, whipping her hair, which had come loose from its braid, into his optics.
Had they been able to resupply before leaving Cheyenne, he could’ve found her better face protection, perhaps even a respirator.
That would’ve diminished at least one of the dangers they were about to face.
Lightning flashed, followed two and a half seconds later by a peal of thunder. Lara lifted her head and wadded his coat in her fists. “Ronin!”
“We’re going to be fine,” he said, amplifying his voice so she could hear him over the roaring wind.
He ran up a hill into a copse of trees, several which were still living.
If there were no alternatives, the ancient boughs would help break the wind a little, but they wouldn’t provide adequate shelter for Lara.
He should’ve kept their course closer to the old road.
At least then he might’ve located a culvert or something similar to take shelter within.
Finally emerging from the trees, he stopped on the hill’s crest. The land before him leveled out into a wide expanse littered with brush, weeds, brown grass, and dirt before sloping back upward in the distance.
As Ronin swept his optics across the area, he caught a contrast in color several hundred yards out.
Buildings.
Ronin worked his way down to the open ground.
Between Lara, their clothing, ammunition, tools, food, water, and two hauls of scrap, he was carrying hundreds of kilograms of extra weight, forcing his actuators and compensators to operate well above normal levels of strain.
But if his speed and heavy steps jostled Lara, she made no complaint. She simply clutched him tighter.
The only structure standing was a house, and time had not been kind to it.
Paint was peeling off the wooden siding, which had been so exposed to the elements that the gray, splintering boards were warped and falling off the underlying framework.
The whole building leaned three degrees to the side.
The roof sagged, the windows were shattered, and the front door hung on a single bent hinge.
He slowed when they were within fifteen meters of the house. The buildings around it lay like the remains of massive beasts, slowly sinking into the dust, but this home had defied the odds, had defied nature itself, by remaining upright.
Humans might’ve called it a miracle, but Ronin was not willing to risk Lara’s life for so nebulous a concept. It couldn’t be trusted to endure the punishment the storm was about to unleash.
North of the house was a tin roofed barn that had collapsed upon itself. Tufts of grass and weeds grew from spots on the roof where dirt had accumulated in the grooves.
He looked east. The wall of dust stretched across the horizon for countless kilometers, already flowing over the hills they’d just crossed. At best, they had three minutes before the storm hit them.
Ronin carried Lara around the side of the house, between it and the barn. The rusted carcass of a tractor jutted out of the brush that was slowly overtaking it. Normally, he would’ve stopped, pried open the engine housing, and picked it for scrap, but now he walked past without a second glance.
The house would have to do. There was no other choice. He’d keep Lara shielded with his body in case of structural failure.
“Ronin, there!” Lara pointed and wiggled free of his arms. “I’ve seen something like that before.”
When he released his hold, she raced toward a grass covered mound seventy feet from the collapsed back porch. A metal door, covered in rust and grime, stood on the side of the mound, framed in concrete.
Lara grasped the handle and pulled, throwing her weight into it, but the door didn’t budge. Baring her teeth, she pulled again with a growl. “I can’t get it open!”
When Ronin reached her, she stepped aside.
He wrapped his fingers around the handle and exerted gradual force.
It was immediately clear that the door hadn’t been used recently.
He increased the pressure, knowing it was more likely to break than to turn.
Wind howled and thunder rolled across the heavens, loud enough for him to feel the soundwaves vibrating over his skin.
The first stinging dust particles struck him.
Lara twisted away from the wind, crouched, and raised her arms to shield her head.
Time was up. The needed to get inside the house and hope for the best.
With a metallic groan, the mechanism gave way, and the handle swung up. Ronin tugged the door open, battling the oncoming wind. The hinges whined. The only thing darker than the sky was the entrance to the shelter.
He took hold of Lara’s arm and helped her onto the concrete steps. Ronin followed her, turning to close the door. The nearby house was completely obscured by the storm. Wind blasted Ronin, pelting him with dirt.
The heavy door slammed shut, its sound echoing in the sudden silence.
Ronin activated the infrared illuminators in his optics and switched them to night vision, cutting through the darkness. They were surrounded by concrete. This was a bomb shelter.
“Oh, fuck. I hope we don’t have to go through that again,” Lara rasped, her breath ragged. She groped blindly with a hand until finally taking hold of his arm.
He descended the steps slowly, allowing her ample time to feel them out. “That depends on chance, and where it is we decide to go.”
At the bottom, the stairs opened on a small room, three meters wide by four and a half meters long, with a door on the far wall. The ceiling was only thirty centimeters over Ronin’s head. To the left, a pair of bunks were bolted to the wall, piled with blankets.
Something shifted beneath the blankets on the bottom one. The soft sound of rustling cloth echoed off the walls.
Ronin stopped abruptly. Lara bumped into him with a gasp, stumbling back as he swung his rifle into his hand and pressed the stock to his shoulder.
“Ronin?” she whispered.
Holding the firearm in his right hand, he used his left to guide Lara back to the foot of the stairs, keeping himself between her and the beds. “We’re not alone.”
“I should think not,” someone said from the bed.
A metal arm emerged from beneath the blankets, catching hold of them and drawing them aside to expose a pair of metal legs.
Those legs swung over the side of the bunk, and the blankets fell away fully.
The bot, a skinless synth with its interconnected torso and face plates on display, sat up, leaning outside the bed to avoid striking its head.
That voice—its tone, its inflection—was familiar to Ronin.
“There’s not much sense in pointing your firearm at me,” the synth said, brow plates dropping.
“You were repurposed for military use in May of…well, the year doesn’t really mean anything anymore, does it?
Regardless, your reaction time is more than sufficient to eliminate me before I make it within three steps of you were I to attempt to inflict harm. Not that I harbor any such intent.”
“I… What do you mean, repurposed?” Ronin moved his left hand to the rifle’s handguard, as though the gesture would bring clarity.
Lara settled her hands on his back and gripped his coat.
The synth caned its head, placed a hand on its thigh, and drummed its fingers. “Sometimes I forget most of us suffered memory damage. I’ve begun to wonder, in recent years, if you aren’t better off for what you’ve lost, and I disadvantaged for all I’ve retained.”
“I know your voice.” Ronin lowered the barrel of his weapon. “I know you.”
“Our brief encounter one hundred and eighty-five years ago was hardly enough to claim familiarity, especially as it appears we’ve both changed considerably in the time since.”
“You’re the Prophet.”
Lara inhaled sharply.
“Apparently, my reputation has spread beyond digital minds. That name was bestowed upon me, but it’s never been mine. I’ve always considered it foolish for our kind to stoop to such…superstition.” The synth slowly stood up.
“Guess that shit’s more suited to my kind, right?” Lara said.
“My apologies. I meant no offense.” The synth moved to a box near the far door, limbs bending stiffly, and crouched beside an old lantern. “My name is Newton. After the English mathematician, of course, as I’m sure you’ve already deduced.”
“Who?” Ronin and Lara asked simultaneously.
Newton struck a match, and the brief flare blinded Ronin’s optics. Lara flinched as gentle light filled the chamber.
“Forgive me. I’d hoped things would be…closer to the status quo out there by now.
I suppose civilization still lies dormant.
” Newton turned back toward them, the corners of its mouth falling.
“Have I offended you again, miss? I was often told my conversational skills lack a certain degree of tact. I’ve also been told that it would be more interesting to watch paint dry than to listen to me wax eloquent abo—”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Lara asked.
“Vulgarity is not becoming of you, miss.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“The use of such vulgar language denotes a lack of sophistication and an inability to adequately convey—”
Lara tensed against Ronin, growling. “Another damned high-and-mighty bot.”
Ronin placed his hand against her stomach to keep her behind him. “Lara—”
“Don’t you dare try to shut me up, Ronin. I’m not going to stand here silently while he goes on about how vulgar I am.”
“Your language,” Ronin corrected as he turned his head to look at her, recognizing the potential misstep before the words were even out. “Not you.”