February 15th, 2013 by Theresa

“Didn’t used to be a war, you know.”

Cherie rolled her eyes at the MP who walked her to the cells. The lower levels of the army base were cold and damp. She bore down on a shiver refusing to show weakness.

“Not so long ago,” he continued, “This base had kids camps. Shoulda been there. Laughter echoed these walls and gum was under every classroom desk.”

Cherie twisted her wrists against the cuffs in vain. Dejected, she feigned a yawn and sniffed. as they walked away from the elevator and took the stairs down.

“See back then? Knew a real officer by how they worked with kids – especially the screw ups.”

Cherie’s nervousness rose with each degree the temperature dropped. Down and down they went. Just from memory, she knew they were well past the holding cells. Only things in the base’s basement were the furnace and the morgue. Handy places to dispose of bodies.

“Yep, had to know how to handle the difficult ones,” the MP went on. “Had to know when to punish them right or slap them on the wrist.” Finally they stopped. The MP undid the Cherie’s cuffs and turned her around.

“Down this hall are the tunnels. Stay left. It’s the way out. Don’t get caught next time. You need gas? You get it from my car. I got an extra tank.”

Cherie stared at the MP as he walked back up the stairs. A heartbeat later, she ran for her freedom.

As appeared on Thursday Threads with Siobhan Muir

February 8th, 2013 by Theresa

Steel robot bodies fell in cluttered heaps as the electromagnetic pulse rolled through the factory.

“BlackFox to base. Target hit.”  Even after twenty missions since the machines took over I still had the willies. The robots were smart. My paranoia kept me alive.

“Base to BlackFox. Green light to recon. Stay safe and don’t get dead.”

I picked my way through the scrap heaps – metal skeletons with a CPU and a solid state drive for a brain. Others looked human – too human. I stepped over bodies of perfect skin, luxurious hair and awesome abs.  I made damn sure I didn’t trip over racks of bony metal fingers and hip bones.  Pushing down my nausea, I got back to work. A soft cry to my left stopped me in my tracks.

I scrambled to the sound, a closet marked “DECOMMISSION.” She was naked and shivering.  Without thinking I reached for my mini med kit and got the foil blanket around her. She never saw my knife coming.

In a flash I sliced her arm. She yelped and pulled back in horror. “I just wanted to be sure,” I said. “The new models are harder to find.”  My gut twisted as she held out her shaking arm. Blood poured from the wound and servos showed beneath the skin. She was one of them – one of the new ones.

“Don’t kill me,” she begged. “I can help you defeat them all.”

For the first time in years, I got a good feeling.

As appeared on Thursday Threads with Siobhan Muir