god-machine’s wireless web that had been pulling her toward Chicago were now so intense they were a physical sensation. Sarah feared that when she and Mark followed the currents to their source, they would be caught in an inescapable whirlpool of some fearsome black hole at the center of the tides. Instead of water, the whirlpool was drawing in rivers of data from the n-web. She sensed it as a hungry emptiness of thought and emotion, a vacuum that could never be satiated. It was difficult to remember that normal people did not feel the singularity. It was difficult to believe the sensation was only a ghostly wind felt in the center of her nanotech brain.
When first starting on the hunt sixteen hundred miles from Chicago, they had been drawn in varying compass directions, most of which pointed toward Illinois. At times it seemed like the singularity was moving. Mark suspected it was stationary but projecting false shadows or echoes of itself—chimeras that could draw them in wrong directions if they were not careful. Sarah was less sure, wondering if more than one magnet was affecting their compasses. In the end, the pull had grown stronger and stabilized as they advanced. Soon it was so irresistible they had both gone without sleep until reaching the Chicago outskirts. Yesterday they walked for long hours along the protectorate’s wall and made their plans. Their hybrid bodies gave them great endurance as long as food was taken, but today they were both losing mental clarity and as a result badly needed rest. If all went well, tonight they would finally sleep inside the Chicago Protectorate after finding the singularity.
Mark exited the highway onto a surface road. Most of the buildings were gutted on either side of this road, which traveled through the final stretch of Outlands between the highway and a well-guarded entrance to the protectorate. Bullet holes pockmarked the few walls that had stood the test of time and rage. Sarah caught occasional glimpses of people going about their lives. Long gouges in the pavement showed the marks of plows that had scraped the wreckage of a declined civilization from the road so others could pass. She had seen the same gouges many times all the way back to the beginning of the plague, when she’d left her home in New Jersey. Now for the first time since this darkness began, she was being drawn to something instead of fleeing.
Alerted by Mark’s emotions, she found herself staring at a two story house that stood out from the rest because it was in good repair. Even the paint was fresh. It looked more like a dream than real. A man and woman were sitting on the porch. Two small children bundled in brightly colored coats were playing in a front yard strewn with toys. The man had an assault rifle within easy reach, and the yard was fenced with wrought iron bars. The children were playing with colored plastic shovels and pails, trying to make sand castles on a pretend beach without a shore. Sarah captured faint wisps of childhood joy as they drove past.
A few miles closer to Chicago, the chaos was slowly transformed into madness. Mile after mile of a simmering cauldron of farmer’s markets, pawnshops, blue light districts, and gun shows lined both sides of the road. Every storefront, building, and lot along the road had been claimed and put into service for this endless carnival. The Humvee’s radio was tuned to AM 950, the current spot on the dial for a pirate radio station named Air Truth. Today was the Eve of Darkness and Air Truth was rehashing some of the more interesting conspiracy theories for the origin of the nanotech plague. None of the theories were right. Sarah was sorely tempted to call into the station and short circuit their minds with the truth. It was a pity she could not do anything that bold right now. She and Mark were fugitives trying to hide in plain sight. Their faces and fingerprints were secretly on file with every private sector and governmental law
When first starting on the hunt sixteen hundred miles from Chicago, they had been drawn in varying compass directions, most of which pointed toward Illinois. At times it seemed like the singularity was moving. Mark suspected it was stationary but projecting false shadows or echoes of itself—chimeras that could draw them in wrong directions if they were not careful. Sarah was less sure, wondering if more than one magnet was affecting their compasses. In the end, the pull had grown stronger and stabilized as they advanced. Soon it was so irresistible they had both gone without sleep until reaching the Chicago outskirts. Yesterday they walked for long hours along the protectorate’s wall and made their plans. Their hybrid bodies gave them great endurance as long as food was taken, but today they were both losing mental clarity and as a result badly needed rest. If all went well, tonight they would finally sleep inside the Chicago Protectorate after finding the singularity.
Mark exited the highway onto a surface road. Most of the buildings were gutted on either side of this road, which traveled through the final stretch of Outlands between the highway and a well-guarded entrance to the protectorate. Bullet holes pockmarked the few walls that had stood the test of time and rage. Sarah caught occasional glimpses of people going about their lives. Long gouges in the pavement showed the marks of plows that had scraped the wreckage of a declined civilization from the road so others could pass. She had seen the same gouges many times all the way back to the beginning of the plague, when she’d left her home in New Jersey. Now for the first time since this darkness began, she was being drawn to something instead of fleeing.
Alerted by Mark’s emotions, she found herself staring at a two story house that stood out from the rest because it was in good repair. Even the paint was fresh. It looked more like a dream than real. A man and woman were sitting on the porch. Two small children bundled in brightly colored coats were playing in a front yard strewn with toys. The man had an assault rifle within easy reach, and the yard was fenced with wrought iron bars. The children were playing with colored plastic shovels and pails, trying to make sand castles on a pretend beach without a shore. Sarah captured faint wisps of childhood joy as they drove past.
A few miles closer to Chicago, the chaos was slowly transformed into madness. Mile after mile of a simmering cauldron of farmer’s markets, pawnshops, blue light districts, and gun shows lined both sides of the road. Every storefront, building, and lot along the road had been claimed and put into service for this endless carnival. The Humvee’s radio was tuned to AM 950, the current spot on the dial for a pirate radio station named Air Truth. Today was the Eve of Darkness and Air Truth was rehashing some of the more interesting conspiracy theories for the origin of the nanotech plague. None of the theories were right. Sarah was sorely tempted to call into the station and short circuit their minds with the truth. It was a pity she could not do anything that bold right now. She and Mark were fugitives trying to hide in plain sight. Their faces and fingerprints were secretly on file with every private sector and governmental law
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