GAVIN

On the day Gavin turned six, his father took him outside. For the first time.

He still remembers how he felt. The way his heart thudded in his chest. The way his breath echoed back to him in the almost over-sized oxygen mask. The way he kept wanting to hold his father’s hand, though he knew better to initiate the contact. Especially with others watching.

It wasn’t until the inner door shut behind them, wedging them in the sealed chamber, that he turned to his father.

“Daddy, Daddy, I don’t want to-”

But all it took was one look. One stiff, disappointed look.

So he shut his mouth, turning to gaze ahead. Watching and listening as the gears inside the outer door turned, making a loud metallic bang as it unlocked.

In his peripheral, he could see his father crouching down next to him. He could hear the creak of his camo clothing, and the rattle of the rifle in the strap looped over his shoulder.

His father was staring him down. Looking for the flaws and weaknesses in Gavin’s psyche. Looking for the blemishes, the malformations. The cracks to fill in, and the bumps to file down and away. The things that, at the time, made Gavin, Gavin.

“When I was six years old,” he said, “Do you know what my old man did?”

Gavin nodded.

“Say it.”

“He- he took you outside.”

“That’s right. And you know what else he did?”

Gavin hesitated, then shook his head.

“You’re about to find out.”

He stood, just as the outer door cracked and slid open, with abrasive orange sunlight cutting in through the gap.

Gavin squinted, and had to fight the urge to hold up his hands like a shield. Not just because of the painful brightness, but because he half-expected that he would be able to feel the toxicity of the atmosphere, that poison in the air. He held his breath, one eye still squinting while he clamped the other shut.

“STOP THAT!”

Because he had one eye shut, he wasn’t able to see the hit coming. An open-handed strike, slapping him across the side of the face, knocking him sideways and off-balance.

He fell, flinching, landing on the cold, grainy cement on his hands and knees.

“GET UP!” Father yelled, his voice brittle and hoarse. Which was always a bad sign. Always the worst.

He pushed himself to his feet, tripping and sliding a bit, before big hands gripped his shoulders hard, spinning him so he and his father were face to face.

Gavin reacted quickly, straightening his posture and looking his father right in the eyes. Light green irises with flinty flecks of gold. Dark pupils expanding and contracting, almost shaking.

But he didn’t yell, or hit him again. Even as his eyebrows flexed, and the whiskers of his beard twitched.

“One day,” he said. Hushed, as if trying to convey some important bit of information instead of going into another outburst. “You’re going to have to be like your old man. You’re going to have to go out there and salvage. You’re going to be the only thing standing between the outside world and the last remnants of humanity. Which means you need to start learning as early as possible. You understand, don’t you? You want to know what to do, don’t you?”

Gavin nodded. Vigorously. Not so much because he wanted to learn, but because he didn’t want his father to get mad, again.

But if Father saw through it, he didn’t say so. He just nodded and stood.

“Come on.”

He turned his back, heading out through the open hatch door. Out into that bright, big world.

Despite his fear, something about that view, that perspective, gave him an instinctive urge to breathe deep. The world was limitless, and so was the oxygen supply, it seemed. It wasn’t like in the Cloister, with it’s tepid, filtered air, cycling in through the vents. Outside, it was just here, everywhere, always for the taking.

But of course, there was nothing to take. Though he could feel the wind on his face, he would never feel it in his lungs, not in the way humans used to in the old world. When he breathed in, he could only taste the dry O2 inside his mask, connected to the tank strapped to his back.

He followed after his fact, having to consciously lift each leg to step over the frame. At the same time, his gaze was fixed ahead, on the horizon, and the open sky. That big, impossible plain of reality. The great, cliff-like plateaus, stretching out below, with massive channels etched and chiseled into and through them. Above that, vast stretches of clouds, clustered and weaving together, visibly moving across the skyline, though the air felt still.

Below those clouds, but above the horizon and the plateaus, was a distant orb bright enough to light the whole world, in the same way the bulb in Gavin’s lamp lit his whole room. So bright it was hard to even look at.

“Don’t stare at it,” Gavin’s father said curtly, without turning around. “You’ll go blind.”

Right. That made sense.

Gavin blinked a couple times, trying to clear the bright spots in his vision, before following his father as he trekked down the incline ahead.

He was completely unprepared for the terrain. The ground was rocky, and chunky, and uneven. The most he could compare it to were the long ramps in the Main Hall, because you had to lean at a certain angle when you walked down them.

Once, he nearly tripped on a big loose rock. He managed to keep his feet, but his father stopped to glare back at him as the rock rolled and bounced past.

After that, he made an effort to catch up with his father, moving at an even pace with him as they headed downhill, toward a valley-like stretch of canal.

Gavin cleared his throat. “Is the gun in case of…SERAPHIM?”

Father gave him a sharp, sideways glance, adjusting his rifle. “This? Against one of them?” He snorted. “No.”

That made Gavin go silent, feeling awkward again. He knew that by saying the right things, he could shift his dad’s focus, turning a bad mood into a good one. But he didn’t always know the right thing to say.

If there was one thing that was always sure to make Father upset, it was when Gavin was unprepared. Saying the wrong thing. Doing the wrong thing.

Playing it by ear was not permitted. Not knowing the right answer, right away, was not permitted. A thing had to be done correctly, and done correctly the first time. Having to be instructed was the same thing as failure, to him.

In other words, you just had to give it a shot, and hope you were right.

Even though, inevitably, you weren’t.

“Guns do work against any wayward drones, droids, or Rusters, though,” Father said, after a quiet moment, broken only by the crunch of their boots on the steep gravel and rocks. “Or, they can.”

“So…you’re not worried a Herald could show up?”

“Oh, it could,” Father said. “We’ve never had any SERAPHIM activity here before, but it’s possible. Always possible.” His eyes got distant, for a bit. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends. Once more.”

Gavin didn’t say anything. It seemed a bad idea to interrupt Father’s thoughts when he got all...far away, like this. You just had to let it pass.

Sure enough, after a few seconds Father blinked, and his focus returned to the path. “The SERAPHIM could show up. Anytime. But I’m not afraid. Do you know why?”

Gavin shook his head. He could tell it was a question Father didn’t want him to actually try and answer.

“Because if a Herald showed up, right now, you and I would fight, and we would likely die. But we would die standing between the evil and the good. And there’s no greater honor than that. Do you know what it means to have purpose, Gavin?”

Gavin thought back to the Minister’s sermons. The speeches he gave up on the stage in the Main Hall.

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“It means,” Gavin said, “You have a reason to exist.”

Then, something happened so rare and so sought-after that Gavin nearly gasped.

Father smiled. Full-mouthed and genuine, with dimples, and creases at the corners of his face.

“I like that,” he said, still looking ahead. “A reason to exist. This is our reason to exist, Gavin. You and me.”

Gavin’s heart floated. His chest felt...full. Energized. Like he could walk a little taller, a little straighter.

He lived for moments like these. When his dad opened up. When it felt like they actually shared something. Too often, it was like Father was off in his own world. A world Gavin would never be a part of, but for these brief moments of what felt like genuine connection.

Perhaps if he continued down this road, learning how to scout and salvage, he would get to experience a lot more moments like these. And that thought put even more spring in Gavin’s step.

He had begun this trip with so much fear and trepidation. But the way he’d felt, back in the decontamination chamber, it suddenly seemed so unreasonable. Yes, he consciously realized there were dangers out here. There was a definite possibility of endangerment. But he also had his Father by his side. This was an opportunity to pursue a purpose, and achieve goals. An opportunity to become stronger. A way to get closer to his dad.

Then why are you still so afraid?

As they delved down into the slim canyon and followed, with it’s steep walls closing them in on their left and right, Gavin told himself he could do this. Told himself not to be such a freaking scaredy cat.

“We’re here,” Father said.

He’d gone distant, again. Our universes had touched for a while, but now they were prying apart. It was time to perform. To do the right thing. I could feel myself tensing for it. Anticipating some test.

Where we were, it looked like any other stretch of the canyon so far, except that the canal had widened out quite a bit. That, and something else. I didn’t spot it right away, but I could see it now. A big metal shipping container, hugging one wall of the canyon. I kept looking at it as we walked. Watching it. I swore I could hear little shuffling sounds coming from inside it.

Father’s focus was elsewhere. It was like he didn’t even notice the crate was there. Or maybe he just didn’t want me to take much notice of it.

He led Gavin over to the side of the canyon opposite the container. He sat him down on a bench-sized chunk of rock. His oxygen tank clanked as it bumped something—a metal pipe that had been rammed or drilled into the rock.

“Don’t move,” Father said. He slipped off his bag, over his shoulder, and zipped it open. He pulled out a bundle of black rope.

“Dad-” Gavin started.

Once again, all it took was one look. He must not have thought it would be enough, though, because he knelt down in front of Gavin, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“The hardest part of this job, the work we do, is fitness appraisal. You can be fit, and act strong. You can swear an oath to give your life for the Cloister. But at the end of the day, it’s only when danger arrives that a man’s truth is revealed.”

The scuffling in the crate was getting louder. Something detected their presence, and was upset it couldn’t do anything about it.

“Look at me,” Father said, putting a firm hand on Gavin’s neck and turning his head. There was a tenderness to that touch, as well as in his eyes. Tender, but immutable at the same time. “If I could choose a world, a reality, it wouldn’t be this one. I would throw a ball with you in our backyard, and run around with you on the lawn. I would be your friend, in a time and place where fathers and sons can be. I need you to know that.”

His eyes. They were glossy. In the corners and edges.

But then he blinked, and moved on, before Gavin could reciprocate or respond. In the same breath that he bared his soul, he put Gavin’s hands together on the other side of the metal pipe, and bound them together.

Gavin’s heart palpitated, pulsing faster. He could feel the rhythm of it, all the way up into his neck and head. He shifted, trying to get comfortable in his bonds. The rope was tight, pinching his wrists and holding him at an awkward angle on the hard seat.

His Father took a step back, then crouched down again, face to face. He unslung his rifle from over his shoulder and held it up.

“Do you know what this is?”

Gavin nodded, despite his fear. “A modified M4 Carbine.” He’d never fired a gun in his life, but he knew a thing or two about them. Mostly because his father had told him.

“That’s right.” He stood, taking another couple steps back. “You know where the safety is, right?”

Gavin nodded.

“Good. The safety is on. Full magazine. Round in the chamber.” He slid back the ejection port cover. “See?”

Gavin nodded.

Father took yet another step back, then bent down, setting the M4 on the ground. Then he turned his back and started walking toward the crate at the opposite wall of the canal, about fifty feet away.

“There’s these bots,” he said, calling over his shoulder. “We call them Stalkers. Leftovers from the war. They’re not connected to a hub anymore, but they’re still operational. They skulk around, using Active Camo tech, and stab from the back and sides, taking advantage of the chaos of battle.”

He reached the crate. Climbed up onto it. Crouched on the edge, facing Gavin, peering at him from across the way.

Something was about to happen. And Gavin knew what it was. Deep down, he did. But he was trying not to think about it. To consciously accept it. Because if he did, it would suddenly be true. And the whole thing was so strange, so inconceivable, that he didn’t want to believe it.

Still, Father held his gaze. Stern. Plain-faced.

There would be no crying. No begging. No pleading. If Gavin fell apart, here and now, he would never redeem himself. Not in his Father’s eyes.

With one hand, Father drew his sidearm from the holster at his hip, a black SIG Sauer M17. With his other hand, he reached down and grabbed something Gavin hadn’t noticed before: the top of a slat in the side of the crate.

“The Stalker in this container isn’t equipped with Active Camo. But it’s still close-combat capable. It’s programmed to stab humans to death. And when I pull up this door, you’re going to be the first thing it sees. Do you understand?”

Gavin hesitated. He right on the precipice. But there might still be time. Father couldn’t do this, not if Gavin didn’t consent to it. If he died here, it would be tantamount to murder. Especially if Gavin were to explain that he didn’t want this, that he wasn’t ready.

But then, that was the whole point of the test, wasn’t it? To not have adequate preparation. Because, like his father had said, it was in times of crisis that you saw the true worth of a man.

This was a gauge of Gavin’s worth. And it was now or never. All or nothing.

Ignoring the pound of his heart, the rising feeling of lightheadedness, and the terror rearing up in his insides, Gavin nodded.

Father gave a stiff nod in return. “Then I’m going to proceed. I’m going to count to five.

“One…”

Sheer panic descended on Gavin’s mind, smothering, like a white sheet. He was frozen. Brain-dead. He had no control over his body, or his thoughts. If he had any thoughts at all. Everything was going fuzzy, like a bad signal. Nothing was getting through.

His vision was shaky, but focused on one singular position. The little door which supposedly had a killer robot on the other side of it.

“Two…”

Something banged into the metal door from inside the crate, leaving a long, perfect dent.

That was when it really hit Gavin, like a punch to the face. An ice-cold shock that flooded his system.

Adrenaline.

He needed to move. Right now. Before he ran out of time to move. He needed that M4 lying on the ground ten or so feet ahead.

He jerked forward, momentarily—and stupidly—forgetting his bonds. He grunted, feeling the rope cuffs pull tight and hard against his wrists, caught on the metal pipe.

He was bound tight. Immobile.

The metal pipe behind him was too tall to bring his arms up and over. And even if he could, his hands would still be bound. He wouldn’t be able to properly operate the M4. He would only be able to run. And running would be a fail. Which still seemed to matter, for some reason. Even in the midst of everything else, his mind clung to that fact. This was a test from his father. He wanted to pass it.

“Three…”

There was only one way to get his hands free.

Dislocate the thumb!

He’d never done it, of course. But he knew how. It was one of the things Father had taught him. Perhaps in preparation for this exact scenario.

He hooked four fingers on one hand around the heel of the other. And then he pressed down on the joint of his thumb. He pushed.

“Four…”

There was something stopping him. Some kind of mental block. The pressure was there. The pain. But he couldn’t go through with it. It was like putting your finger in your mouth and pretending to bite it off. He couldn’t go through with it.

It was silly. Ridiculous.

He was going to die.

“Five.”

Gavin honestly thought his Father might hesitate. And if he did, all the better. It would be Father’s hesitation that ruined the test, rather than Gavin fumbling it and possibly dying in the process.

But he didn’t. Eyes locked on Gavin’s he pulled up on the vertical sliding door. Creating a gap underneath.

Seeing the thing in there, scrambling, trying to get under the gap and out. That was what did it.

It was like a jolt of electricity, permeating every inch of Gavin’s body. Galvanizing him.

He pressed against his thumb, hard, trying to push it out of joint.

He heard the pain before he felt it. The pop of the joint falling out of it’s natural and intended position. And when the pain did come, he was almost too distracted to perceive it. Vision was the dominant sensation as he stared ahead, watching the spindly, many-legged robot slip under the door and out of the crate, already in a mad rush toward him.

NOW! MOVE!

Later, he would swear he heard the words loud and clear rather than in his head, as if there was someone behind him, yelling directly into his ear.

He launched himself forward. There was a catch and tug as his wrists caught on the rope, still.

C’mon, c’mon!

He screamed, grunted, pulling forward until he was face-to-face with the dry dirt under his feet. Using his weight, using every muscle in his body. He could still hear the artificial creature’s approach, it’s feet tapping and scratching and sliding across the dry canal bed.

Suddenly, his hands slipped free. One, and then the other.

He tumbled forward.

But he couldn’t afford to stumble and fall. That would be death.

So he leaned into the fall, and hit the ground rolling.

The spun over him. He came up out of the roll and into a crouch, on one knee.

The M4 was ahead. Just barely out of reach.

Beyond it, the Stalker. Almost upon him. In a sort of gallop with it’s six legs, alternating between the four back legs and the front two. In front, where the head should be, was what looked like a camera lens. A little bit underneath that were two mandible-like arms, with thin, sharp-looking spikes on the ends.

When it reached Gavin, it would continuously stab him with those long spikes, per its programming. It would aim for his vitals. Even if it missed, he would still bleed out before his Father could get him back to the Cloister. He felt certain of that.

The bot was almost on him. So close. There wasn’t time to get to his feet. If he could just-

The bot reared up and lunged, the tips of it’s spikes glinting in the sun.

Gavin also lunged. But he tilted to one side as he did so, narrowly avoiding the path of the metal creature’s attack.

The bot shot past him, but as it did so, it managed to pivot slightly, and lash out with one of its spikes, grazing Gavin’s leg.

Gavin, who had bracing for much worse, wasn’t distracted by the attack.

Mid-lunge, he reached out and grabbed the butt of the M4. He pivoted, facing the bot, landing on his butt and back on the ground, craning his neck as he held up the M4. When he dislocated his thumb, he’d chosen his non-dominant hand. Which meant he could still hold the back grip with his dominant hand while cupping the hand guard with the other.

He flicked the safety off with his thumb.

The Stalker was braking, sliding across the dirt, before making an about-face toward Gavin. It ran, then jumped, spikes aiming for Gavin’s face.

Gavin screamed. He pulled the trigger.

The muzzle flashed. The recoil rocketed against his shoulder. Bullets collided with metal in great, blinding sparks-