After many forgotten centuries of existence Tyndystylyn was dead, having played god to a lesser, but sentient, species. Not that it’s worshipers knew, but they did. It wasn’t anything specific. Since the beginning of their lives there had been an invisible connection that was indefinable, but undeniable. They remained humatran and the knowledge and power they’d gained did not wane, but that connection was suddenly snapped like a twig. Perhaps a better description would be a severed spinal column. It was devastating.

A sudden sense of loss overcame the whole town. A depression as if the Atra had been their constant, intravenous drug of choice. Without knowing, they somehow knew why. More than this, the coincidence of Tony’s death in timing made them realize one irrefutable and condemning fact . . . they’d just murdered their own god. No manner of foresight had prepared them and the tears flowed uncontrollably.

This happened only a week and a half before the automated assault that would ultimately destroy Durham and with it all they’d ever known. Not that they’d acknowledge it and perhaps in light of current events they were incapable of it. It wasn’t something they were prepared to face. They couldn’t accept the fact that the end was near or that this wasn’t a test. The fact was they’d already taken the test and every last one of them flunked it.

Tony Coltrain, they now knew, had existed for a reason more than just to impregnate the mother of the twins. Though they still didn’t know what that could be. The message had been lost with his death. The future is full of choices. One of them was to let the man actually reach the town’s walls, but that didn’t end well. He couldn’t speak and instilled fear in all who saw him. This, they’d decided was the better course of action. The part of them that remained coherent wondered why they hadn’t foreseen the Atra’s death at their own hands. Sure, they couldn’t know for the distance, but not one feeling they’d ever felt had been as intense as the loss of their god. How could they not have foreseen that?

There was no simple answer. In fact there was no answer. Yet there were theories, one of which was correct. Tyndystylyn had the ability to shadow visions. It had already proved it years ago. Death was inevitable. So was the pain of it. The Atra hoped in vain, but still shielded it’s throng from the pain of that loss. It was much the same as a parent shielding a child from the tragedies of life to maintain their blissful ignorance for as long as possible. Simply put, their god didn’t want them to suffer. It was a simple explanation that was largely accepted. It would’ve been even if it had been a lie because it was easy to digest. Right now the people of Durham needed at least one easy answer.

Nothing else was easy. How could it be with the end so near? Some chose not to care. They didn’t know if it was possible to go on without the Atra and even if it was they didn’t want to. Others cared, believing the Atra wouldn’t have sent it’s puppet if it hadn’t wanted them to go on living, but failed to see how to escape the coming apocalypse. Their worry sent them into endless loops of unanswerable questions, until they broke down nearly catatonic with fear.

A few others were more clear-headed and actively worked on a solution. These were fueled by the undeniable fact their god could no longer save them. These saw their choices and none of them ended with the salvation of Durham. That was a decidedly hopeless cause. That left escape, which very few of the older humatrans would even consider. They’d lived too long in the safe confines of Durham and had heard of the horrors their kind endlessly suffered on the outside. There was indeed no other safe place and that too was about to be lost. The death they saw was reasonably quick. Who knew what laid in wait for them beyond their walls.

The answer they’d refused to see was simple . . . to pretend to be human. That was after all how everyone else survived. How, though? They’d never had to pretend before. They feared they wouldn’t be any good at it and get caught and killed because of it. Even so, they didn’t want to. It seemed nothing short of sacrilege to have to do such a thing; to pretend to be a lowly human! Some couldn’t even stomach the thought. What was required was humility and the town, because of their god, had been inundated with excessive amounts of pride in the knowledge they were better than humans. For them, pretending to be human was no less humiliating than pretending to be a horse or a pig. They couldn’t come to terms with it and would die because of it. Of course, they already knew that, but it was what they wanted. They preferred death over humiliation.

However, the young were more adaptable and saw things through slightly different eyes. Ones more open to different possibilities. Not that it would be easy, but they saw it as at least doable. That belief was the first step in making it possible. Of course, first they had to fight themselves. Most who’d given up hope shrunk deep into a hidden part of themselves. This was to varying degrees. Some were nearly comatose. Others were catatonic, but many could still function in the society created just for them. Most of those decided in this dire time to care for themselves and no one else. Yet a few believed it was the entire town’s fate to die and focused on fighting all who fought to survive.

Of course, these were often older, twenty something humatrans, who through the basics of life could overpower a child with little real effort. Having constantly worked toward expanding the town’s population over the years, the young outnumbered these aggressive adults. These were led by the twins, Sarafyn and Wferium, which was controversial in and of itself, just as their entire lives had been since before birth, but they played their parts well and earned a following of their own.

These children stood up to the adults who accosted them. It helped that the older humatrans no longer wanted them dead, but just to accept their fate like everyone else had. That wasn’t happening and visions of fighting and death soon inundated everyone. Most didn’t care. Death was coming one way or another and the specifics of it just didn’t seem all so important anymore. The others who cared made their choices to fight the children, but it was a difficult thing when those destined to die chose the path that led to life, no matter how temporarily. Someone had to fail. Someone had to reach a dead end to where every choice leads to death. Things change quickly in a fight. It’s hard to maintain clarity of mind for on the fly decision making when your face is being punched. Someone, at some point, would make a mistake and death would occur.

Death wasn’t a simply thing. The adults had no fear of DOE when ending a child’s life, but since they were outnumbered they would surely end up dead somehow during their youthing pains. Children had to be inventive with death, but then a child’s mind knows no limits. It’s a devious thing, but only out of necessity. Their lives depended on it. So their battles were fought surrounded by people caught up in their own affairs and barely noticed.

Immediate death was never the answer so deadly weapons were rarely ever brought to the fight by either party. Capture was the key, but that required infinitely more skill since secrets were a thing of the past. It usually required overwhelming force, but then the target would usually know and fail to show. That didn’t matter. The town really wasn’t very large. No one would risk leaving. Not yet. All the hiding places were known. There was very little chance an organized manhunt could fail. Since the children far outnumbered the adults who cared enough to fight, the end result was already known.

It was a long fought battle but the children won. A little less than a week passed before it was over, but it wasn’t without difficulties. Some children had indeed died, but the twins told those who remained anything worth fighting for is fraught with pain and suffering. Their deaths were not for nothing. Not everyone believed this. In less than a week even the victors would suffer defeat, but Sarafyn and Wferium already knew these thoughts would cross many minds and prepared for it. They told them they had a plan. That Durham would be lost but some would escape to a different, if not better life. Yet it was life that awaited them, not death.

Sometimes the words were reassuring to hear even though it was already known they’d be spoken. What they didn’t know was the end result of it . . . the plan. This was partly due to the fact both Sarafyn and Wferium had purposely blocked their thoughts from being read for fear of sabotage by the dissenting adults. That wasn’t enough. They knew of no way to block the foresight of future events. If they had they surely would’ve. Visions of ultimate destruction weren’t singular. No. Visions of everything bombarded them at random all through the day and night. This meant repetition. This meant they had to witness every angle of a continual plague of death.

The future was full of endless choices and possibilities did exist, but the constant visions of annihilation spawned hopelessness. This in turn gave rise to a feeling of grim acceptance in most people. In other words they couldn’t see past the end to find a new beginning. Granted, it was an unbearable thing to do, but the twins had steeled themselves to the task and came up with a solution where all others had either failed or not even bothered to try.

It was a curious thing to the humatrans, children or not, to be surprised in a time when most everything was known. It inspired both fear and wonder. They wanted, no needed, to know, but part of them cringed at the possibility. Death was easier, but what child can accept such an end so easily? So they waited on baited breath for the answer that would save them.

Leaving Durham was nothing less than cliché, but it had to be done. The attack was coming and couldn’t be stopped, avoided or survived. Countless choices had been spent in foresight trying to both prevent and survive it with no luck from anyone. The only question was how to survive once they’d left Durham in their wake. There wasn’t an easy answer. The humans had sensors monitoring all movement beyond the town’s borders and were poised to destroy anything that appeared human or humatran. The Forbidden Zone wasn’t just a fanciful name. No one was allowed inside the hellish perimeters. Not even humans.

Strangely enough one had already defied all knowledge and logic to do just that. He proved an unorthodox inspiration. Sure he died and horribly, but not at human hands. They wouldn’t have allowed such an intrusion. This told the twins the man’s presence was somehow masked by the Atra. Others disagreed and sometimes violently. These saw no other choice but that the human was changed somehow and sent by other humans as a test and more would soon be on the way. Yet no vision foretold this. Every incursion of the deadly attack was purely automated, but fear had already taken hold and coupled with the death of their god, many began to doubt everything they once believed as undeniable fact.

Insanity crept in, but the children seemed immune to it. They weren’t. They were just cohesively bound to the twins who aside from appearing as of a pair of miniature messiahs, possessed innate leadership skills. Tyndystylyn was dead and those who wished to live had little choice but to choose someone new to lead them. So they garnered a following in which no adults were allowed because after their minor war, not one of them could be trusted. After their victory, fear kept the dividing line well in place.

The fact remained the abomination hadn’t been detected by the humans. Tyndystylyn obviously knew how to do this so maybe they could too. There were many things they’d yet to learn. The Atra had said as much and as far as they were aware the Atra never lied. Of course, to even hint at the possibility was considered sacrilege, but children were inherently more open to all possibilities in life. Survival demanded a clean break from many things previously considered taboo.

The problem was obvious. How to do it? It seemed simple. They already knew how to shield their minds from uninvited intrusion. Why not use that same principle pushed outward instead of inward? But as promising as the idea was, it took more than practice. Foresight had already revealed only death when tested. Both Sarafyn and Wferium had tried it, but instead of losing hope they tested the theory together, preferring to die side by side if death must take them.

In the next vision death did indeed still take them and a fear grew in them both. Sarafyn forced it down and in so doing realized something . . . death took longer when they were together. So that theory was expounded and timed. Eventually they found that, though negligible, it took seconds longer when they held hands. It seemed to create some sort of powerful connection. Still they died within half an hour of leaving, but when separate it only took twenty minutes.

They decided it was a group mentality that could allow them to achieve, no matter how briefly, what the Atra had done with ease. So, in their visions they upped the ante, connecting by hand more and more children and the results were promising, but ended in ultimate failure. They had connected all the children who formed the group, 16, and with each of them never breaking hold or concentration and in a breakneck run they all still died far short of their goal. It was just too far to travel.

When the children had heard this they immediately feared the possibility of adding adults to the group, but that wasn’t necessary. The twins said even the adults could only run so far. They were still flesh and blood. If the impossibility of the entire town joining hands actually became a reality everyone would still die long before they exited the Forbidden Zone. It was, after all, 200 miles in all directions from Durham. It was simply too much.

Before the children lost all hope they told them there was a way. It wasn’t necessary to leave the Forbidden Zone all at once. As long as they took well planned breaks they could take as long as needed. All it required was to always be touching and to never break concentration. Even this seemed impossible, but the twins assured them it was not. They’d tested it and it had succeeded within two weeks’ time.

Two weeks?! It was impossible! All defenses broke down during sleep! The twins told them all it would be little less than taking watch. Some could sleep while others maintained the constant vigil. Sure the protection would weaken, but not so much as to reveal the group so long as they slept while touching one another.

It still seemed impossible. For the most part it was, but that was where the bad news turned good. The humans and their machines would be preoccupied during the attack. Since no humans would be involved there would be no roaming eyes to catch them as they moved in. Of course, the machines each had their own sensors, so a specific course would have to be maintained to avoid them. It was, the twins finally admitted, next to impossible, but still possible.

Out of hundreds of visions all but a few ended in unified death. Near perfect planning and execution was required to survive, but dire as it may seem, nothing but death awaited them if they stayed. This plan represented hope, no matter how slim and from the ashes the twins could see the glimmer of life still burning in the children’s eyes. The plan was a go.

Preparation began immediately, but so too did the leak. Nothing this broad could be hidden from those humatrans who cared enough to give a damn. Even when telepathy was blocked, foresight still revealed things were definitely happening. Of course, most of these visions revealed a futile escape ending in a pathetic death, so no one who wasn’t already part of the group seemed to want to join, as if that would’ve been allowed. The futile nature of it all gave them near free reign to prepare.

Still, the accumulation of food and water beyond their usual rations proved a more difficult task. Most wished to live as long as possible, which meant not sharing. There was storage for both food and water, but it was well guarded, naturally by adults. These were some of whom chaos seemed to have overlooked, as if they’d managed to cope by devoting themselves to this all important job. It was too, since most of the town’s food originated from the small, self-replenishing Atra forest at the base of the hospital.

One foresight had the children overwhelming the guards, but the guards foresight had allowed them preparation in the form of reinforcements. There remained no other course of action beyond a direct approach. Too many people saw too many outcomes for anything resembling stealth to work. One future saw to the offering of bribes but the previous battle had given rise to too much dissent against the children to stand a chance. The hardest commodity to come by during the final days of Durham was trust.

This lack of trust was, if anything, a possible cause of the town’s downfall. A cohesive and organized defense may have led to survival, at least for some, but that was a vision no one saw, not even the twins. Too much happened already, destroying some possibilities. The fact most would stay behind served as a kind of cannon fodder defense . . . a sacrifice of the many to save the few.

So it was yet another battle ensued and this time the odds were closer to even. What the adults hadn’t counted on was the twin’s ingenuity. That and death. They had something to live for and that something was life itself. Life, well . . . life was worth dying for. Thus was born the sacrifice. It was true a single person only had one path, but a group retained the capacity to split up agendas. Some children would indeed die. Others would take hostages of the beloved invalids, corrupting the decisions of those who cared for them. Still, more would plant explosives to tear a hole in the once impenetrable walls of Durham. The rest of the youths would cause dissent among those who thought they didn’t care.

The adults chose chaos, but they didn’t know the meaning of the word. The children chose to face the possibility of their own annihilation just to teach them. Not that the children knew themselves, but they possessed something the adults had lost . . . a vivid imagination. Which adult chose to consider impossibilities when everything that mattered to them was already known? None. That proved a mistake because the twins found sometimes the impossible was actually possible.

So death tore through the town, untethered and wild. This gave the adults who fought pause, which was all the children needed to gain the upper hand. Then when the tide turned once again, part of Durham’s outer defenses shattered violently as the C4 was allowed to play. One by one the adults were subdued, some through direct murder which was a sacrifice by way of DOE, that no adult considered possible. Thus, where the adults saw endless chaos, the twins saw everything going according to plan.

There was, however, a cost to it all. It deadened the soul, because what kind of life was worth such a high price? The answer was one that allowed others to live. So, unfettered adrenalin ruled the day. Beyond this an unrivaled loyalty akin to cult hood began; a requirement for some followers to accept the death fated to be theirs. Far from a happy thing, these had no other family than the clan and burned with a vendetta aching for revenge. For them death was worth the price to avenge a variety of cruelties. Some of these, as hard as they tried, saw no personal outcome but death, even after leaving Durham, so why not die to help others live?

When the dust settled, none stood to oppose the children, but only nine remained, including the twins. These eked out justice to the captured in barbaric ways. This did not mean death. No. That was coming for them anyway. No need to hurry it along, but they could make it as painful as possible. It was the least they could do. Corruption was already feasting on their young souls, but by the very nature of what they were, their lives had been forever robbed of the innocence humans so blatantly took for granted.

That wasn’t quite right. Humans simply knew nothing else. In their stunted view, all life began with innocence. What sort of deranged, mutated form of life didn’t? Well, now they knew the answer to that elusive question and didn’t much like it. So, the humans decided to end the abomination infesting what they still called purity. They would begin at the source . . . Durham. It was what gave their dying race the purpose they needed to not only go on, but thrive as a unit bonded with a common goal. No more racial or religious tension divided them, which was either fitting or odd, since they were courting extinction.

It was beginning ahead of schedule, as the twins well knew. Their sensors told them all was not well in Durham, or rather all was not as expected. The explosion didn’t help matters. Some thought the humatrans would do their job for them, but others set them straight. That train of thought was pointless. Not because it wasn’t helpful, but because it didn’t matter. The human race needed this victory. Over the long fruitless years faith humanity would prevail was growing thin. So, even if every last humatran laid dead and rotting before the machines were sent in, they would still launch the attack. Humanity needed to see Durham fall at human hands, not as some sort of pointless mass suicide, even though that too would garner certain undeniable benefits through the intimidation of fear. Power without effort was a force all its own.

So they chose to advance their deadline lest anyone deny humans hadn’t been the ones to finish off every last living thing in the damned town. Not that they would anyway. Everything was automated. All the humans had to do was push a somewhat complicated series of buttons on a keyboard. So would it be the computer tech who saved the day or the ones who gave the order to input the command? Who knew. It was all up to interpretation, but none of it really mattered. It would be an uncompromising victory for all humankind, or so they hoped. Everything they’d done prior had failed miserably, so here both fear and worry existed and the two danced a waltz as the sweat poured down every weary brow. This effort had never been tried; at least not to this extent. It had promise and hope rode on its coattails. So the command to mobilize the attack would soon be handed down. The anticipation was almost too much to bear.

As if contagious, the children of Durham felt it too. It bore down with a heavy fist. Those who were soon to die were tired of waiting for it to come. Even those who were too delirious with fear to care tuned in to this early advance foresight as if a blessing long overdue. Yet the twins and the seven children who followed them knew this would be the end result of all their planning. They were tired of waiting too, even though it would severely cut down the timeline of their complex operation. That was, however, also accounted for and the children literally ran to acquire everything they’d need for their long, arduous journey. It was, after all, a simple task without adult interference.

They had less than 10 hours to prepare. Such was the infectious nervousness of the humans. It was deemed as something of a miracle they hadn’t jumped the gun even sooner, but automated or not, they too had a good degree of preparation to attend to. The machines were built from the greatest minds of the remnants of humanity and were thus complex. It stood as the greatest unified effort ever achieved in the history of the human race. If it failed all would be lost. They knew it. Every human on the face of the planet knew it, but no one dared breathe a word of failure lest it become true.

The day had finally arrived. With only two hours to go the children sat down for their final meal in the place of their birth; all they’d ever known and prepared to abandon it to fate. Once the last meager bite had been solemnly chewed, they sat down for synchronized meditation. They had to set their weary minds on track. One task was coming to a close, but another one was just beginning. Then with only 36 minutes before the start sequence initiated they set foot outside of Durham for the first and last time.

It felt strange. Every hand was held and every mind in tune. Every last one of them knew it wouldn’t last. More tragedy and death was soon to follow. None could escape these visions now. It took a constant effort to ward them off, but must be done lest the group mind splinter. It was a difficult thing to concentrate when one knew death would soon claim them. They tried to believe what the twins told them . . . that their deaths were not in vain, but so others could live. Every last one of them would die without their sacrifice. Yet visions of ultimate failure still pervaded and the groups slim possibility of success was a hard thing to reconcile against the hard fact of death.

Then came the attack. They all saw it. Unmanned vehicles unlike anything they’d seen, beyond their visions. They knew of them, but as always, reality was different. They were devoid of color aside from the grim, efficient blacks and dull grays of war-torn metal. These were new but built from the cannibalized scraps left in the wake of the Atra war. This meant each sported a unique look, aside from the unmistakable aura of death. Sometimes just the look of a thing can tell you its purpose. This was one of those times.

The ones the children saw flew over their heads, though they knew many others were busy churning up the dust with their treads or wheels. They’d chosen this path as that of the least resistance. Of course any detection from anything would end them all, but at least this way they wouldn’t be inadvertently seen or accidentally run over. Not one of them noticed the small group, seeming in so much a trance as if eyes were not a requirement for this trek. Some did indeed have their eyes closed, choosing not to see what they knew was happening. These were guided by hands locked in place.

Though, the roar of the death machines was infinitely harder to ignore. Some even dared to look back as the explosions began. It was as they knew it would be . . . paranoiac overkill. Nothing worked before. So this time the humans wished to confuse with both speed and numbers. They fully expected at least half their armada to be obliterated before they’d even had a chance to lock on. Their hope lay in the subsequent waves; those that could actually get shots off before being torn limb from metallic limb. That didn’t happen. No. This time there was no resistance whatsoever. The town was already burning by the time the second wave drew near. For the children it was overbearing in its repetition, but for the humans it was unprecedented and they began to smile as the humatrans died.

It didn’t take long either. Only a few humatrans survived the first volley. None survived the second. Just to be sure 25 or so more were launched. The attack didn’t stop until Durham was leveled. The once powerful and defiant town was now nothing more than shattered, burning rubble strewn across endless miles of dreary landscape. All that remained was the seed, buried deeper and deeper over the years by Tyndystylyn. Naturally the effect waned because of it, but in light of what was to come that just didn’t seem to matter so much anymore. It looked as though nothing remained, so the humans believed it was true. Why wouldn’t they? There was now a respectable crater where the town once stood, but as fate would have it this event once again brought the seed close to the surface.

The ground trembled beneath the children’s feet with every merciless blast. This struck fear into their hearts, even in the twins, just as they knew it would. They could smell how sickly sweet it was, despite having faded since their exit, as Durham was rife with it. However, fear was a given. The impossible task set before them was not to deny fear, but to overcome it . . . to physically force their legs and feet to step forward. For some the rigidity of shock was not the problem. Rather it was denying the ever-present urge to run. A certain pace had to be maintained.

Not even this could save them without the unfailing concentration, which failed as they knew it must. Some ran; two to be exact. Seeing but not believing. Knowing they would but denying the fact. They chose to believe they would somehow manage to garner the courage to stay the course when it mattered most, but that didn’t happen. The twins knew it, as did the five remaining children. The two who now ran, breaking both the handhold and the precious concentration, now knew it to.

Still nothing happened. At least not right away. Such was the plan to coincide their exodus in time with the machine’s invasion. They were preoccupied. Still, it didn’t take long before the second wave took notice and tracked them down. The remaining seven had already altered their course so as not to become caught in the ensuing blast. It was exactly that. No small arms caliber fire, or even large for that case. It was no less than a missile and the explosion from it was tremendous. The seven once again felt the ground tremble and were greeted by both a shock wave and a wall of dust. They had, however, held their ground to both. Each took solace in the knowledge that neither child suffered any pain.

Be that as it may the group was now stunted in size. The original estimates of 16 proved failure in most cases. How could seven manage it? Of course, it wasn’t in question. They knew these things would happen and wouldn’t have made the attempt without a chance of success. Numbers, it seemed, weren’t as powerful as the level of concentration. Numbers multiplied the protective effect, but out of necessity it was believed a single utterly devout person could make the trek if sleep were not required. Yet it was, so then two utterly devout people. It didn’t matter. Not one of them was that devout. Not even the twins. Even so, the group mentality remained and as long as it did so would hope. After all, no other child would run after witnessing such a result.

Either way they still had the benefit of the machine’s focus being elsewhere. That wouldn’t last and they knew it. The first two gave rise to the suspicion more had fled the town. Searches were already underway, but not in their immediate area. They figured the missile had done the job in that vicinity. No need to waste time, effort or munitions. Still they were machines and by their very nature thorough. They would cover the area again. Of course, the seven would be gone by then, but they would expand their wave outward. Everything had a limit of believability. The humans who’d programmed the machines opened their minds to give wide berth to just exactly what humatrans were capable of, but even they didn’t believe it was possible for them to escape justice beyond a certain perimeter. Even so, the machines were designed for destruction, not tracking strays.

The seven knew this limit and simply had to get beyond it before sleep was allowed. That was easier said than done, except they’d already done it a time or two. Most thought it required a run, a desperate sprint for the border. They were wrong. They stepped up their pace, but it was still a pace that had to be maintained. The previous battle and the advancing of the timeline gave no chance for rest before the shit hit the fan. All were exhausted. Running would drain whatever reserves they had left, including their adrenalin. They would collapse well inside the search perimeter, as if that even mattered. The collapse would summarily break concentration and then all would be lost.

There was only one way and they were following it. Every other path had been tried and failed, which had only one consequence. Their pace did indeed increase, but little else changed. It couldn’t without dire results. Fear increased among the seven, held in check by determination. The explosions grew fainter as they went. Not one dared to see what had become of their home. They already knew. They’d already took that chance and died countless times. Not this time. Reality required perfection. They didn’t know if that was something they could give, but they could for now.

Within two hours they could practically feel the machines gaining as they systematically swept the barren plains littered with a few dead trees and wisps of struggling grass. War had already visited this land because of them. Tyndystylyn had punished all humans in the area without consideration for the land. It was the reason for the 200 mile barrier. Not that the Atra couldn’t have reached further. No. It’s reach had no specified limit. It could’ve wiped the area clean for 1000 miles, but it was weakening and needed to tend to it’s followers.

The humans learned of the 200 mile limit through trial and error. Eventually the Atra tired of playing with the humans and death visited anyone to step foot beyond it. Regardless, the land had already paid the price long before then. Countless towns and a few cities had been scattered to the winds. Oklahoma City had already been razed to the ground during the war, but was now visited by disaster again. Also obliterated were the new fledgling societies recently begun in Tulsa as far as Lubbock, Texas. Dallas / Fort Worth was spared as it was just outside the limit, but it was already gone. Nothing so large was spared during the war.

The worst and that which most enraged humanity was the complete devastation wrought upon Amarillo and Wichita, Kansas to the north. These had actually survived the Atra war. They existed until recently as hubs of civilization humanity had flocked to. Countless died due to the Atra’s border restraint, although these were cities were eventually abandoned after not so subtle hints from forces the humans knew weren’t of this planet. This imminent threat incited fear, spurring them into a hasty retreat and then to arms. The machines were the result.

Aside from this, the Black Kettle National Grassland just to the south hadn’t been protected in any form since the Atra war, but now it resembled something closer to a wasteland. The seven knew this because they were in it. They hadn’t wanted to head south, but danger awaited them in all directions. Not to mention this was the only safe path. It was one that twisted and fell back upon itself in utter anticipation of humanity’s every move. It did not end in the south, but the west, or rather the southwest to the tiny town of Meadow, past the shattered ruins of Lubbock.

Things had changed. Both the premature attack and the sensor search had thrown a wrench into their timeline. Two weeks wasn’t going to be enough time. Not nearly enough. The anticipation of death led to a grim benefit. They’d taken with them food and supplies not meant for nine because nine wouldn’t survive the journey, but then neither would seven. Death wasn’t done with them. Foresight became a guide, nearly daily. Precision allowed for nothing less.

Although they knew Meadow was their goal, it existed only as a stopping point and generally at that. The town would not be visited, but avoided. Being on the outskirts of the Forbidden Zone it had become a military installation and one from which a few of the many machines were launched. There was nothing for them there but death. Even so their journey led away from the town many times. The meager food and supplies they’d brought with them wouldn’t last. They had to reroute to resupply at any number of abandoned towns along the way.

This also provided much needed rest, but no building could protect them from the sensors. They took to finding some rope and tying their weary wrists to one another. Even some duct tape for maintaining a guaranteed touch while sleeping. None of it was easy and some near impossible. In some regards they became more akin to beasts than anything resembling sentience. They endured things they couldn’t believe were real and the experiences scarred them.

Some didn’t survive them. On one occasion a child became too weak and died. It was a terrifying thing to hear him rambling days before because he knew it was coming and had already died a number of times in foresight. The others had seen it too and had sought to make choices to prevent it, but that was impossible. His weakness was brought on by illness. A simple thing, but without the proper medicine it would result in death. Yet the choices that led to a cure also led to detection and death for all. He wasn’t so accepting of his fate as the others and every word boiled over with unabashed pain. Eventually they had to duct tape his mouth, but he saw this coming as well and fought with what strength he had left. It wasn’t enough. Nor was his will and he did eventually die just as he’d predicted.

The foresight gave them warning enough to avoid breaking physical contact. The mental acuity was another thing altogether. His lack of acceptance disturbed the rest and broke their concentration on a number of occasions. They’d recovered and compensated, but now the humans as well as the machines knew without a doubt more had escaped and the hunt expanded. This caused their winding path to twist again and again, losing both time and energy, but survival required it.

Then there were six, but soon to be five. The group survived but a near escape cut another child down via shrapnel. Such was how close they all came to the end. The human’s hatred had become a living, breathing thing needing to be fed. The five felt much the same, but held it in check for the sake of concentration . . . for now; only for now. Vengeance would be theirs in time. It would take years and was beyond all their visions, but it would come.

Two months later the five literally crawled across the border of the Forbidden Zone. The children had been nothing short of an impenetrable fortress. Now they were reduced nearly to ashes and tears. They were akin to animals that tread upon bloody hooves, with thoughts set free as if from a cage. No. Nothing was that simple. The humans hadn’t given up. With the Forbidden Zone passed the human world existed as a mockery of safety. Had each of them been presentable, remaining sane, which was dubious at best, they wouldn’t have known how to fit into a human society. This was aside from the incoherent rage boiling just beneath their skin.

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Safety was an illusion. They were still pursued. There existed the benefit of the multitudes, though that of the enemy. The sensors actually meant something out in the Forbidden Zone where no living thing was supposed to move, much less breathe. Such was not the case within the confines of Meadow and surrounding areas. Though humanity wished otherwise, the sensors had not been perfected to detect anything more than movement and heat signatures. It utterly failed to determine whether or not someone was human or humatran. Though perhaps it could distinguish an Atra, but the five were not nearly that advanced. They looked for all intents and purposes like humans.

It was strange they could find such a degree of safety within enemy territory, but assuming safety invited death. Other dangers now existed. The hovels they entered were not guaranteed empty and thus safe. In fact none were. The exodus from the Forbidden Zone had if nothing else drastically increased the population surrounding the entire perimeter. Some chose otherwise for fear of the 200 mile limit expanding again, but others remained under the guise of military safety. It was true in part. No transients or bandits dwelled anywhere in the area, but then it was these lesser human beings that might just have accepted the children for what they were, having all been oppressed by the upper crust of society. Such chances would have to wait.

This wait extended beyond the foreseeable future because one child could wait no more. Tearing the duct tape free, she broke away from the chain and ran in what she obviously considered a delirious version of freedom. This mixed with utter rage would’ve gotten her killed had she been human. Perhaps locked away in a civilized society, but here and now when everyone who breathed had an itchy trigger finger she was not to last the hour.

She did indeed meet her untimely end like the rest while the remaining four moved on in the darkest of shadows like the roaches which often shared their space and became their food when they could be caught. Through trial and error, they found out the boy who’d died of sickness was rare. Hardly anything they could do would end in illness. They found it was part of what it meant to be humatran. They remembered much the same during their time in Durham. They’d all done unspeakable things in the name of survival and nothing made them sick even so much as a stomach ache. That’s not to say they didn’t have standards that allowed such things to disgust them, but these standards were lowered so much as to no longer exist. By now anything was game aside from turning on one another.

They found that though unnecessary their incessant concentration kept insanity at bay. The practice had become something difficult to stop. Knowledge gave way to the fear of what would come of them when that was either lost or no longer practiced. Much like their most recent loss they believed death awaited just such an opportunity. They dreaded that more than anything else.

Though only a fraction as potent as that of Tyndystylyn, their continued concentration granted them a degree of invisibility from humans, but only a degree. They were still seen, but rendered vague via all the chameleonic qualities of the quintessential nobody. In other words no one paid them much mind unless they gave them sufficient reason to, which they rarely ever did.

This gave humans a general disregard for how filthy they were. They blended into the society that had been repelled from the areas occupied by the military, bandits and worse, because they weren’t all gone. Some remained hidden believing they had nowhere else to go. Some grateful for the loss of their kin who had and would’ve further beaten them down, literally. The military would find them from time to time and give them the simple choice of death or exile and a minute to decide . . . no time to pack.

This was where the four found themselves, seen only as not military, but with the benefit of the speedy decision came no opportunity for humatran testing. They were caught in the sights of a sniper. Their efforts to remain hidden came as no surprise as all transients did likewise. The military man found it somewhat strange they all held hands and much stranger they were tied to one another. He knew without a doubt he would’ve shot them all on the spot had they been adults, but children were another story.

No one believed the exiled humatrans were children. Nor did they know anything about the reasons behind the ropes that bound them. The man figured they were prisoners of a sort, perhaps of some grisly sex trade within the slums. If not that, then simply loathe to be parted and likely siblings, though that certainly wasn’t required. No one existed who hadn’t lost someone and the odds of a group of four children actually being related were incredibly rare. That was good because aside from the twins they weren’t, but it didn’t matter. Orders were orders and these weren’t the first children he’d expelled from the area.

He wished he could say they weren’t the first children he’d killed. In all honesty he could and he did, but that didn’t make it true. No one had the luxury of monitoring the transients to make certain they left the area. Most simply left only to return later, knowing nothing else and fearing all that was new . . . solace in familiarity, no matter how grim. If they were recognized again the order was to kill them on the spot. No second warnings. Sometimes these were children and much to his chagrin he followed orders. These were after all the future of humanity he was killing and humanity couldn’t bear the loss of anyone else, even if they were sewer rats. At least that was his opinion. The military’s take on it was simple . . . bandits and transients presented no promise for humanity’s future. They felt more than generous with the solitary warning.

None of that mattered. The sniper had no moral conflict at present because he’d never seen nor warned these children before. Of that he could be certain. In fact, he added as they left that they’d be killed if he saw them again. It was a true but unnecessary warning the military wished to remain hidden for the purpose of the riffraff’s eventual extermination. However, they figured a civilized society should offer a chance lest they all fall into the same degraded category of bastards and bitches. Either way they’re hands were full with other more important concerns. Markedly the reason they were here, which was also indirectly the reason why everyone else had to move out.

So, the four were set free from Meadow by nothing less than a human soldier. Not that their troubles were over. No. Each sincerely believed those would only end with death and for the most part they were right. Though they blended as children, looking human as much as possible, because ragged or not, all humatrans looked human. It was the key to survival for humatrans everywhere and it was either used wisely or death knocked down their door.

The children knew the sniper would see them and could’ve avoided him, but they also knew he would let them go regardless of their unusual bond. It was shortly afterwards they untied and untaped themselves, knowing this was the last time such a thing wouldn’t get them killed. This made everything both easier and harder. They seemed less the little freaks when seen, but felt compelled to maintain physical contact, even during sleep. Though they knew it was no longer necessary, it had become a habit, and for better or worse it did help.

In fact, with the deep chafing marks on their wrists they seemed utterly abused. Some felt sympathy at this, the four being children and all, inviting them into their hovels for a meal. Not that this was a normal thing for any transient, who would sooner kill and eat you for their own meal, but some retained the remnants of a heart. Foresight, trial and error, were the only things allowing the four to know the difference. During such times they spoke little and remained holding hands. On occasion they managed to lessen the weirdness of it all by touching their sockless ankles together instead, bloodstains notwithstanding. One such opportunity availed itself and they took it. As loathe as they were to welcome the company of humans, they needed to eat.

Things became complicated when one needed to go to the bathroom. Of course that terminology was antiquated for those bereft of traditional homes. There were no actual “bathrooms” to speak of. Often it was just a fairly well hidden hole in the ground set off the beaten path to avoid the ever-growing stench. It was enclosed whenever possible for both privacy and warmth, but this one wasn’t. Not that it mattered. That wasn’t the problem. The trouble was they all wanted to go at once.

This was beyond odd, but not for them. They’d gotten used to many foul things and this was hardly the worst of them. Only, when they’d done so in the Forbidden Zone there was no one to see but themselves. It hadn’t seemed a problem because they hadn’t planned on being tracked into the human sector, as they liked to call it. It certainly was now, though it all boiled down to habit.

They handled it the same way they handled everything else. They told the humans they hadn’t just been tied up, but all four tied together. That they’d been forced to go together in all they did. So this was normal for them, but that didn’t work and they knew it wouldn’t. Of course it was believed because there was sufficient evidence to prove it correct, but even to a transient privacy was a priority. They were sympathetic to the children’s plight, but told them it wasn’t necessary any longer. The four knew from foresight it was pointless to argue the point. They wouldn’t have it any other way for their own sakes, not the children’s. It simply disturbed them too much.

They also knew from foresight going along with it would not bring death, but habits were hard to break. Their choices were simple and there were more than two. The first was to maintain the discipline that preserved sanity, but be thrown out as freaks and feared for it. The second was to separate and have their fragile link to reality unravel.

The third however seemed best . . . to slaughter the humans. Hospitality aside, the fact that these were humans could not be negated and at that moment in time all humans were loathed. The children were after all using them for food, which wasn’t much better than their usual fare. The warmth was nice too, but none of it was worth the disconcerting vibe they all felt when in their presence. In some this was more of a barely controlled rage. Wferium felt this more than the rest. She knew the end result of coming here and the price of it, but deemed it acceptable. Why? Simply put, she needed to vent. They all did. At such a limit as theirs, that required human blood to be spilt.

Yet that wasn’t nearly enough. The walls needed to be painted red. This act needed to instill fear in the hearts of humanity, reassuring them their efforts had failed. There was the inherent danger of revealing themselves for what they were, but where was the risk in that? The military already knew some still existed, but hid the fact for control of the people. Why not let everyone know their big automated operation failed? Why not bring back the fear? Why not steal their shallow victory and make their lives shit again?

Why? They were safer if they made no waves. That was Sarafyn’s thinking on the matter, though no one agreed with him. He feared the breaking of the link just as much as the other three and had damaged his soul in bottling up his own rage, so reluctantly went along with the plan. He ate as silently as the rest, knowing full well the point of no return was now both coming and unavoidable. It was he who’d the urge to relieve himself, believing momentarily he could escape by breaking the bond, but that was a fallacy. It wasn’t happening. He knew that already, but he also knew he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he didn’t at least try.

The others also knew the score, but also the result. He would not only stay but participate. They figured all he needed was encouragement. They were right, but he hadn’t wanted to be encouraged to do this. Not here, not now and not like this. Not that he harbored any sympathy for the humans, but there was a price to pay for it all and he thought it too high. This wasn’t so much the danger that would come from the revelation of their presence to the world, though that too was coming. The price he was referring to was yet another bloody chunk of his soul, of which he’d already given too much. He feared for the loss of his sanity. He feared his rage would consume him and then there’d be nothing left of the boy called Sarafyn.

It wasn’t something he could do gently or in part. It was all or nothing. The only question that remained was whether or not he could find his way back after the carnage had abated. The rage hadn’t only darkened his soul, but dimmed his visions. He couldn’t see the answer to his question and for a humatran, not knowing was terrifying. Not that the others were in any better shape, but they chose not to care. This was something they needed just as much as food or sleep. For them it simply couldn’t be denied a minute longer. They’d wanted to murder the sniper, but every foresight told them his death would end in a tradeoff. Namely, one or more of them died in every instance. There were no such constrictions now and they were so god damned tired of waiting and hiding.

Sarafyn was too, but willing and able to endure more of it . . . at least for now. Even if death was necessary they could’ve made it look like humans had done it, but how was that possible? Once set free the rage would take over in each of them. Of course, there was DOE to fear, but by now they knew well how to influence humans, so why not influence them to torture, mutilate and murder each other? Why? Because there was the fear that death would know the difference. Yet they’d already tried it in foresight and it had worked. Or so they said. Sarafyn couldn’t see it and had a hard time believing any of the others could either. Bloodthirst had already overtaken their damaged minds and was something clouding not only judgment but also foresight.

They said, telepathically of course, it wasn’t as if they were asking him to go first. He could just wait and see they were right. It wasn’t that simple. Wferium planned to go first. If they were wrong he’d lose a sister. It wasn’t like losing the others. That hurt immensely, but this would be unbearable. Somehow, beyond the visions he knew this wasn’t something he’d be able to recover from. The others . . . he’d seen their deaths. He’d prepared for them. Now he could see nothing. He knew nothing. That emptiness was a void darker than the deepest pit on Earth.

It was different for Wferium. She didn’t see this as a justifiable worry. She asked, though she knew the answer, “Have I ever lied to you?” Of course, she hadn’t. This wasn’t a matter of trust. Even so, the question was shaky like the ground that buckled under the strain of missiles. She attributed this to all the horrors they’d endured. That was understandable, but Sarafyn believed it to be something more. He saw it as evidence of doubt or even a hint of suicide. Not that his sister wanted to die. He was certain she didn’t, but perhaps she figured this excuse for a life just wasn’t worth living if she couldn’t exact her revenge. Of course, he felt that way too. They all did, but this wasn’t a safe place to do it. They had to be sure through foresight, trial and error, like always. This death couldn’t be allowed to become real.

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Wferium had grown tired of the debate and decided to act. Without another thought, she took control of the woman who’d so graciously invited them in. She swayed her to grab a rusty old knife with a bent blade and a broken tip. With it she shoved it up through the tender skin of what must’ve been her lover, controller, master, rapist or something of the sort. Marriage wasn’t what it once was, but this wasn’t torture. No. This was instant murder and thus a test. The knife was thrust up through the underbelly of the man’s chin into the boneless space between all contours of the skull and lodged with an approving “Thuck” into the bottom portion of his brain.

He died instantly and Wferium was suddenly disgusted at how her brother had forced her to make the death both simple and quick. Any other way and her brother would’ve tried to stop her, as if a human’s life were more important to him than her own. She hadn’t considered his worry for her safety, but only his sudden doubt of her foresight. Of course, he was right. She hadn’t had a vision. She didn’t know the results. She might die. But so fucking what?! Her own brother was NOT supposed to doubt her. For a moment she felt the urge to have the woman come after Sarafyn, but thought better of it. Doubt didn’t justify death, but she assured him in not so many words there would be a price to pay for it all. If she lived, of course. This would be revealed soon enough.

What doubt was that, Sarafyn wondered? He could see beyond the screaming humans how Wferium physically braced for the pain of youthing. Surely the others saw it too, but they thought her both brave and a hero for taking that chance. If nothing else, grateful they didn’t have to. Not that they were cowards. They would’ve died rotting in the Forbidden Zone had they been cowards, but who didn’t fear death? It was obvious to Sarafyn, neither of the other children were prepared to go first, which told him none knew whether or not death could find them this way. His worries were real but discarded as pointless in the heat of the moment. A risk had to be taken by someone. Apparently, Wferium was up to the task.

Yet then none of them possessed thoughts that could be passed off as sane. Their experience in the Forbidden Zone had damaged them in all ways possible. Sarafyn doubted his sister would’ve had the nerve to try such a thing back in Durham. In fact no one had. This was new and untested . . . and feared. Wferium was tired of being afraid. She felt that the time for vengeance was here and now and could wait not a second longer, no matter the consequences. So she took action and waited for DOE.

DOE didn’t come, nor did the youthing, which guaranteed it. Then the inkling of a theory was born. Were humans different? Did youthing only affect humatrans murdered by humatrans? Were humans cannon fodder? Were they ragged dolls to be brutally played with, then shredded and tossed aside? That couldn’t be true. In their early years they’d felt youthing pains from killing insects and small animals as practice and they hadn’t been turned by the seed or the Atra, had they? How were they to know? If all that was required of this change was to be born near the seed then could they really be certain all they’d killed hadn’t been born the same way they had? How could they know for certain?

These thoughts weren’t shielded. Sarafyn heard them and worried and they heard his worries in turn. They heard his incessant desire to wait until it could be tested. All three were growing steadily sick of it and in the end suggested harshly that he be the one to test the theory here and now. In their minds it would do one of two things. Either he would prove he was one of them or he wouldn’t. They didn’t know what to do about the latter, but hardly cared at the moment. A human’s death at his own hands would prove he still belonged but then he might die for it. They didn’t care. They were tired of hearing him whine about safety.

As much as Wferium didn’t want to and pretended not to, she did care. She, for an instant, imagined what life would be like without her brother. Would survival even be possible? Because that was it, wasn’t it? The other two already decided Sarafyn was no longer welcome. Either he would refuse to kill outright and be expelled from the group, or he would kill and probably die for it. She didn’t know why. She just got that feeling. It was some sort of sixth sense. She’d felt it before. It had always proven right and she’d learned to trust it. Right now it was telling her the other two had decided to kill her brother even if they were right about surviving the direct murder of a human.

Well, she couldn’t allow that. She had her problems with Sarafyn, but they were her problems. They weren’t worth dying for and she didn’t want to share them. She suddenly wondered who was more insane. Her brother for not wanting to go along with what was inherently dangerous or the other two children who were willing to mutiny against one of the two people who’d gotten them this far.

The funny thing, which wasn’t funny at all in light of the silent conflict, was the other two humans, a man and a woman, were ignoring the children. They’d considered them, they supposed, to be in shock, never once even considering they’d anything to do with the murder. Instead, they were assailing the woman and would probably have killed her had she actually fought them, but she did nothing of the sort. Due to the debate, Wferium had yet to give her any further orders, so the sway was losing cohesiveness.

In the beginning she just stood there, much like a statue looking but not seeing. She’d left the knife imbedded in the man’s head, but now she began to blink as if coming out of a trance. She realized she’d been knocked to the floor and the other two were on top of her. She couldn’t see the dead man from her perspective, so believed it to be rape, probably because it had happened before in the same way. In the past they’d held her down so the man who was now dead could have his way with her. She didn’t always cry out. For the most part she’d learned to accept it as an unchangeable part of life, but this was different. They were acting different. So she cried out for the dead man to leave her alone. There were children here for God’s sake! How could he?!

She barely noticed her blood covered hand, but once felt thought it her own, oblivious to the lack of pain, though her head throbbed for some unexplainable reason. Despite the migraine she screamed and screamed, not hearing the brutal words of her sudden interrogation. Of course, there was a fear this would bring others. Maybe even the military who would surely kill them all as they’d already gotten their one chance. They knew from the grapevine that second chances were never given. There was that fear, but they should’ve been far away enough. No. Their main fear was from the other transients, who would expel or maybe kill them for risking all their lives to the military. They were hidden, but couldn’t remain that way with such noise. They wouldn’t care the cause. They would just want it to stop, or rather never to have started. They would remedy the situation by remedying them . . . including the four children who no longer mattered so much anymore.

So they hit her. They both hit her. It wasn’t the cliché slap to come to one’s senses. No. It was the full out knuckle bared punch to the head with the full intention of resulting in unconsciousness. It only took a couple before they’d achieved that desired effect. Then they turned to the children, but not so much as to the sound of feet and murmuring from outside their hovel. They were about to be remedied.

The children could see the fear in their faces. Albeit without reliable foresight, each of them could feel their sixth senses prickle with something near to pain. This test, this trial, this conflict would have to wait. It was time to go, but being the hovel it was there existed no back door. It was after all something wrought with stench dug out of rubble, refuse and other unwanted trash. The quietly rabid lot was already at the entrance. Their “door” consisted of a refrigerator door removed from its hinges and laid across the opening of the hovel, mostly for protection from the elements. It didn’t work very well.

The only remaining man in the group ran past the children to do what could be done to ease their tensions and survive this encounter. That would involve inviting them in to see the damage and even then they might not care. Death happened and often couldn’t be explained with any reason that made sense. It very well might not be an acceptable excuse for the ruckus. The presence of the children would help the situation in a civilized society, but not here and not now. The invitation of untested people in this excuse for a camp was most certainly not acceptable and especially not children, who were generally loud. There were very few children here and those that were learned the value of silence the hard way. This wasn’t through beatings. This was through the adopted military policy of one chance then death.

The only hope, the only reason the man bothered to try, was that they’d not yet exhausted that one chance. Though, the presence of the children, especially four of them, proved an especially large chance and very possibly an unforgivable one. If there had actually been a place to hide the children they would’ve done it, but the hovel gave little room for anything. It was an every-room room, an efficiency without a bathroom, a sink or running water. It was practically unlivable but there was nowhere else any better, so they made do.

Muted or not, the children could hear the voices and there was anger in them. There was no hiding the children so their presence was revealed up front along with the other event that no longer seemed so important to the growing crowd. The man told them the children were quiet as a mouse and that they wouldn’t even have considered bringing them in otherwise. When that didn’t work he told them another truth. That he was opposed to the whole idea. That it was the unconscious woman’s idea and the other three fell to sympathy. They’d all understand once they’d seen them. Even as he said it he didn’t believe it. He was failing and he knew it. His only hope was that this could be racked up as their one chance, but the crowd seemed to be dividing this up into more. Not between events, but between the noise and each of the four children for five chances, only one of which was forgivable.

The children knew the plan wouldn’t work. The crowd meant for all four children to die, simply out of fear because they believed the risk was too great. They knew nothing about humatrans having escaped Durham, much less them being children. It didn’t matter. It was time to act. Survival demanded it and that was something all four of them could agree on.

They now had definitive knowledge swaying a human to kill didn’t backfire with DOE or even the pains of youthing, so they telepathically agreed each should pick an able human and kill until none were left. Then escape before the military arrived. This plan would undoubtedly reveal the humatrans they sought had visited the camp, but not who they were or their ages. At least they’d have reinstated the fear they so desired, but only if the military didn’t cover it all up, which they inevitably would. There was nothing for it and so the carnage began.

The children didn’t start it. No. The man at the door was the first to die, still babbling about how it was all so understandable when a studiously sharpened piece of rebar was shoved through his gut. Of course it wasn’t a quick or quiet death, but what came after was. Another pierced his eye as he looked up in both shock and pleading.

Before the mob could enter, the same man who’d just committed murder turned with a baseball swing to the head of the man behind him, who was instantly unconscious if not dead. There was a moment of incredulous shock that was monopolized by the other three children upon others in the crowd. Then the frenzy began and all seemed to forget about the children and the hovel. All but one, that was.

The last conscious woman inside the hovel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She would’ve had a sudden intense fear of the military’s hearing, except for the children who sat before her. They were still holding hands as if in prayer. They didn’t say a word. Their heads were not bowed and they were looking straight at her but seeming to see right through her. She stumbled over the other woman and then suddenly looked up again. The children’s eyes had not followed her. She looked for what they were seeing, but there was nothing but the fused refuse that made up the hovel wall. It was nothing of interest. At first she thought they must still be in shock, but then she thought of something else.

It was more of a memory. She wasn’t young. She remembered the Atra war. She remembered then and afterwards, particularly during the Atra witch hunts, how the aliens could possess, her mother had said, a person to kill another person. It struck an ungodly fear in her then and it was that same fear she remembered now. Suddenly she knew. These weren’t children at all, but demons born of the Atra. They were marked by that evil word humatran, as if they were worthy of sharing any part of the word “human”. Right then she knew what she had to do. Children or not, she had to kill them all.

She was terrified but possessed of her own rage, knowing they must’ve come from Durham. She kept her eyes on them all, as if to lose that connection even for a moment meant death. For all she knew it might. She felt carefully on the ground for the rusty knife embedded in the man’s head. She felt the blood but did not cringe. Fear may still have seeped through, but society had hardened her. Death was nothing new. She decided right then and there to blame all of society’s woes and her own on these little abominations. She felt the hilt, grabbed it and pulled. Her hand slipped free with the blood that seemed to cover everything. She looked down for a moment and then suddenly back up. She breathed a sigh of relief that nothing had changed, but that included the screams from outside which were unnerving.

Her second attempt was with both hands and proved successful, but as it gave way she fell backwards, certain that they’d heard and would kill her. She held still for a moment in dreaded anticipation of losing all control and using the knife in her hands on herself, but that didn’t happen. She peeked up cautiously and found there had been no change in the children’s demeanor, nor the direction in which they stared. Afraid of somehow drawing their attention she crawled through the blood and grime around the makeshift table until she was behind them.

Then she stood and waited a moment . . . still nothing. Regardless of what they really were, she paused for a moment on the fact they were once human, or so she believed. There were two girls and two boys. She couldn’t bring herself to kill either of the girls just yet, so she carefully placed the knife at the throat of one of the boys and then steeled herself for what came next.

She ripped the knife deeply and quickly across the boy’s throat, mostly in the attempt to simply get it over with, but also to make sure. Half his head was taken off, stopped only by bones of the spine. She fell backwards from the effort, as if a knife had a recoil. She was in her own version of shock, but meant to get up and continue her unspeakable work. That didn’t happen.

Moments after the boy’s death the other three seemed to snap out of their trance and turned toward the woman on the floor. If any expression was present on their faces it was that of grim determination, not sadness, fear or even anger. She still held the knife but suddenly didn’t care. The knife, regardless of the damage and blood, seemed so damned inviting and she was suddenly so damned hungry. Without another thought she jammed the knife into her mouth, splitting her tongue which longed so much for a taste, and tearing into all that lay behind it with another bloody, wet “Thuck”. Then she was gone and with no time for sorrow, the three children turned back to the wall that so intrigued them to continue what they’d started. Sarafyn was still among the three, seeming only by sheer luck.

To prevent another such event, the unconscious woman woke up with a start and ignoring the children walked over to tear out the knife in her friend’s throat. She did not kill herself. Instead she began to run homicidally to the front of the hovel. The mob knew exactly what the dead woman knew. That the children weren’t children at all, well at least it was to say they were more than just that. The boy’s death gave the children pause, which gave the mob opportunity. This newly swayed woman was their answer to that “opportunity”. It was unexpected and it worked. She killed only two before she died by human hands, but the balance had been recovered. No one else gained entry into the hovel.

When it was over, the last human finished himself off. Not one of the three felt a twinge of pain from youthing and the whole transient camp was dead, bleeding uncontrollably into the dirt mixed scum they once called the ground. Aside from the one boy who had unceremoniously died, no hand had fallen away. Not one of the three moved. They were now in shock. However, after a minute the girls’ cracked a happy smile that could also be described as insane. Sarafyn’s look was a convoluted mix of contentment, relief and torture. He was all of happy, worried and punishing himself for letting things get so out of hand. Not to be misread, he didn’t regret a single human death. They all deserved it and far more, but this was not the time or the place and now they had to go.

Sarafyn’s sixth sense was tingling again. The military was on the way. Though retreat was a hard sell after so much time on the run and a successful, though unplanned, battle. Bloated with power they didn’t know they possessed, the girls wished to stay and annihilate the outpost at Meadow and everyone in it, but the two battles couldn’t be compared. They were two entirely different fights due to greater numbers, skill, training and much better weapons. Not to mention the mental exhaustion sure to set in should they continue the bloodbath.

Whether the small hoard they’d massacred possessed guns or not, they refused to use them for the sound they’d create. The odds were they didn’t own them. The military certainly did and they weren’t afraid to use them. They didn’t worry about the sound they’d make. All they had to disturb was themselves and that was something they didn’t mind. No one knew anything for sure, but they’d all suspected the humatrans were involved. The moment they saw the carnage there’d be no doubt. It was bad enough that their delusional condition was preventing foresight. The absence of such a hallowed thing bordered on physical pain . . . much as if a human considered life without use of their hands. It was definitely time to go.

Should they stay death would follow the military. They might even win, but they wouldn’t survive it. It didn’t matter. None of it did. The girls didn’t care about the odds. Bloodlust washed over them like an ever-present tide; it unceremoniously masked the debilitating loss of foresight, as if a cork in a dam. It also served as a much needed delay of inevitable sorrow. Should they pause for even a moment, they’d have to face the fact that yet another of them had perished.

Beyond that, where was the justice, the vengeance in retreat? That didn’t matter either. That kind of thinking . . . it required choices of deduction and a consideration of common sense. It required the acceptance of death for a cause. None of that existed here. Sarafyn didn’t even think victory would be enough. There were too many humans left alive all over the planet and in their delirious state the girls probably believed they could slaughter them all. That was if they trusted in anything more than the fight itself. Was victory even a requirement anymore?

The dead boy meant nothing to them now, but for that matter Sarafyn himself meant little more. He was led to believe their one rule not to turn on one another was also being abandoned. Should he push the issue he would be the next to die. His sixth sense told him as much. He wondered if the girls even paid attention to the tingling they surely felt. He didn’t want to abandon all he had left, but he doubted they’d even notice. So he glanced at his sister, Wferium, and the other girl, Tympanium, and thought thoughts he doubted they could hear. He was saying goodbye and in passing, an unbelieving good luck. Then he left.

<><><><>

The ancient Sarafyn felt a twinge of pain at the memory.  He hadn’t wanted to leave.  He did love his sister once.  Obviously she hadn’t died that day or the next, but these events marked the beginning of their alienation.  That long ago time wasn’t the day he disbanded.  No.  Mychelle hadn’t even entered the picture yet.  He was an adult by the time they’d both defected, but the years between were filled with hardship and tragedy.  His suffering had only just begun.  A more accurate statement would be that it simply never ended.  He’d seen trouble from birth.  That and endless heartache.

Sarafyn shuddered once again at the debilitating memories.  These things shouldn’t still plague him.  After 350 years these memories and countless others should’ve been forever lost to time, but they weren’t.  As he found out, just like the general immunity to all forms of disease, unparalleled memory retention was just another “perk” of being humatran.  Not all had it though.  His sister’s memory, though powerful, wasn’t immune to forgetting things.  It made sense.  Obviously, humatrans could get sick.  There would always be anomalies.  Nothing was perfect.

Supposedly, he thought, the idea behind memory retention was self-preservation by remembering and not repeating past mistakes.  After all as the human saying went, “Those who don’t learn from the past are doomed to repeat it.”  This, Sarafyn believed, was one of the truest, wisest things any human ever said.  Too bad they didn’t follow it; too bad for them anyway.

Even though they were all gone, Sarafyn was still troubled by the notion that humanity was the enemy.  Not to be undone, he had new enemies now.  In fact he always had.  There was always some damned fool that wanted his head on a stick.  Not that he hadn’t picked his own share of fights, but the unwritten rule was that he just didn’t fucking have to.  They came to him and they still did.

The latest atrocity was only one insomuch as he saw promise in Tamerlane.  He’d stirred up so much trouble with his little rebellion back in camp.  He was just as aggravating as a fly, but that could be useful.  That the man should die was a tragedy, but still he would.  He’d already seen it.  Yet his death wouldn’t be in vain.  There was something he needed to accomplish before he met his sad end.  This was true for both him and his unofficial general/lackey, Delacroix.

As for killing Jason, that wasn’t something he could see and he didn’t know why.  He supposed it was the same as anything else . . . he just died somewhere past the range of his vision.  It only reached about two weeks into the future, but that was more than most could say.  Still, if Jason had to die, Sarafyn didn’t want to prolong it.  It was painful enough.  He saw it as a necessity not a desire.

So he’d like to speed up the process, but he was getting fewer and fewer visions of his son.  This meant fewer and fewer choices with which to manipulate.  As disconcerting as this was, it was more or less expected.  Though Sarafyn sported a high diameter of distance from himself in which visions could be seen . . . an unconfirmed 60 to 70 miles, he too had limitations.  They were traveling . . . he, Meraine and the rest.  Sarafyn didn’t know where they were going and that was frustrating enough.  It was enough to know they were heading away from him.

So he simply had to follow and he did . . . both him and two girls who’d just joined his cause.  Though limited, the choices available gave him free reign to send Tamerlane and Delacroix on ahead of them.  They were still swayed as neither could be trusted.  He’d take that as far as he could because the range of a sway was less than half that of foresight.  It was even less than the required range for reading a mind and the hold weakened the further the victim wandered from the ancient.  This was especially so if one of the swayed was of an ancient line, which diluted or not Tamerlane was.  Aside from the edge their vulnerable states offered, this was the reason why Sarafyn had waited so long to sway the two.  It simply couldn’t be helped.

Originally, he was planning on letting Tamerlane take over what remained of the camp and go on his merry way.  Yet that was only because he didn’t seem to matter.  This was true enough, but then more visions came to him and more choices were available.  It was becoming harder and harder to reach his son.  One choice presented, if not a solution, a help in the matter.  That involved both Tamerlane and Delacroix.

It didn’t so much involve Ben and Trina, who were both still alive.  They stood as the last two remaining seed hunters from his sister’s camp.  Ben was docile enough, but Trina had openly defied him.  Her life was forfeit, but being newly disabled, she couldn’t have made the journey anyway.  Hers was a different fate.  She was just still working on it . . . a slow death.  After all, there was still one dog left in camp.  He was hungry and Trina would soon be available.  Sarafyn never had much love for dogs.

He knew the course he would’ve taken had Ben mouthed off in a similar fashion.  He simply would’ve had Trina shoot him and then DOE would’ve taken her.  It was simple and easy.  Still, Ben hadn’t bitched, just as Sarafyn knew he wouldn’t.  He was too damned scared.  Sometimes fear is the savior.  Sarafyn may have been a monster but he prided himself in the fact he’d never killed without cause.

Trina didn’t deserve a simple death.  She truly hated Sarafyn and all he stood for.  That was likely because she truly loved Wferium and all she stood for.  Oh well.  This was to be the last in what was likely a series of bad choices.  At least it would end well.  Sarafyn so loved the way her fury changed to an expression of horror when he told her she was going to become dog chow.  His smile only widened when he told her how proud she should be to go out in the same fashion as her idol, Wferium.  Naturally some degree of anger seeped back in at that remark, but the fear still flowed.  His sister was right . . . it certainly was delicious.

As far as Ben was concerned, he might’ve been a simple man, an imbecile really, but he did what he was told and was more or less an innocent.  More than that, he was one who held no usable bearing on his future plans, so Sarafyn let the man go.  There was no reason not to.

It was unfortunate, but Sarafyn already knew his short future.  He’d travel to the only hub of civilization within walking distance, Madison, Wisconsin.  There he’d fail to fit in and soon die a sad, miserable death.  It was sad indeed, but they were the choices he’d made, or would make.  Sarafyn didn’t pay too close attention to the details.  Whether Ben had any idea of his fate Sarafyn couldn’t guess, but it didn’t matter.

There was no other option.  He’d considered giving him the chance to join him and his girls.  He would‘ve accepted too, but in doing so Sarafyn witnessed a future where his inability to act got Jennifer killed among a plethora of other such problems and tragedies.  So, forewarned, Sarafyn chose to let the man walk his own troubled path.

As for his girls, they were unceasingly loyal and had already set aside their own differences for the cause . . . his cause.  Far from needing to be swayed, they would do whatever he asked and he had big plans for them.  He was trying to build a new family . . . one he could trust.

There would be plenty of time for that later.  Tamerlane and Delacroix had already been sent out.  His sister was finally dead and her camp of seed hunters all but destroyed.  Aryl’s death still plagued him, but he had the distractions of a new vendetta against his wife’s killer . . . Carmen.  His son would follow in her footsteps in due time.

For now he took a moment to rest.  It was finally time to kill Trina.  The dog was practically frothing at the mouth from the scent of her blood and his girls were eager to let him do his grisly business.  So he gave the go ahead and settled down for the show.  After all, Trina’s show was in town for one night only and it was a must see.  His only regret was he had no soda or popcorn.