I need more metal.
The fixed ballerina figurine smiles at me from the corner of my worktable. I shove it in my bag.
I LEAVE IN THE DARK, watch the drones as they try to tear the farm equipment from the poisoned land. Creaking, screeching of metal on metal pierces the night. The arm of a drone snaps off.
I make a run for it.
The busted drone flies away, its replacement a red beacon in the distance. I’ve got five minutes before the next one shows up.
The drone arm broke on a joint, twisted metal reveals innards of tiny bolts, springs, everything a kid like me could ever want. I drag the arm, settle it between my legs and start working, disassembling everything I can get my hands on. Ragged edges rip my skin, blood streaks steel. I get five bolts, four springs, a handful of bushings, a few gears, six nuts, two bloodied fingertips. I shove the collection in my pocket.
Boom.
Dust kicks up under the flight path of the oncoming Sentinel. I stand, run. Round the barn, drop down next to the potato stand.
Nettie’s front door opens, she’s standing there in bedclothes, a bone sword gripped in her hand.
“Jessie?” She sets the weapon down. “What are you doing out here at night?”
I open my pack, pull out the figurine and pass it to her. “Had to deliver this.”
I flip the switch. The ballerina twirls on dainty toes.
Nettie’s expression softens. “There was a time…” She clutches her free hand to her chest. In the moonlight, her eyes turn glossy. “You shouldn’t be out after curfew. Can’t believe your people would allow it. If the Sentinels hear you—”
“I’m quiet.”
The twisting screech of metal on metal echoes.
Nettie leans, gets a glance at the drone working in her backyard. “Won’t be sleep again tonight. You better go, while it’s distracted.”
I take off, running under the terracotta moonlight that’s so different from the pale silver described in the books. Plenty is different now; the light, the creatures, the people. It’s like the author who wrote those books in the mountain came from a different planet. It’s like—
Hands grab me. I stumble, nearly fall before being lifted.
“Hey, kid,” Mister’s voice is nothing but sinister. His eyes are dark voids.
My heart thumps against my chest.
The ground rumbles as the drone works two miles down the road.
“Went back up on that mountain. Nothing’s there.” Mister grabs the back of my jacket. “You know what I think, kid?”
I struggle to break free. “Don’t care.”
“I think you been lying all this time about your people.” Mister drags me against his body. “Told you, I’ll get a pretty penny for you.” He licks my cheek.
“Get away from me.” I try to kick but he steps on my feet.
Mister’s hand tugs my shirt up. “Nothing can save you out here. Not even your people. Not even whoever you’re actually living with up there on that mountain.”
Never had a reason to scream before, but this seems like a good time. The perfect time to test my vocal chords. I scream, louder than I’ve ever screamed in my entire life.
Dust blows as Mister slaps his hand over my mouth. He backs me against a dying tree trunk. Craggy bark digs into my skin, snares my hair in its grooves.
The replacement drone’s red beacon shifts in the sky. The pulse on this Sentinel is softer, the searching throb barely vibrates the ground.
Mister is saying things, terrible things a kid my age should never hear. He’s so busy trying to figure out the ties on my pants he doesn’t notice the wind has shifted.
Boom.
Mister tugs at my clothes.
Boom.
I reach in my pocket.
Boom.
“Gonna make your people wish they never let you outta their sight.” He licks his lips.
Boom.
I shove a handful of screws and bushings in Mister’s open mouth. Push my fingers across his wet tongue, deep down until he gags and swallows.
Boom.
The drone lights up green. It’s found metal.
Mister’s eyes go wide as the drone’s arms latch onto his shoulders. Blood seeps around its pinschers.
I drop to the ground, still underneath Mister’s shadow as he’s lifted to the collection chamber. He’s screaming now, screaming words a kid my age should never hear.
I flip him the bird, a gesture learned at the shops. I lay still as a stone while the drone takes off, returning to the smelter with its bounty.
After the dust settles, I make my way back to the mountain.
I run across open desert, three miles under the moonlight with my heart beating out of my chest, fresh tears waiting to fall. I never thought a bad thing before, but I hope the government rips Mister apart getting those bolts out of his gut.
Wolves are howling. Probably looking for their missing pup. I wonder if they programmed Samson to howl when I’m gone?
I drop down next to three boulders; they’re giant, look like they rolled off the mountain. The middle one is hollow. I snap open the trapdoor and slide to safety.
I USE THE NEWLY COLLECTED screws and nuts, secure the slab of stainless in place over Ginger’s back. The steel doesn’t match the rest of the paint job, but it’ll do.
Samson makes a panting sound, nudges my foot.
“I know. I know.” I pat Samson on his head. “Been a long time.”
I push the red button.
Ginger hums to life. Chirps and beeps as he runs through the startup program.
Eyes blink. “Hello. Jessie.”
Samson’s tires slip and slide as he spins in circles with animated excitement.
“You’re back.”
“How long has passed?”
“Fourteen months. I want to see him.”
Ginger raises rudimentary arms, tests his grips, gyrometrics beneath skirted legs roll him in a circle. The machine opens a port on its chest, video plays across the room on the flat wall.
A man in black slacks, a white dress shirt and black tie says, “Sweetheart.” The voice, familiar, I’ve tried a hundred times to remember but never had it this perfect. “You’ve grown.”
Everyday for thirteen years, I woke up to the same phrase.
I reply with my typical response, “Can’t stop growing.”
The man smiles, proud. He’s just as handsome as I remember. High cheekbones, a dimple in his chin. The boys and men of the shops pale in comparison.
“I’ve missed you,” I say. Even though he is only an image of black and white, I imagine the true color of his eyes to be blue, swirling, mesmerizing, a cloudless sky.
I might be just a kid but I’m old enough to know that the man on the wall is nothing more than an animation, voice recordings that’ve been altered, restrung into new sentences, programmed to adjust to my age and respond to certain conversations. Still, this hasn’t felt like home since he’s been gone.
He squints at the machine projecting his image; squats down like a street merchant inspecting a broken wheel. “How did you fix it?”
“I left to search for parts.”
“It’s not safe for you to leave the mountain.”
“I know. But I had to do something. I had to fix you.” I step closer to the image. “The people out there aren’t like the books we’ve read.”
“They never are. This world isn’t for people who break easily or must be carefully kept. Never was.”
“You should have warned me.”
The man blinks. Must not have a proper response programmed.
“Anyways. I did it. I fixed you.”
He frowns. “You were never meant to leave. Not until the time was right.”