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Two years have passed since I claimed my freedom—two years of scraping a living from the wilderness, learning about my new world and its inhabitants. I learned humans do live in the free world, and that most of them are vicious animals. The scars of my education adorn my body. My muscles are stronger, my fingers hardened with the weight of violent acts.
I have also learned that good people still exist. They hack out a living from a world that fights them at every turn, but they unyieldingly persist. Many castes of caring people have taken me in. Tribes formed not by family ties or racial bonds, but by a collective sense of humanity.
It's among them that the Resistance forms.
David is ever-present on my mind, and it was in hopes of rescuing him that I joined the attacks on the machine bases to free the human inhabitants. As always, it's a case of patient study to find the patterns and weaknesses of the compound, then exploit them at the opportune time.
We liberate the captives and help integrate them into a free society. Not everyone is quick to adapt, but we're determined. Humanity will no longer be subject to the whim of slavery and indoctrination by soulless machines. We will continue to spread and resist them one base at a time. Bit by bit, our message spreads.
The Resistance leaders recognize that my participation influences potential recruits more than their enlisting efforts ever could. Through idealized posters, placards, bulletins, and word of mouth, I become the face of the oppressed—a symbol of inspiration. Once a prisoner, I emancipated myself and survived against all the odds. Those who don't know the name Zina know me by my description.
They call me the Girl Who Lived.
☣
Another day, another mission. I hide in the abandoned ruins of a train station. Ivy claims the walls, threading in the crevices where it exacts revenge on the dead concrete. Water drips from the cracks in the ceiling, feeding the sprouting patches of grass that thrive where thousands of feet once strode. The shadows cloak me as I wait for the arrival of the train.
Railroads were the first transportation methods to be revived. The tracks were repaired and extended, allowing passage across the remains of civilization, and more importantly, to the various Havens.
I have yet to see a Haven in person, but I know they're out there, controlling the activities of the bases that breed and indoctrinate humans. The location of the Havens are closely guarded, and our surveillance has yet to track a positive position. But it has always been my goal to gain entrance into the Haven, and now I may finally have a chance.
The com in my ear buzzes. My squad leader's voice crackles over the line. "Okay, Zina. Here we go."
The squeal of the train's brakes is audible long before it's visible. Their sensors picked up the stack of junk placed on its tracks from miles away. There is no choice but to stop and allow the drone units to clear the tracks before travel can resume.
The train engine is a gleaming bullet of aerodynamic perfection, towing equally polished links of cargo trams. It hums with galvanic impatience as the drones are activated and go to work on clearing the tracks.
The roof on one of the train cars opens. Sentinels fly out, scanning the area for threats. They're sleek humanoid dragonflies that can rapidly shift directions with ease and withstand heavy bombardment to their near-impenetrable alloy armor.
My unit drives past in a heavily armored transport, yelling and firing at the Sentinels. The Sentinels engage, avoiding the barrages with ease while firing back with laser-guided precision. The carrier is shredded, tilting on its side in a cloud of choking smoke. The squad that survives fall back into the station, where they can go underground and disappear in seconds.
My ear buzzes. "You're up, Zina!"
I activate the tracker guns from three separate locations. They're programmed to fire at any synthetic target repeatedly. The idea is to distract the sentinels while I board the train and hitch a ride to the Haven.
It almost works.
The sentinels lock onto the tracker guns and engage as expected. With their attention diverted, I dash from my cover toward the nearest car. With any luck, I can sneak inside a cargo tram with no one the wiser.
That plan is dashed to pieces when another sentinel rises from the train. Its golden armor gleams as it soars toward me like a giant metallic wasp. Turret guns strapped to its arms blaze, firing rounds which tear up the turf and shower me in debris. I drop and roll, desperately trying to avoid the hail of bullets.
The building behind me partially collapses from the deadly barrage. Dust fills the air, providing a temporary cover I can use to my advantage.
The fact I'm not riddled with bullet holes indicates they intend to take me alive. I plan to capitalize on that mistake by using the electromagnetic pulse grenade in my pack. It should be able to disrupt their electronic systems completely. My mission may be a failure, but I have learned there is always another day to fight. I reach for the grenade, but there is nothing there. In shock, I turn and stare.
My pack lies several yards away. The digital precision of the sentinel's aim shot through the straps without touching me. I sprint forward desperately, hoping against hope I can reach it before I'm detected.
The three-pronged foot of the sentinel stomps on the pack, crushing everything inside with calculated finality. The armored giant looms twelve feet tall, towering above me in the grainy light like a metallic god. The guns on its arms whir; laser lights target me where I lay on my back, choking on chalky dust.
"Stand down," the robotic voice orders.
I have no choice but to obey. The weight of my defeat is crushing as the familiar sensation of submission settles on my shoulders like a warm blanket in winter.
The other sentinels gather around, having destroyed my tracker guns. Their shadows smother me as they gaze down in a surprisingly annoyed manner.
The golden one appears to be the leader. The others are gunmetal black. Gold nods to one of them. "Where are the other terrorists?"
"Two dead in the transport crash. The rest got away, Captain. Scuttled underground like the cockroaches they are. We're too big to follow. The other attacks were drone guns operated remotely to distract us."
The leader's head lowers to look at me. "You mean all we have to show for it is this girl?"
"Looks that way, sir."
"Might be more than you think." One of the sentinels leans forward. "I think it's her."
"You mean their mascot? The Girl Who Lived? Can't be. She's too young."
"It was only two years ago. She had just turned fifteen."
"Geez."
The golden sentinel splits apart. The gleaming chest slides open, exposing something I had never considered before.
A human being.
The man is secured inside, where his movements operate the humanoid figure of the sentinel. He detaches from his harness and drops down lightly in front of me, raising a hand reassuringly.
"Easy. My name is Captain Anderson. We're not going to hurt you."
I want to believe he's a simdroid, an artificiality created to deceive me. But there is genuine concern in his eyes; emotion the machines cannot duplicate. His face is etched with weariness, lined with age and speckled with tiny imperfections.
Anderson is human. I bit my lip to keep it from trembling.
The others emerge from their shells as well. Two more men and one woman in snug uniforms adorned with sensors. They approach hesitantly, as though they're as shocked to see me as I am to see them.
"It is her," the woman says. "I recognize her from the propaganda posters. Holy shit."
"Command has been looking everywhere for her," one of the men says. "She's the one stirring up all this Resistance stuff. Look at her. She's just a kid."
"How could she have survived out here?"
"All right, back off," Captain Anderson says. "Give her some room, will you?"
He squats down beside me. "Michelle? Listen, I know you're a little shocked right now. Take a second to collect yourself; then you can come with us."
My voice trembles. "My name...is Zina."
"Okay. Zina. You'll still have to come with us to the Haven. Command is going to want to take a look at you."
I stare at him. "Command is ... human?"
He looks puzzled. "Of course. We're all human, Zina. You mean you thought—?" His eyebrows rise. "Oh, wow. You didn't know?"
I can't answer the question. Something inside seems to burst open. Human. I've been fighting my own people for the last two years, leading a resistance that was supposed to free us from enslavement by cold, unfeeling machines.
I've been living a lie. And the leaders of the Resistance never told me.
I can't hold it back. A sob escapes my chest, and suddenly the floodgates open. For the first time I can remember, tears flow unchecked. I bury my face in Anderson's chest and cry uncontrollably.
He hesitantly pats my back. "It's going to be all right, Michelle. Everything will get better from here."
I desperately want to believe him. But deep inside, I know things will never be better again.