Condemnation by Kell Inkston

Author:Kell Inkston [Inkston, Kell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-24T16:00:00+00:00

Then she slips.

Perhaps the saturation of wet mold prevented proper traction of her boots, or perhaps she was simply too tired to keep it together; regardless, she's met with the same fate. She misses the edge of the roof. However, her face does at least catch the opposite windowsill. Her mask takes most of the impact— but when the rich, coppery taste of blood hits her tongue, she knows that's not the only thing that took a hit.

She plummets into the water— its already familiar chill providing an agonizing shock anew— and pushes herself up once more. With a muffled, wheezing cry, she stumbles into a wall while attempting to regain her bearings. It’s hard to run, she suddenly notices— maybe a little too hard. There's a sharp pain in her left ankle— and her vision, fogged with an eldritch concoction of vomit, sweat, blood, and live water— forms over her mask's lenses like a sort of infernal filter of confused muck.

Far more like a child than an adult, she trips along the side of the wall— trusting her senses of touch and hearing to guide her away from the automaton. In a twist of fate, however, the machine’s characteristic clumsy gait is now notably faster it was before. Its almost as though it were acting previously and has just now decided to show her just how hopeless she is. Perhaps it’ll break into a sprint.

The steady, trudging steps of the auto glide it through the water at a slow, but certain pace— forcing forward through any impediment toward its current goal.

"Do not worry, human, you are in a state of distress," it says a third time, its tone decisively lower this time as it rears up on the impeded, bloodied, tired, cold young lady. "I will provide assistance," it adds firmly, reaching forward.

It hurts so much to move— but Clare knows she has to. Calling on her first reserve of energy, the girl does her best to ignore the shattering pain that's now shooting up her leg. With a tilted, crazed stride, Clare rushes past homes and storefronts; soon, the automaton's footsteps steadily fade out into the distance. She doesn't ask herself why it isn't running after her, and she doesn't care to know right now. All she wants is to get away.

She runs, and runs, and runs in the darkness. The automaton's sloshing continues to grow quieter and more distant with every ticking moment. She passes street signs and auto dock stations. She runs on in a crazed, clueless evasion— as if she is a mouse fleeing from a cat that has its scent. She has to go on until she is absolutely certain that it couldn't possibly pick up her sound input again. Finally, she can only hear her own body pushing on through the mess. She wants to keep running— she knows it’s the right thing to do— but it hurts beyond any words she's ever learned during her lifetime. That special human something keeps her going— but even that must surely have its limits.

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