Dearborn (Cryo-Man) by George Kevin

Author:George, Kevin [George, Kevin]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2014-03-13T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I hear the distant pounding of footsteps, which grow louder with every passing second, the noise enveloping my surroundings…

It’s dark, but it’s not night. I look up, where huge chunks of concrete rubble block out the sunlight. I see patches of blue sky through the debris, but I’m much more concerned about the shadows that pound above…

I duck deeper between debris, a hopelessly small crack of space to conceal my massive form. Hiding is worthless, and leaves me utterly helpless. There’s nothing I can do but stay still and hope I’m not discovered, hope the assassin bots don’t look in my small space among the massive fields of debris…

A skittering nearby turns my attention away from the surface and across the small area where I hide. At first, I think a solid wall of debris stands in front of me. But then I spot the shadow of movement. A pair of eyes peers out at me from within the darkness. Somehow, my subconscious knows who those eyes belong to before I see any other part of the small boy. He doesn’t make me wait long before showing himself…

Henry is the same size and age from the final moment of my human life, but that’s where the similarities end. It’s clearly him—the eyes and smile leave no doubt in my mind—but the left side of his face isn’t quite as proportional as the right side. He only has wisps of hair atop his lumpy, swollen head, and his left eye droops so much that I doubt he can see clearly. When he smiles, I see that his teeth—at least the few that haven’t fallen out—are stained red. His clothing are rags that dangle off of his frail body, the entire right side of which he has to drag, as if he’s suffered some sort of debilitating stroke…

My heart aches to see him like this. I suddenly feel frozen in place, unable to move even though he reaches out an arm while stumbling toward my hiding place. He smiles when he sees me, his eyes alight with recognition. His giggle starts off all too familiar—the same laughter that once filled our home—but it quickly turns into more of a gurgling choke. Henry tries to get to me, but behind him is the movement of a second person…

I recognize Osi right away, though she’s suffered even more deformities than my son. Her eyes—once so kind—are wide with fear. Or have they simply become too spread apart? She limps more severely than Henry, and I’m convinced that she might tip over with every step. Still, it doesn’t stop her from reaching Henry and grabbing his arm before he reaches me…

“Shh,” she tells him, trying to quiet his laughter, though she makes just as much noise. Saliva drips from the corners of her mouth, which don’t quite seem able to close all of the way…

“This way!” a distant voice yells, followed by footsteps that become louder and louder. I didn’t know that robots could

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