Previous Story: 2. Prelude - Anna’s Story
Lucky kept his bow at the ready as he strode through Chinatown. The day had only just begun, but he didn’t want to waste any time. Eyes darting from shadow to shadow, he kept away from alleys and abandoned cars — anything that could hide a CyMS.
Being first and being quick was how he had survived on the streets. And, though he still didn’t really understand what had happened in the last month, he was determined to survive it. He’d left the others back at the auto shop; partly because he worked better alone, partly because he wanted to show them he was useful. The group of survivors all had their own skills, but Lucky’s main attribute was his knowledge of San Lazaro — and he intended to use it.
The 24-Seven store was located next to a gas station. Outside were a couple of abandoned vehicles and the usual selection of rotting bodies. Some were CyMS killed by humans; the rest were humans killed by CyMS. The smell was horrible, but Lucky realized he was actually getting used to it. Peering through the broken front windows of the store, he saw no movement within.
Heading inside, he found the place deserted. Most of the aisles containing food had predictably been picked clean. Lucky knew to listen first, check if his arrival had disturbed anyone — or anything. But he heard nothing. He walked along an aisle, only stopping when he reached the end and saw his reflection in the glass door of a refrigerator. In some ways, he looked the same as he always had: compact, athletic; unruly black hair, light beard. But he reckoned his eyes had acquired a hardness in recent weeks; in the days since everything had changed. He lowered the bow and let out a long sigh. Lost in thought, he almost missed the danger.
The door saved his life. He saw the reflection of the male CyMS coming at him from behind him with arms outstretched, eyes bulging. Lucky spun around, knowing he didn’t have time or space to nock an arrow. What he did have time to do was raise his bow and keep the CyMS at a distance. When it couldn’t get close, the attacker grabbed a large can of motor oil and threw it. This first projectile missed, but Lucky knew he couldn’t let his enemy take another shot. He swung the bow, striking the CyMS solidly on the head. Dazed, the man fell back, knocking himself out on a shelf. Lucky was relieved the situation hadn’t escalated; he had resolved to neutralize any CyMS he encountered without lethal force.
He checked there was no further danger and kept moving. Exploring the rear of the 24-Seven, he soon found an unlocked storeroom. He carefully opened the door, and smiled when he saw what was inside. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. As he entered, the door clicked shut behind him; he surveyed the shelves. Most were full, containing bottles of water, chips, candy, packets of noodles, tins of fruit. There was enough here to keep him and the others going for weeks. He took his backpack off and was about to start filling it when he heard something outside the door.
Lucky turned, retreated and nocked an arrow. The door opened to reveal a tall, bulky man pushing a shopping cart. Resting on that cart was a modified, advanced-looking shotgun, which the interloper instantly raised. Lucky aimed his bow at the man’s head, because his chest was protected by a bulletproof vest. Underneath it was the uniform of the San Lazaro Police Department. Lucky had never much enjoyed his encounters with them, and guessed this one wouldn’t be any different.
“This stuff is mine,” said the officer. “You’d better move on.”
“Strong words for a man with an arrow pointed at his face.”
The officer — who looked to be about 40 — calmly nodded down at the trolley.
“I just went to fetch this. I got here a while ago.”
“Plenty here to share,” said Lucky.
“Why should I?”
“Listen, man, there’s enough danger out there without us turning on each other. I’ll lower my weapon if you will.”
The officer considered this for a moment, then lowered his shotgun.
Lucky lowered the bow. “You’re police. Is there still a force?”
“Is there still anything?”
“You know what caused it — the CyMS?”
“I don’t think anyone does — yet. Heard some military chatter on the radio about ‘protocols,’ but we’re not sure what it means.”
“What-”
Ten feet behind the officer, two female CyMS had appeared in the corridor. They wore identical clothes and name badges: waitresses. They possessed the same vacant stare that Lucky had observed on all the people that had undergone the awful transformation. Then came another waitress, then three waiters.
“Damn,” said the officer. “Must have all come from some restaurant nearby. I don’t want to waste any more ammo.”
“Neither do I,” said Lucky.
The officer nodded towards the window at the rear of the storeroom. “It’s open. I made sure there’s a way out.”
“We won’t be able to carry much,” said Lucky. “But we can block the door. Take what we can.”
“Let’s do it.”
He pushed his cart towards the onrushing CyMS, which slowed them down for a few seconds. He slammed the door, and the pair of them quickly cleared the nearest shelf and flipped it over to use as a barricade. The CyMS were soon thumping on the door, but they couldn’t get it open.
The officer also had a pack, and both men now claimed as much as they could carry. Using another shelf to climb up, they then clambered through the window and lowered themselves to the ground. Lucky found himself in a narrow alley covered with graffiti. There was no sign of any CyMS.
The officer pointed over his shoulder. “I’m heading this way.”
Lucky nodded in the opposite direction. “I’m going there. What’s your name?”
“Buck. You?”
“Lucky.”
“I hope so — for your sake.”
With that, Buck turned and marched away along the alley. Wondering if he would see the officer again, Lucky checked his bow, then sprinted back toward the street.
Next Story: 4. Scouting the City