Jack looks at the form sprawled on the dilapidated couch, considering it as if it were an alien object. Something tugs at the edges of his programming. An eager ticking fills his brass skull with a ratta tat tat of recognition, the sound of his memory unit spinning away. His irises contract and expand like dual camera lenses seeking the proper depth of field. The form twitches, letting out a slight moan. He raises his arms into a defensive posture, ignoring the squeal of rusted gears. A few moments pass as he calculates the possible danger. When the creature shows no more signs of sudden movement he lowers his arms once more, letting them hit his sides with a clank.

Jack found the thing while scavenging for parts in the wasteland. It had been in the cancerous remains of an old growler, huddled against the rain on the torn back seat. Jack still doesn’t understand what made him decide to bring it back here. There is something familiar about this pink skinned creature. It’s something he should know, something he should remember. Forgetting is nothing new to Jack: he can remember that the thing he found it in is called a growler, or a Taxi, but he can’t remember what purpose it may have held. He can remember a time when there were others like himself, but he cannot remember where they came from.

He shuffles across the room, listening to the suss suss of the pumps working in his legs. His eyes never leave the thing. Jack grabs the handle of his collection wagon, moves it between himself and the creature and begins to search through its contents and place them, one by one, in bins. Each bin is clearly marked with a designation to remind him what should go where. He is very aware of the metallic groans emanating from his left hand. It will need to be replaced soon.

The creature stirs again. Jack takes two steps back as it sits up and rub its eyes with smooth hands. The clacking sound once again fills his head. The thing lowers its hands and places them in its lap before looking at him with wide eyes.

“Who are you… where am I?”

Jack takes another step back, sure that it will attack if he doesn’t give the answer it wants.

“I am Jack. This is my home.”

The creature stands and looks around. “It’s very messy.”

Jack considers his home for a long moment, his glowing eyes sweeping the room for the first time in perhaps ten years. The floor is mostly bare wood, though small patches of rotted carpet cling to it in the most remote corners. A counter stretches out from one of the walls, its top cracked and worn. The counter partitions off another portion of the room where the floor is covered in a layer of broken tile.

“Yes. I guess it is.” He is struck by the idea that this might displease the creature and adds, “I could make it clean if you wish.”

The creature shakes its head, causing its blond hair to slap its face. “That’s all right. Where are all the people?”

“People?” The word is familiar, and causes the clacking sound to start up once again. He worries, not for the first time, whether his memory core may be damaged. It’s the only thing he can’t repair.
“People, like me,” she answers.

“I think you are the only you.”

The thing makes a strange warbling sound.

“I know that, silly! I mean where are the other humans. They would look like me except maybe bigger. Big, like you.”

“I don’t know. I have never seen a people, or a human.”

The girl considered this with a frown. “Maybe you haven’t looked in the right places,” she says. Jack stares at her, considering whether that might be a possibility. He has no answer to this, so he sits down next to his wagon and continues sorting. The girl speaks again, “My name’s Samantha.”

“Samantha. That’s a good name.”

“I think so.”

Samantha skips across the room and plops down next to Jack. He twitches back reflexively, watching her for signs of an attack. Recognizing none, he returns to sorting.

“Jack?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a robot man?”

“Yes.”

“Are there more like you?”

Jack looks at Samantha. The question reminds him of a time when he had others to speak with. It is nice to speak again.

“There used to be. A long time ago.”

“Where did they go?”

“They grew old and began to forget things. The place where they stored their memories began to malfunction. Soon there was no one who could remember how to fix them and they joined the maker.”

“So you’re the last?”

“I believe I am.”

“Are you sad?”

Jack thinks about this for a very long time. He is staring at an eye lens in his hand. The dull green glow of his eyes reflects off of its pock marked surface.

“I believe I am.” he answers.

Samantha takes his free hand. The warmth that is registered by his sensors surprises him.

“I don’t think you are the last. I think they must be wherever the people have gone.”

“Really?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Samantha sounds very sure, and it makes him feel hopeful.

“Would you like to help me find them, Samantha?”

“I think that sounds wonderful.”

“Then we will leave in the morning.”

*

When the morning comes Samantha and Jack get ready to leave. Jack takes one of the musty cushions from the couch and places it inside his wagon. He’s not sure why he does this, but some long forgotten imperative tells him it’s right. He attaches an empty crate to the back with a few screws and fills it with various parts that he may need on their journey. Samantha tests the cushion with one hand; a lazy cloud of dust issues from its faded surface. She crawls into the wagon and watches Jack as he stares at his home.

Jack knows this may be the last time he will see the place. He realizes that the thought makes him feel a strange longing. He takes one final scan, attempting to burn the image into his faulty memory core, before grabbing the wagon’s handle and hauling it out the door.

The sky is cool and grey, as always, but there is no rain. The abandoned city hums with a lonesome song of decay. The aesthetic of the once beautiful city has changed over the years. The tallest of the buildings are skeletons of their former selves, swaying against the sky. A lone statue stands in the courtyard across the tattered street, its features made indistinguishable by countless years of exposure. Black birds nest on the blank curves of its body. Their gentle warbling only adds to the sadness of the city, like a chorus of sobbing children.

“Which way?” Samantha asks.

Jack surveys the skyline in either direction. To his memory he has never been outside of the city. It makes the process no more then a guessing game.

“Which way would you like to go?”

“That way,” she says, pointing towards the mountains in the North.

“That is a good direction, I think.”

With that, Jack begins walking. The red wagon trails behind, one wheel letting off a monotonous squee squee squee. There are no barking dogs, no alley cats dumping trashcans… the city is even devoid of the rats that once stalked the shadows. Just the birds remain.

Jack plods along, working his way around abandoned carriages, piles of rubble, and cracks in the street. He pays little attention to these things. Samantha, however, examines the surroundings with sad eyes. She watches in silence until Jack steers them around an overturned buggy. The wheels have rusted away completely and the spokes poke out like broken fingers.

“Jack, stop!”

“What?” Jack’s pumps suss a loud complaint as he crouches into a defensive position. He scans the empty streets for danger.

Samantha hops out of the wagon and races to the overturned buggy where she flops over, working her head into the open compartment. Jack is beginning to become concerned when she pulls back. She is holding a tiny pink form and her cheeks are visibly damp.
“What did you find?” Jack asks.

“It’s a doll. I think it’s very old.”

Jack bends to examine the doll. Its tiny head is bald and full of holes. There are smudges where it may have once had eyes and a mouth. A band of dirty fabric hangs around its neck. Jack looks at the wooden form, unsure why she has placed such importance on this thing. It certainly has never held any practical function.

“Samantha, are you all right?” He asks.

Samantha stares at the doll for a few more moments before turning her face back up to Jack. She raises her arm and scrubs it across her face before speaking. “I’m okay, I think. Can we go?”

“Of course.”

Samantha pulls herself back into the wagon with one hand. Her free arm is wrapped around the doll as if it’s some useful part that she does not want to lose. They continue on in silence. Samantha no longer watches their progress.

The travelers don’t notice the form lurking in the dark recesses of the abandoned buildings, but it has noticed them.

*

The end of the city comes as a relief. A large trench marks its outer edge like the body of a meandering snake. Jack can vaguely remember a time when water ran through the channel, its murky surface carrying loose debris and trash. Now the riverbed is dry, diverted to some other path by the long years.

He steers the cart to follow the bank West. Though he has never considered using it, he knows of a bridge that runs over the riverbed and out of the city. He can remember standing at the base of this bridge, looking out over the expanse of empty land. A wrought iron sign stands at its edge.

The last time he saw it, ‘Leaving’ was the only word on the sign to survive the ages. The sign is blank except for a few rusted holes now, but the bridge is intact.

Samantha’s mood visibly improves once they are on the other side and out of the city. Jack is surprised to find that the new surrounding have made him feel better too. Outside the city there are trees and even grass. The road runs north, splitting the greenery in two.

“Do you know where we are, Jack?”

“I’m afraid I don’t remember. Though, I believe I should.”

“Well, it’s better.”

“I believe it is,” Jack answers.

“Can we find something to eat?” she asks.

“What is eat?”

The girl makes another warbling sound.

“Never mind. You walk, I’ll look.”

*

It’s late in the day when Samantha calls out for Jack to stop. She points to a house standing a bit off the road. Its windows are hollow eyes, their glass broken out long ago. The house seems to leer at them from its place in the field. Thick vines have torn away large portions of the walls. Along the North side is a stand of trees filled with circular red objects.

“I do not believe you will find anything helpful in there, Samantha.”

The girl hops out of the wagon and begins running down a dirt path. As she runs she waves for Jack to follow her. “Not the house. The apples!” she cries.

Jack follows. Samantha collects handfuls and places them into the wagon. When she has gathered all those she can reach she asks for Jack’s help. By the time they are done the front of the cart is full. She takes two for herself and sits down in the grass. Jack watches her eat in silence until she has finishes her first apple.

“Samantha, do you know how you got here?”

Samantha considers him; her blue eyes steady on his. “By magic, of course,” she answers.

Jack’s processors whirr and click in his head.

“But there is no such thing as magic.” Jack finally says.

“Of course there’s magic. I didn’t walk here, or fly, or sail. But I did get here. How else could that have happened except by magic?”

“I see. Why did the magic bring you?”

“I don’t remember, but magic always has a reason for what it does. I’m sure it will tell me when it wants to.” Samantha answers. She balances her next apple on her finger with a wide smile before taking a bite.

“Where did you come from?” Jack asks.

“Oh! A wonderful place. It’s a place full of people. They come in all colors and shapes. There are blue people with three arms, and grey people with four legs, and people that look like animals, and people that don’t. I do hope that someday I can go back there.”

Jack picks up an apple from the ground and passes it from one hand to the next. A loud click clack issues from his bad hand. “I hope we find people where we are going,” he says, not looking up.

“Can we stay here for the night, Jack?”

Jack looks around. His eyes settle on the abandoned house. It doesn’t look like a pleasant place to stay, but above them the clouds are thick and black. In the distance a grey mist of rain obscures the mountains.

“I think that would be alright, but we should go inside to stay dry.”

*

The floors in the house are filled with holes, the edges rotted away where water has found its way through the ceiling. A sapling grows through the floor by one of the open windows. Its thin trunk is tilted towards the window in an attempt to catch the light.

In the center of the room is the clumsy form of a clockwork man. His eyes are black circles in his brass faceplate. His body is draped backwards over the remains of a large chair.

“Is it safe?” Samantha asks.

“Maybe not, but it will have to do.”

Jack takes Samantha into his arms and crosses the room. When he finds a spot of floor that seems solid he puts her down and crosses back to the wagon to retrieve her cushion. He pauses for a moment before half turning to the disabled robot in the center of the room. Then he waits, and when he is sure Samantha is asleep he picks his way over to the chair and examines the robot for salvage.

He starts with the hands, and is satisfied to find that the pumps have been preserved despite the rust caked on the outer sleeve. He removes them with great care and sets them aside before returning to his examination. He removes the casings first to look over the inner workings. Once inside he begins the process of removing the gears, pumps, and valves one by one. He makes two piles, one on either side of the chair. In the right pile he places the pieces that have gathered too much rust and decay; in the left go the pieces that might still function. It’s an old ritual, but still, it makes him feel wrong. He keeps his back to Samantha as he works, stealing glances to make sure she is sleeping.

When he is finished he disposes of the useless parts in one of the many holes. What is left he places into the tub on the rear of the wagon, all but the pumps. He works with his right hand, removing the protective coverings from the left, and finally the pumps beneath. A few quick twists of the screwdriver and the main assembly pops loose. He replaces the pumps and the casing. When he is finished he raises his hand and works it before his eyes.

A raven screams in the darkness outside the house. Jack stops, listening for a repeated cry. He is familiar enough with the birds to know that the sound is out of place, and his mind immediately considers it to be dangerous. He creeps back across the room and takes a place next to Samantha. The girl mumbles in her sleep before rolling over and throwing her arm over his lap. Jack spends the rest of the night watching the gaping windows.

*

Morning comes as a relief. The night’s strange sounds had continued after the raven’s call. At one point Jack was sure something crept about just outside the open windows. Now that the sky is back to its normal dull grey Jack is impatient to continue their trip.

Samantha spares a glance at the empty chair as they leave. Jack does not notice the sadness that overcomes her, and by the time they reach the road it has passed.

Today Jack walks faster. “Are you okay, Jack?” Samantha asks.

Jack looks over his shoulder, but his eyes are not on Samantha. Instead, he watches the road. “I believe we are being followed.”

“Is it another robot man?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t know.”

Samantha turns and watches the road behind them.

*

The feeling of being followed has faded by the time they reach a small town many miles north of the house. The town is built on the slope of a small mountain. The main street cuts through its center and curves around the mountain to head off in a Westerly direction. Many of the buildings have rotted away completely, leaving only their foundations, and piles of debris. The flattened landscape is dotted with the few stone buildings that have managed to survive the long years.

Jack plods along, staying on the main street. He passes a two-story building with a faded sign on the front. The building seems to loom out of the destruction. Running alongside the building is a small green field.

“Look, Jack, I think this was a school.”

Jack thinks for a long moment, his processor whining in his head.

“Where people go to learn things!” He feels a deep satisfaction at coming up with the ancient knowledge.

“That’s right!”

“Have you ever gone to school, Samantha?”

“Of course.” A smile crosses her delicate face, “My favorite part was recess. Come on, Jack!”

Samantha hops out of the wagon and takes his hand in her own. They cross the grassy field and stop at a large tree. Chains hang from the branches. Most of the chains stop in mid air, their ends blowing in the slight wind, but one pair holds aloft a leather strip. Jack is surprised that the apparatus has survived.
Samantha sits in the seat and looks at Jack with a grin. “You have to push me,” she says.

Jack looks at the flecks of orange rust that cling to the chains before looking back at Samantha. “It will break. Maybe we should keep going.”

“Don’t be silly…. See.” Samantha hops up and down in the seat to demonstrate. The chains jingle, but show no sign of giving away under her slight weight.

“Well,.. If you insist.”

“I do.” She answers with a stubborn glint in her eyes.

Jack steps around behind her and gives a hesitant push. She shifts forward slightly before returning to her original position where Jack steadies her with his hands.

Samantha turns her head to give him a dirty look. “You have to push harder. And don’t stop.”

“If I must.”

Jack gives her a real push this time. He has to take two steps back to avoid being toppled as Samantha hurtles back towards him. He puts his hands up and gives her another push to keep her going. Her blond hair streams in the wind as she is propelled once more forward. On his third push she begins to make her strange warbling noise again.

“What’s wrong?!” Despite his concern he continues to push her, not wanting to make her upset with him again.

“Nothing!”

“Then why are you making that sound?”

“I’m laughing, Jack! It’s what humans do when we’re happy.”

Jack considers this, shuffling the pushing protocol to the back of his memory unit so that he can focus on the concept of laughing.

Jack breaks out into his own fits of laughter. At first they are a perfect imitation of hers, his voice synthesizers replicating the sound, but soon they take on a honking quality all his own. This makes Samantha laugh even harder, which in turn makes him laugh harder. Samantha drags her feet across the ground and comes to a stop. Soon they are both sitting in the grass, their laughter beginning to die off.
“Jack…” Samantha says between giggles.

“Yes?”

“You snort when you laugh!” Samantha answers before breaking into a renewed gale.

“I do, don’t I?” Jack muses. The thought that he could laugh, feel lonely, or joyful, had never occurred to him.

“Jack, can I tell you a secret?”

“You can. I will not tell anyone, I swear.”

Samantha smiles and looks at the barren surroundings, searching for anyone he might possibly tell. She does not notice the shadow lurking at the edge of the school building.

“I think I know why I am here.”

Samantha pauses, her eyes searching the blades of grass in front of her. Jack is about to ask her to continue, his curiosity piqued, when another voice, deep and rough, breaks the silence. “You are here as a snack.”

Jack is on his feet before the words die off. His eyes focus on a terrible beast, now perched on the branch above the swing. Its crescent moon claws dig trenches in the wood as its paws clench. The creature’s red eyes are focused on Samantha. Its matted mane partially obscures its violent features. Its mandibles twitch reflexively, sending viscous strands of drool to the ground below.

“It has been so long since I have had the pleasure of mammalian flesh. Move aside, clockwork. I want the girl.”

Jack looks from the creature to Samantha and back. His processors click and clack in his head, drowning out the vibrations running through the rest of his body. His programming tells him that survival is the ultimate imperative, and he should run. His newly discovered emotions tell him to protect the girl, his only companion. The creature watches the girl in silence, waiting for an answer from Jack. When no answer is offered it leaps forward.

Jack acts without thinking, his attachment to Samantha overriding his urge for self-preservation. The creature hits him like a sack full of bricks and they topple into a thrashing pile.

“Run!” Jack shouts as the creature’s claws dig a trench in his brass breastplate.

Samantha gives Jack one last distressed look before shooting off towards the mountainside. The weight on his chest eases as the creature tries to give chase. Before it can slither away Jack slips his fingers into its thick mane and pulls it back.

“Let me go, clockwork!” the creature screams, its face twisting into a mask of anger. It rakes its claws across his chest and arms, tearing the casings. Jack can hear the pops and spangs of gears breaking and springs cutting loose. There’s a horrible tearing sound from his left arm, followed by the hiss of air escaping a punctured pump. His arm goes limp. His fingers slip free from the beast’s mane, and before he can get a solid grip with his working hand it is gone.

Jack is still in the grass. Above him the clouds swirl in a hateful dark mass. He wonders whether there are others like him somewhere out in this vast world. Would he be found by one of them and salvaged as he has salvaged others? Jack turns his head to take in the twisted wreckage of his arm. A hose juts from the gaping wound, ending abruptly in a jagged stump that pours lubricant over busted gears. The grass around his arm is matted with the slick fluid.

Somewhere in the distance the creature lets out a long howl.

Jack lurches into motion, testing his legs first. He finds them in working order and crawls to his feet. One of the pumps in his chest has been damaged. It makes a monotonous Husss Husss Husss sound as he struggles toward the fading howl. His left arm, with its newly repaired hand, swings at his side. He picks up speed, focusing his processor on putting one foot in front of the other. He needs to find Samantha before the creature.

*

He comes to a bulkhead protruding from the side of the mountain a short time later. Footprints on the dusty cement rampart confirm that the beast followed Samantha inside. Jack follows the tracks. The lenses of his eyes work harder then should be necessary to adjust to the low light. He follows the twisting hallways deeper into the mountain, hoping against the odds that he is choosing the correct turns when they present themselves. The walls are littered with blackened doorways, their contents unknowable, even to his eyes.

Signs mark a path through the halls. He follows the ones marked Clockwork Lab, hoping that Samantha would choose the same.

He finds himself in an immense room filled with strange devices, dark view-screens, and a wall filled with containers. The view-screens run in columns on either side of the various machines. The containers are clearly marked with the names and descriptions of the robotic parts within. They stretch from the floor to the ceiling twenty feet above. Rolling devices line the wall, their dual bars supporting geared platforms at various heights.

Jack can hear the click click click of the creature’s claws as it stalks the darkest recesses of the room.

“I smell you, girl. You can’t hide forever.” The creature’s voice echoes through the chamber.

Jack scans the room, unsure exactly what he is looking for, but knowing Samantha must be hiding somewhere. He is all too aware of his metal feet on the wooden floor. Moving further into the room would surely give away his presence. Another attack from the beast would be the end of him. He stands still in the darkness, calculating approaches to the problem versus their chance of success.

“So, the clockwork man has survived. I am surprised you would dare follow me.”

Jack remains silent, hoping that its words are an attempt at drawing Samantha from her hiding place, and watching for signs that it might have worked.

“I can smell you, clockwork.”

“I won’t let you hurt her, beast.” Jack answers.

The creature emerges from behind a bank of view-screens, its red eyes burning in the darkness.

“The sounds coming from inside your head are deceiving clockwork. You remember more of your humanity then I would expect. This took me by surprise once – don’t think it will work again.”

“What?”

“So you don’t remember all. This would have been more fun if you did.”

The creature lunges forward. Jack raises his working arm in a futile attempt at protecting his head, but he knows he is already done. Before it can reach him, however, the room is filled with a thunderous ripping sound. Jack lowers his hand in time to watch the creature plunge into a window of ghost light not five feet from where he is standing. Its furious howls echo from the walls for a few more moments before the window collapses in on itself with a pop.

Samantha is standing in the darkness beyond. “Jack?”

“Samantha!,” Jack crosses the room and kneels in front of her with a slight wobble. He places his good hand on her shoulder and examines her features for sign of injury. “Did you see what happened?”

“I sent him away,” Samantha answers.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will. I will show you, but first we need to make you better.” She reaches out her small hand as she says this, placing it on the cheek of his dented faceplate.

“It’s mostly my arm. I may be able to find a replacement here,” he says.

“That’s not what I mean, Jack. Come on, we need to get this stuff working.”

Jack looks around, taking in the bizarre machines that fill the room. Most are like nothing he has ever seen, and it stretches his imagination to consider what use they might be.

“Why?”

“It’s what I was trying to tell you, Jack. I remember why I was brought here.”

*

Before long they discover an exposed pipe running along the rear wall and down into some deeper part of the installation. Jack follows the pipe until he finds a placard bolted to the wall. It tells him that he is looking at the emergency power valve. An arrow points to a large handle protruding from the side of the pipe. Due to the protection of the bunker, the words inscribed on the plaque are clear. The valve turns with only a slight groan of protest, and moments later it begins to clank and whine. There is a hissing sound from behind one of the walls as some unused machine begins to work its intended purpose.

Jack is beginning to wonder whether the machine might be broken when a hushing sound runs through smaller pipes along the walls. Gaslights begin to turn on one by one in their wall sconces. Most of the machinery in the room remains dead, but a few of the devices along the center aisle whir to life. Tiny lights shine from their control panels. Their exposed gears turn grudgingly at first, but finally settle into a furious clatter of motion.

“Jack, over here!”

Samantha is standing in the center of the room, inspecting one of the clanking machines. It is a tall thing, with multi-jointed hoses that run up into the ceiling. Filigree decorations run across the edges of its copper panels. It’s built in a large half circle that partially engulfs a sturdy wooden chair.

When Jack reaches Samantha she points to a sign hanging on a curved brass band running across the top of the machines alcove.

” ‘Memory recovery and repair unit. Use with caution‘,” Jack reads aloud. He can barely hold back the emotion in his voice as he reads. Suddenly a world of opportunity opens up to him. If the machine works it would mean he could live on for many years, his memory core intact.

“Sit down, Jack.” Samantha urges.

Jack sits in the oversized chair. After a brief examination of the walls he discovers a thick cable that ends in a brass connector. He reaches up and unhooks a clasp on the back of his head almost by instinct. A moment later he is hooked to the machine.

“Are you ready, Jack?” Samantha asks.

Jack pauses, unsure if he is indeed ready. He has forgotten so much. What he does remember is years of solitude. Years of searching an abandoned city for salvage. Does he really want to know how it came to that?

“I’m afraid.”

“It’s okay, Jack. It’s going to be okay.”

“Okay.”

The lights from the control panel illuminate Samantha’s face. Jack watches as she reaches out and pushes one of the keys, which depresses with an audible clack. A moment later a dusty voice issues forth from a brass horn above the control panel.

“Preparing for memory core repair. Backup will occur in 3- 2- 1-”

The machine whirs and clicks, and as it does Jack is engulfed in darkness.

*

Jack has no way of knowing how long he is in the unthinking void before the words appear in his mind.

PREPARE FOR MEMORY RE-ALLOCATION. 76% REPAIRED.

PROCESS WILL BEGIN IN 3- 2- 1-

And then he begins to remember. He is flooded with a constant stream of images that he registers in fits and starts. He is a child playing on the beach, his mother and father watch as the sand castle he has been working on for hours collapses in a twisted heap. His father laughs until he sees the hurt in his son’s eyes. They spend the next hour re-building. With his fathers instruction the walls are sturdy. It does not fall again.

He is a wireless operator, one of the first to receive wireless signals from the ether for one of the world’s great newspapers. The walls of the room flash as the ticker extrudes from the machine, every inch full with Morse code. He translates the message as it comes, jotting it down in his notebook: Hunters arrive in U.S. – Still no answers as to their origin. Roosevelt vows to fight.

A year passes in the blink of an eye. Jack labors at the wireless, exhausted. The messages coming through the ether are increasingly dire. He translates the code as it arrives in his station with loud bangs: Top scientists create weapon against hunters. President hopeful.

The tape keeps coming, jumping in weeks and months, and still he translates:

Hunter plague working! Hope for future as beasts are forced back

Hunters develop Immunity!

First case of hunter plague seen in humans.

Hunter plague devastating among world population Solutions being sought.

All citizens with tickets must report to Hunter plague installations.

Now he is amongst the struggling masses. Their panic drives them toward one of the many bunkers that promise a solution to the plague. They will be denied entrance, for the solution is reserved for those who can afford a ticket, and they are obviously of the lower class. Jack cuts off into a dead alley, an effort to avoid the stampeding crowd. He can feel the rattle of the Hunter plague deep in his lungs. He shuffles down the alley, knowing that he is simply looking for a quiet place to die. He is nearly ready to collapse when he notices the ragged form of a headless body, a hunter’s work. It is not morbidity that draws his feet closer to the grotesque form. He is entranced by the yellow shock of paper clutched in the man’s hand. A ticket.

Now he is in line at the bunker. A man is asking for his ticket, his voice nearly drowned out by the bustling crowd outside the fence. Jack hands him the yellow slip of paper. He examines it, looking from the ticket to Jack’s ragged cloths three times before tearing the stub and handing half of it back.

“Stay in line. No pushing, no holding spots, no changing your damned mind.”

The next hundred years pass in a blur.

*

Jack pulls the cable from the back of his head and leans forward. He is flooded with unfamiliar emotions.

“Are you okay, Jack?” Samantha asks.

“I was… I was human.”

“Yes, Jack.”

“Am I truly the last?”

“I’m sorry, Jack. I don’t think I would have been sent if you weren’t.”

“Who are you?” Jack asks.

“I am a collector of lasts. I’m here to take you to a place where you will not be alone.”

*

Jack stands in front of the portal, staring into its ethereal blue glow. He turns to Samantha with one last question.

“Will I see you again?”

“You will. You won’t remember me at first, it’s a side effect of the travel, but I’ll find you. Promise.”

Jack has repaired his broken body, but he thinks it may take longer to fix the extraordinary sadness in his mind. He takes one last look at the humming machine that restored his memory, horrified by its promise of immortality, and steps into the light.

---

About the Author

Jeromy K. Smith lives in Spokane, WA. When he is not writing, reading, or creating art, he is spending time with his fiancé, Sara, and two dogs, Ozzie and Mr. Giles. He would like to take this opportunity to thank Sara, who has made his work far better then it has any right to be this early in his career.

This story is Jeromy’s first published work. His artwork Clockwork Man At the Beach is also featured in Issue 8 of Crossed Genres.

Jeromy maintains a blog at http://jsmith0316-theblackspot.blogspot.com/ and an online gallery at http://www.conceptart.org/index.php?artist=Bonedaddycash.