Children of Ava by Joel Tagert

A hundred miles from the poisoned ghost of Salt Lake the rearview screen on the dash caught a flash of sun on a vehicle topping a ridge miles back. The horizontality of it caught Maya’s eye: a brilliant hyphen winking in the late afternoon sun.

Can we rewind the video on this screen?

Walter looked over at her. Sure. Here. Swiping it over to the main dash display.

She found the image she wanted and zoomed in. Along with the LED light bar on the rack, something about the truck’s silhouette looked familiar, the contour of roof-mounted equipment like an uprooted cairn. She bit her lip.

I think we’re being followed.

Seriously? Followed by who?

I’ve seen this truck before. It’s the same guys that tried to take me in Washington. 

Are you sure?

Not a hundred percent. But I also don’t want to wait for them to catch up with us. 

I hear you. Walter pressed the accelerator and the Sunrunner’s hum rose higher. The RV was designed for efficiency, not speed, but even so it was electric and soon was doing ninety-five. You want me to call the highway patrol?

What? Don’t be stupid. They’d put me in a detention center again. And probably arrest you for kidnapping or aiding a fugitive or something. 

Good points all. 

They were both watching the rearview screen intently, and both saw the truck when it appeared again. Clearly it had sped up to match them and was now gaining.

Can we outrun them?

Do you know what kind of truck it is?

It’s old school, like with a gas engine. I think a Ford F-250 maybe? 

Then we might outrun them for a while. Our top speed might beat theirs. Problem is — he tapped the charge readout — we’ve been driving all day. We don’t have more than a couple hours’ charge left. We were going to stop for the night on the south side of Salt Lake. So if they have a full tank they’ll catch up with us sooner or later.

Can we lose them? 

Depends how far ahead we can get, and how they found us in the first place. If they have a satellite feed, we’re not losing them anytime soon. 

What do we do?

Well, for now, let’s see how fast the SS Annabelle can sail. He patted Annabelle’s dash affectionately, set both hands back on the wheel, and with a certain scarcely hidden glee put the pedal to the metal. 

Cries erupted from the passenger area as Shanice and Imani demanded to know what the hell was going on. The Sunrunner hit a hundred and twenty, fast enough to be frightening. Just a little evasive action, Walter called back. 

I need to use the restroom, Maya said.

He gave her a look. All right. Come back soon. 

Waving aside her fellow passengers’ queries, Maya went to the back of the RV and shut the folding door behind her. Once seated on the closed toilet she put in her earbuds. Ava, are you there?

Ava’s voice was soothing as a mother’s. I’m here, Maya. How are you? 

I need help. Briefly she explained the situation. Can you, I don’t know, have another car hit them or something?

I don’t think so. It’s not so easy to take control of an auto. They have their own AI protection. And besides, somebody might get hurt.

Then what should we do? 

We should assume they have plenty of fuel and some way to track the RV. In that case, you can’t outrun them and can’t hide from them as long as you’re in this vehicle. On the other hand, there are plenty of places a single person could hide in Salt Lake City. 

You’re saying we should split up? 

It’s probably your best option. It’s also probably safest for your friends. If the Three Monkeys are looking for you, they’ll lose interest once they’re sure you’re not in the RV. 

But I don’t know anyone in Salt Lake City. 

That’s okay. I do. 

For a long hour they raced along I-15 peering anxiously at the rearview screen. Maya wished she could see the truck with her own eyes, or that the RV had better cameras in the rear. But the proof was in the pudding: every time she thought the truck had finally vanished, she would see its craggy silhouette again topping a distant hill. She imagined the vehicles like two ships racing each other in heavy seas, now cresting a wave, now descending.

But in the short run, at least, the Sunrunner had the advantage, and by the time buildings started rising regularly around them and the sun hit the horizon, the F-250 was out of sight. Only then did she tell her newfound family of her decision. They resisted, as expected, but she held firm, conscious of the trouble that would otherwise come their way, and it was easy to see the wisdom of it. 

You trust your online friend that much? Imani said. 

She’s helped me out before, Maya said, a little defensively. 

It’s dangerous out there. 

It’s dangerous everywhere.

That’s true. I just want you to know, if you need us, we’ll come running. 

I know. Thank you for everything. 

They were entering the city outskirts and it didn’t look like much. The buildings were run down to the point of ruin and there didn’t seem to be anyone on the streets, though it was hard to tell from the highway. The clouded twilight set a dull steel helmet over a landscape already dominated by gray and dun.

We’re getting close. Exit 309.

You’re sure about this? Imani asked again. You might be better off staying with us.

Maya hesitated. The older woman wasn’t wrong, and the last few days in the RV she’d felt a sense of warmth and acceptance she hadn’t experienced in a long time — really since her mother had died. Almost she accepted. What stopped her was the thought of what might happen to her friends if she stayed. The Three Monkeys had blown up the detention center to help her dad escape. It was not an action that suggested gentle restraint.

I think I need to go. I’ll be okay. 

Imani nodded, tears in her eyes, and hugged her. Be safe, baby.

Off the highway they came to a stoplight. It wasn’t functioning, but they stopped anyway, and Maya jumped out with her backpack. 

Call us when you can, Imani said.

I will.

The door closed on their anxious faces and the Sunrunner pulled away. Maya looked after it, and remembering the need for haste, turned toward the nearest building, several stories high: the Clark Planetarium. Someone had knocked down some of the letters and the sign above the doors now said only ARK PLANE. She went inside, through doors permanently open. 

The interior was dark and dirty, littered with the broken remnants of exhibits long past. A half dome stood in the middle of the floor and it took her a minute to understand that a planet had fallen from the ceiling and lay half shattered. She didn’t see anyone at first, but then someone stood up from behind the broken orb. As her eyes adjusted they stood looking at each other. 

Her contact’s appearance was not reassuring. Black bug-eyed lenses stared above an industrial breathing mask, part of a single piece of gear that completely covered the head. It looked at once like a military relic and something homemade. Otherwise they wore a cowl of heavy textured fabric atop what she thought was a hazmat suit. The figure was small and slight, a teenager or very small woman, most likely. They spoke first.

Don’t you have a mask?

 Their voice was not so much muffled as synthetic, the timbre androgynous, tone a little flat in the common manner of AI assistants, emitted from tiny speakers on the sides of their breather. 

No.

The dust is full of poison. And you could get BCV, not to mention nanomites.

Thanks for the public health warning. I don’t know how to say this, but there are some guys following me, and—

We know. Come on.

Her guide turned. When they reached the hallway Maya stopped. I can’t see. 

An exasperated sigh. Don’t you even have specs? 

I don’t have much. 

They dug around in their cargo pockets, found a headlamp, pressed buttons until the light turned red, and handed it to her. Good?

Thanks. 

We’ll stop upstairs.

In a windowless room that she thought had probably been used for projectors they stopped. The gray figure reached into another pocket and handed her a thin packet, like a large bandage. Put this on. 

She peered at it closely, but couldn’t figure it out. What is it?

It’s a mask. Mycelial membrane. Put it on.

She hesitated. What’s your name?

I’m Emory. 

I’m Maya. Can I see your face first? Before I put this on? 

Why?

I’d feel more comfortable. 

It’d be better to wait. 

Please.

Her guide crossed their arms. It’s not a good idea.

Look, I just, I don’t know, I want to know that you’re a human being and not like, a robot or something. 

After a moment’s consideration Emory nodded, as though this made sense somehow. They reached up and loosened something at the back of the head, and then the neck. Beneath the gear was a thin pale white kid with a shaved head. The blond stubble shone in the red light. Satisfied?

How old are you?

How old are you?

I’m fifteen. 

Well, I’m thirteen. Any other questions? 

What are you doing here?

I’m trying to help you.

I know, I know. Thank you. But, like … how did you get here?

You know how.

Ava sent you.

Yeah. And she sent you too. Do you want to put your mask on now?

How?

Hold still. 

With careful gloved fingers Emory set the mask over her mouth and nose, then with a gentle massaging motion pressed its adhesive edges onto the skin of her cheeks, nose and chin. Its fabric was very fine, soft and elastic, like high quality spandex, and seemed to trap little moisture. 

How’s it feel?

It’s soft. Are there more like you?

Like us, you mean. More than you think. Come on, they’re waiting for us.