I, Cassandra

61 | AMADI EZENWA

Even though a month has passed, my resentment against Maddox hasn't lessened. Instead, it has hardened into a solid, dangerous thing inside me. I hate him so much I can taste it, acrid and dry against the roof of my mouth.

The long, arduous trek back to Alpha VII infuriates me. Every pointless second I must continue to carry the box when it should have been opened by him grinds on my nerves like a steady drip of water against my brow. Bitterness burrows into me like a poisoned barb and my thoughts prowl through fantasies of revenge: Of smashing his face in with a rock. Of tearing out whatever it is that makes him exist. To shut him down and dismantle him piece by piece so he can never wake up again. To end him. Permanently. I'm glad he's lost whoever it was he was searching for. I hope he's miserable, lonely and tormented by a brutal, exhausting loop of remorse for his crimes.

But more than anything, I hate that he is here, in this empty world, with me. He is an abomination in a place like this, a relic of a lost world of high technology in a place where nature has become dominant.

Over the last weeks, I have chosen to allocate the blame to him for every single thing that has gone wrong—for every night I have slept hungry, for every fresh obstacle I have had to find my way around, for every downpour of rain that has left me shivering with cold. All of it is his fault. He did this to me. And all I did was try to help him. And not only did he not open the safe, he fucking judged me. A god damn machine who used to be nothing more than a minor link in Global Command's chain. I'm the son of the last American president. Maddox wouldn't have done anything different in my shoes—he probably would have executed the order right away and enjoyed it.

I have to stop this line of thinking. I'm so furious I don't even know which direction I'm heading in anymore. After several deep breaths and a good look at the stars—or at least at the only one I can count on being a reliable guide—I reorient myself and continue heading south, stomping through the vines as if they were Maddox's face. It's childish, but I don't care, it makes me feel better. And I'm sick of feeling bad.

It hits me before I know it, my sour ruminations blinding me to the change in the monotony of the horizon. Just beyond a line of trees, the skeletal strut of Alpha VII's once-dome reaches up into the sky, a massive shadow that blots out the nebulous line of the Milky Way. An unexpected wash of disappointment floods through me. Even though I've walked for a month, I'm still furious. For some reason, I thought I'd be able to walk it off. But I haven't, which makes me even angrier. I shove my way through the stand of trees and into what's left of Alpha VII.

Of course, it's a shit show. The passage of ten thousand years has taken its toll on the remains of the city. I eye the section of the strut that still stands, a crumbling, feeble thing, and seek something—anything—I can use to get the box open. The sooner I'm done, the sooner I can leave and put all this shit behind me.

The base of the strut is heavy with vines, to clear them could take days but higher up the vines are thinner and I spy what might have potential. It clings to the structure by the leanest thread, a thin piece of ancient metal that drifts a little in the breeze. A good yank should set it free. Impatience makes me hasty. I don't carefully assess the situation like I always used to do, plan out my actions or even consider ways I could fail that I can mitigate. No. I just drop the box onto the carpet of vines and start to climb, like a mindless beast.

The sting of the vines' barbs gives me pause, until anger surges over my pain and I press on, driven by hatred for the one who caused all my misfortune. I invite the hardship, the cut of the barbs, the ache in my limbs, and use it to fuel my rage, to give me the power to haul myself up the strut's side until I am high enough to see over the treetops.

The view is worth the pain. Bathed in the light of the moon, the sprawl of the remains of Alpha VII stretches into the distance. Even ten millennia can't erase its deepest imprint. Its massive circumference still delineates the line between man and nature, and declares its once-dominant existence as the ruling city of a dying world. It's not much, but it's something and strangely makes me feel less alone.

The object of my effort is just a little further away, but there is no easy way to reach it. This time I do think it over. I'm at least twenty meters up, if I fall and break my leg, I'll be totally fucked. I park my rage against Maddox into a corner and focus. The metal strip hangs just out of reach, taunting me. Now I am close up to it, I can see it's perfect for what I need. It won't take much to break it off but getting to it is the issue. I spend a long time considering every angle and possibility and at last settle on hooking my leg through a sturdy vine and hanging like a trapeze artist from it to get within range.

Thinking it through is one thing, execution is another. It takes a long time to loosen the vine enough to fit my leg through it, and then even more to work up the courage to allow myself to hang from it upside down twenty meters up. For at least a solid minute I consider not doing it, the risk feels too great for such a small reward. What am I going to do with a cat anyway? I don't even know if it still functions. Then again if it's made with the same tech as Maddox it probably does. A companion would be nice. Something to talk to, something that won't die. I realise I want this more than anything—to not be alone—so I ease my weight onto the vine, hold my breath and let go.

The vine sags and I sink a meter into the night. For a horrible moment, I think it's going to break, but with a jerk, the vine holds. I let out my breath, slow, and focus on my goal. Even stretched as far as I can go, my fingertips can only brush against it. I try to lure it towards me but it wobbles away, impertinent. I pull back and reconsider. It's not enough to reach for it, I won't have enough force to break it free. The only way I can get it is if I swing towards it, grasp it and fall back again.

The sane part that remains within me tells me not to do it. The lonely part ignores that and pushes me away from the base. The first swing is a bust. I shoot wide of it, but the second one takes me near enough to catch it against the palm of my hand. The momentum of my swing pulls me back but the metal clings to its home. I hurl a string of profanities into the silent basin of the city. My head is pounding, packed up with blood and I feel dizzy. I haven't eaten in a day. One more try, my lonely self says. Just one. You can do this.

Fuck it. I push myself hard against the base, grab it in my hand and yank it as hard as I can. It breaks free, and I whoop with joy until the vine gives up its will to hold me and I am falling, bellowing in terror, regretting everything as the ground races up to greet me.

I hit the ground. Pain envelopes me. Darkness follows.