Broken Things

  BROKEN THINGS

  A Novel by G.S. WRIGHT

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  1st Edition

  v1.1

  Copyright © 2013 G.S. Wright

  Published by G.S. Wright

  All rights reserved.

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

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  Part 1

  1

  Josh Norton seemed just like all the other boys, he enjoyed playing sports and video games, playing with toy guns and swords, watching cartoons, and even had a small collection of vintage action figures. His parents had also bought him a new bike that put all of his friends’ old broken things to shame. In every regard he was as normal a boy as money could buy.

  None of that made him special. All of his interests, right down to his personality, were individually chosen at time of purchase. A complex set of algorithms took those details and made it almost impossible to tell him from a real boy, a perfect kid designed to his owners’ specifications. His generation was highly sought after by would-be parents, thanks to the nearly infinite combination of personality traits, and they were available from infant to fifteen.

  There hadn’t been a real child born for twenty years, the price the world paid for near immortality, so few knew what to compare a kid to anyway. Their own childhood memories were faint and lost to their hubris, and with it, their empathy for nurturing.

  Josh Norton’s life, as he knew it, had to end.

  2

  Lance Stalling liked to break things.

  In his dirty, cherry-red Ford truck, he’d done his share of damage. He and his truck had a special relationship, on the weekends they would go out together and run things over. It brought him a small measure of joy like nothing else. He especially enjoyed breaking other peoples’ kids. He’d grown tired of his job and jaded toward his girlfriend. His doctor said he suffered from desensitization and gave him more pills. He didn’t tell his doctor about the kids. Something so cathartic couldn’t be that bad.

  Fifteen days ago, he’d celebrated his fifty-seventh birthday alone. Nobody remembered his birthday anymore, but it’d been a good excuse to drink until sunup and sleep for two days with a hangover that wouldn’t quit. Though his body looked as that of a thirty-something man, it sure didn’t respond like one. He didn’t remember his brain ever feeling like it’d been pickled by whiskey before.

  His father had retired at seventy, but Lance didn’t possess any hope for himself. He’d be a draftsman until the day he died, a job he once loved, designing machinery for a big engineering firm, but now each day filled him with despair. Day after day of the same thing slowly crushed his soul. They even had the nerve to tell him that his attitude needed improvement. What the hell did that mean, anyway? There wasn’t any fresh blood entering the job market, only a bunch of old dogs already secure in their jobs. Sure a few people jumped careers, but you didn’t see much of it, no matter what the bosses threatened. If they weren’t careful, he’d switch companies too. It worked both ways.

  It felt as if lately everything in his life was spiraling out of control. Gloria had been on his case more often than ever. She’d started talking about marriage. Every time she brought it up he’d feel an onset of heartburn. His father used to say that it’s not what you’re eating, it’s what’s eating you. Well pop, it’s Gloria, she’s eating my spirit. He’d been seeing her on and off for five years. His first two marriages hadn’t lasted that long combined, and logic told him that the common denominator of failure involved a license from a court house.

  Besides, who could stay with the same person forever? Maybe, if he had the fear of death hanging over him like his parents had, he’d have a need for that whole ‘until death do us part’ nonsense. He had great health insurance though. They covered all of his prescriptions. No death for him, hooray for the modern world. Eternity didn’t sound so good when you were a wage slave, and no company would provide retirement benefits anymore. Hell, he’d heard that they had removed the word ‘retirement’ from the dictionary.

  He really needed to break something to help him loosen up. So few people bought kids anymore, and yet they still just turned them loose. Imagine paying that kind of money for a toy. Like all machines, they were really only good for a few years, despite what the manufacturers advertised. If you didn’t break them, they broke themselves. At his job, he knew that better than just about anyone. Engineers could build a better machine, but that hurt future sales. And people liked new things anyway, it was what kept them happy and allowed them to survive in this stagnant world.

  He’d run over his first kid entirely on accident. The thing had darted out in front of him after a soccer ball and he couldn’t stop in time. What had it been, fifteen years ago? Now those kids, they exploded in gears, circuit boards, and hydraulic fluid, all cleverly masquerading in the form of a child. He’d pulled over, but knowing what it would cost him to replace somebody’s kid made him drive away before somebody noticed. He’d been angry… angry about the damage to his old truck and angry about the guilt he felt. He’d lost sleep over it for a few nights but it passed. He did it a second time just to see if the kid exploded just like the first.

  Fools and their money are soon parted, he told himself, chuckling at the thought. He’d never hit a real child, after all, there hadn’t been a real one born in twenty years. Everyone knew about Timothy Alexander, the last real child, the miracle baby. Last he’d heard, Tim was being groomed for politics.

  He used to worry. What if’s played through his head just before he hit one for the first few years. And, oh man, the technology these days just blew his mind. They were so real! No longer did they explode, but they bled now, if you hit one right it would smear for a good twenty feet at least. If he had the money he’d consider buying one, just for the fun of it all.

  But why spend the cash when you could just take them for free? Just grab one off of the street and you could play rough with it for days. If only he had more time this weekend, he would go out and catch one. That alone was reason enough not to let Gloria move in. He didn’t need her giving him guilt over his play things. Today he’d do it old school, just drive over it, quick and easy. Besides, his truck sounded hungry.

  He pictured himself and his truck as a single entity, a tiger on the prowl for fresh meat, stalking through a suburban jungle. It had been awhile. There just weren’t enough kids around anymore, even with the summer. There should be children everywhere, riding bikes, throwing balls, going through their mimicry of life. The world needed something new to get people buying again. Even ten years ago, investing in cyber-robotic technology stocks rivaled the pharmaceutical companies. He once had a few thousand dollars in a local Idaho corporation, Kidsmith. They tanked a few years back, taking most of his investment with it. He’d heard that they’d moved most of their business to China after closing down the majority of their production in Boise.

  Lance turned off of Filer Avenue, leaving the traffic behind for quieter neighborhood streets. Kids tended to keep to the side roads anyway. Two blocks later, sure enough, his gut led him true. A boy, not too big, probably not even a teenager model, rode a shiny new blue bike. Not only did parents buy an expensive kid, but they gave the toys their own expensive toys! Some p
eople had more money than sense.

  He pulled over, parking a block away from the kid. He had to be careful, once he’d smashed one right in front of its owners. He’d spent the entire week sweating as to whether or not they’d identified his truck. He couldn’t afford to replace one of those things.

  The street remained empty of actual people, and the kid had reached the next block. He looked like a smart one too. He looked both ways, like he’d been programmed with a survival mechanism, which only enhanced his illusion of life.

  Lance slowly gave the truck gas. He didn’t peel out anymore, that made people look out their windows. Still, the engine growled in approval, as though it read his mind. It must have, he’d read that cars nowadays were nearly as smart as their drivers. He didn’t go for any of those new cars, his was vintage. He liked to hear what he drove, and not that annoying electronic buzz. This thing still guzzled gas as though it came from the previous century.

  The kid heard him coming. Within the nearly two blocks he had the speedometer up to forty, and it roared like the tiger he saw it as, hungry for synthetic blood. The kid didn’t look concerned and pedaled closer to the curb. With such a nice wide street as this one, he probably felt safe.

  Lance couldn’t hold back a high-pitched giggle as he swerved at the last second. The boy rewarded him with his eyes popping open impossibly wide in shock as he realized his impending doom. The sheer terror in the child’s face simply amazed him. Who would program such emotions? The collision of chrome and kid could be heard over the engine, a sweet, satisfying thump. Lance deeply appreciated his truck. There wouldn’t even be a dent.

  Somehow the bike hooked his front bumper and child and bicycle rode along with Lance as a figurehead on a ship. He swerved back and forth, whipping the steering wheel from side to side in an attempt to force the kid loose. He didn’t always get an effective hit, but if he could just get the kid to tumble under the tire...

  A few more jerks of the steering wheel and the bike came free, twisting hard to the right. The truck hardly registered the impact as the bike went under, but the boy tumbled away. He couldn’t see what happened, but only the results. The boy did not go under the tire.

  Lance’s foot came off of the gas pedal and hovered over the brake. In the rear-view mirror, he watched as the boy bounced and tumbled, finally coming to rest against the curb. Beyond the boy, parts and pieces of the bicycle stretched for nearly the entire block. The child, however, remained in one piece.

  He slammed his fist into the dashboard, throwing up a small cloud of dust and leaving an impression of the ball of his hand behind like a mutant footprint. His eyes darted back and forth to watch the road and witness the damage to the kid at the same time. He had to have broken him, he just couldn’t tell. Kids didn’t have luck. They were fragile, delicate machines. They always broke. He ran the options through his head, trying to decide whether to reverse and run him over again, or maybe circle the block. No, he had to leave. He couldn’t take the chance of being caught and forced to pay restitution. He whipped the truck around the next corner, deciding to leave the boy behind. Dissatisfaction left bile in the back of his throat, and he spat out the window in disgust.

  Next weekend, he promised, I’ll find one and break it right.

  3

  Josh remembered the truck clearly, trying to hold himself up, fingers scratching at the hood. The heat of the grill burned his arms. He couldn’t tell if he hurt from the initial contact or from the heat. He remembered a weird abstract revulsion of touching the myriad collection of splattered bugs, though it felt as though he were being added to the collection. Inches from his face, half of a dragonfly twitched as though alive, animated in death by the wind drag.

  He remembered the bike and the sound it made as it scraped along the road, emphasized by the snapping of parts as they tore free, the truck biting off pieces one at a time. He slid lower off of the hood and down the grill, and knowing that if he were to fall past the bumper he’d instantly be dragged under. The bike yanked him lower. The frame had caught on his leg. He was the only thing holding the bike up.

  The glare of the sun off of the windshield hid most of the driver’s face. All he could see was eyes and teeth as though it were being driven by a formless monster. The glare could not hide the driver’s sadistic glee.

  Josh had absorbed all of this within the span of but a few seconds. When the man whipped the steering wheel from side to side the bike slid off of the bumper taking the boy with it. A brief jolt of pain as the bike shot away tore up his leg as the pedal raked across his calf. He caught one last glimpse of the bike as it slipped beneath the tire of the truck. He hit the ground rolling, seeing chrome and rubber pass within inches of his face.

  The world spiraled. The road tore at him as he tumbled, until he finally came to a brutal stop in the gutter, body slamming into the curb. It took a minute for his head to stop spinning, to equilibrate with his motionless body.

  He blinked, bringing the blue sky with its few wisps of clouds into focus, and with it came the pain. It radiated from everywhere, inside and out. The pain in his arms and legs stung, and his back and head just hurt.

  What if the man came back? He had to get out of the street. He had to get home. He rose up on his hands, fighting the vertigo that made him want to lie back down. Had anyone seen what had happened? He turned his head slowly, but everywhere looked peaceful and empty. The perfect image of a street lined with perfect homes seemed strangely juxtaposed with the carnage of pieces of twisted blue metal scattered down the street.

  Josh turned his attention back to the stinging in his arms. His elbow was nothing but bloody torn flesh, so deep he could see metal. The gore made his stomach heave, threatening to bring up his breakfast. He picked at the gravel embedded in his flesh, but it made his mouth fill with bile. His knees looked much the same, though not as deep. He’d lost skin from both, and a gash on the back of his calf from the pedal looked like he’d been clawed by a giant cat.

  The sound of a car approaching made his heart miss a beat. He whipped his head around, nearly causing him to black out. It wasn’t the truck. He sighed in relief and waved his arms as it approached. Being so close to rescued, tears filled his eyes. He didn’t care if they saw him cry. He deserved the respite, after being through a crash like that. He’d lived!

  But the car didn’t slow. Through the side window, he caught a glimpse of the driver’s face looking at him curiously, but no concern. The driver even had to cross into the opposite lane to go around the scrap of his bike!

  He watched the car continue down the street until it disappeared from his sight. It hadn’t stopped! Why hadn’t it stopped?

  He propped himself up on the curb and forced himself to ignore the pain, to get back on his feet. Someone had to help him. He walked on trembling legs toward the nearest house. It looked safe, beckoning him with its well-trimmed lawn and bright flower beds. It looked like a place that could remove him from the nightmare he’d just experienced. They would call his parents and everything would be okay. His parents would know what to do. They always did. No matter how bad he’d been hurt, they’d always made it better. Granted, he’d never been hit by a car before, but that was why they were adults.

  He managed five steps before his legs buckled. He dropped to his knees in the cool green grass, thankful to be off of the pavement. He dragged himself toward the house. He should’ve stayed home and watched cartoons. He’d gotten up early to play video games, but his mother had been so testy. So what if he’d played for three hours? His brain couldn’t rot, no matter what they said. He’d told her so, but she’d made him go out and ride his bike anyway. After this, she’d let him play video games any time he wanted.

  The sounds of traffic slowly faded, drowned out by a new noise. It sounded like a high pitched whine, seeming to come from everywhere at once. It took a moment, but Josh realized it came from his head. Great, he had damaged his head. Not from the video games, but from the fresh air. You didn’t get hi
t by cars sitting in your bedroom.

  He crawled toward the house, forcing himself to move one limb at a time. He caught a flash of metallic blue hidden within a tuft of grass. Even a part of his bike had been thrown up on the lawn. He made his way past it, focusing on the porch steps. Almost there. But the world faded, turning gray, then black.

  4

  Josh remained on the lawn, unaware, as the Saturday morning turned to afternoon. The yard belonged to one Ted Gayer, an industrial roofer trying to enjoy his weekend. His Saturday morning had been spent drinking beers, and he had yet to accomplish his goal of two six packs before the day slipped away from him.

  Ted had no problem with the kid sitting in his yard all day. Kids did their own thing, and in Ted’s mind, it was always best to ignore them. You could never tell how they were going to respond. To Ted’s credit, he couldn’t remember being a child, and beyond the fact that he knew he’d once been one, they weren’t on the top of his list of things to think about, except maybe to be thankful that his wife, Rose, hadn’t asked for one, at least not for a few years. He supposed that the novelty of children had started to wear off. He’d told her years ago that they were a fad. Robots weren’t a replacement for the real thing and never would be, like a Christmas present that everyone had to have, but forgotten the following year.

  He’d heard the impact. Impressive, too. He’d rushed to the window, wondering what kind of crash had made such a noise. People always drove down his street too quickly anyway. He hadn’t expected to see a kid. He couldn’t believe to see the thing in one piece, but as it turned out, the thing was pretty damned durable. He’d even managed to drag himself out of the street, all of his limbs still attached. He never thought they’d be built so tough. Over the course of the day he peered out the window, just to see if the kid was still there. He thought about telling it to get off his lawn, but then again, that brought him back to actually have to interact with the thing.