Page 61 of Dustwalker
This was what she’d found that day. What she’d lost. The ring was precious metal, and it would fetch a high price at the market. For Lara to have been so close to pulling herself out of squalor only to trip and accidentally throw her salvation away…
How would it have felt if he’d held the key to his core programming in his hand and lost it a moment later?
He rose, swinging his optics toward Cheyenne. What would Lara think if he went back now and gave her the ring?
No. There was work to be done, and three days was already too short a time. She’d be there when Ronin returned, no matter what terrible possibilities his simulations suggested.
After tucking the ring into his inside coat pocket, he pulled on his mask, goggles, and gloves and raised his hood.
It was only three days.
In the early years after Ronin’s reactivation, many of the old signs within the Dust had been intact. He’d committed all of them to memory—Nebraska, Iowa, Kansas, South Dakota, Sioux City, Omaha,Amarillo, Tulsa, Texas. Dozens of places, hundreds of them. Most of those names were lost to time now.
There’d been a sign here, too.Welcome to colorful Colorado. Only a single wood post remained, rotted, grayed by exposure, and torn apart by insects. The nearby building was a pile of old roofing and crumbled bricks. Husks of vehicles lay half-buried in the dirt all around, but they held little of value unless he wanted to drag a gutted car frame back to Cheyenne.
He continued south, following the scant patches where dust hadn’t swallowed the road. Coarse, brown grass jutted from cracks in the pavement, swaying in the breeze. It was the only sign of life as far as his optics could see, and he wasn’t even sure if it was still alive.
This was what the people of Cheyenne had faced all those years ago, this was the impossible choice they’d been given. Brave kilometers and kilometers of dirt and shifting dunes, where only the toughest vegetation could cling to existence, for the slimmest chance of survival, or be slaughtered in their homes.
So many of them had chosen a third option. So many had fought. And they’d died anyway.
There was no question that the nameless bot leader mentioned in the journal had been Warlord. Had he been justified in his actions? Had it truly been about survival, about ensuring his own kind had the resources and security to survive?
But was there really any motive that could justify genocide?
Ronin cut west, toward the dark mountain peaks on the horizon. He wouldn’t find answers to those questions out here.
Still, didn’t such destruction run counter to what the Creators stood for? The humans described in the journal were broken, frightened people, clinging to the remnants of their old lives. What threat could they have posed to Warlord and his bots?
Part of Ronin wanted only to return to Lara, and that desire gained strength with each step. She wasn’t entirely safe in Cheyenne, not while Warlord and his gearheads ruled, but there was more to it.
There was a chance he’d eventually discover the nature of his programming out in the Dust. But with Lara, he had a chance to learn how tolive.
He passed the ruins marking the edge of Fort Collins as the sun sank toward the western horizon. The green grass and living trees here, though sparse, might’ve attracted more settlers if not for thelocation. This was no-man’s land, the edge of the Dust. Too harsh for true prosperity.
The lingering effects of the long-ago cataclysm farther south didn’t help.
They say Denver’s a radioactive crater.
Ronin had ventured there once, more than a hundred years ago. The devastation stretched for miles—buildings flattened, an entire city wiped out of existence. Though he’d kept his distance, his sensors had picked up trace levels of radiation. It was no place for man or bot.
Here, eighty kilometers away, entire towns had been spared such destruction. Decades of disrepair and scavenging had taken a toll, but places like this still held treasures.
And dangers.
He swung his rifle to his front, taking the worn grip comfortably in hand, and entered a copse of trees just off the road leading into town. Ronin had scavenged thousands of places like this. He knew they weren’t always as empty as they appeared.
Easing down on his belly in the brush, Ronin awaited the coming darkness.
A storm blew in with nightfall. Wind whipped through the deserted streets of Fort Collins, but the flashes of lightning came from farther west, where dark clouds loomed over the mountains. The glows of campfires in the distant hills confirmed that people indeed inhabited the area. Though the nearby rivers and lakes were far lower than they used to be, their water was an invaluable resource, and run-off from the mountains kept them fresh.
He activated night-vision as he entered town. The overgrown streets were empty, save for scattered vehicles that had been stripped down to their frames long ago. A surprising number of buildings were standing, though many had holes in their walls and roofs. Waist-high chunks of wall and jutting steel supports were all that remained upright in some places.
Ronin compared the place to its state during his last visit, which had been 5,023 days before. Several more walls had collapsed, particularly on the brick buildings, and the encroaching vegetation had spread, resulting in more damage to the structures and roadways.
Rifle at the ready, he entered one of the buildings. He moved slowly, silently, listening through the howling wind for any sound betraying the presence of another person. Though the search remained his primary function, his background processes turned toward Lara.
Should he have taken her along? He hadn’t lied about the danger, but at least he would’ve been nearby to defend her, were the need to arise. If something happened in Cheyenne while Ronin was gone, she would be all but helpless.
