This is the first story in my A Girl and A Gun series.
One
THE GIRL AND THE GUN look down the hill at the man they’re supposed to kill.
The man is dragging a large tree through the snow. Next to him, watching, is a small child.
What date is it today? says the girl.
December 20th, the gun replies.
They watch the two figures until they’re out of sight. It takes a little while. More than enough time for the girl to take the shot.
The gun is confused.
You didn’t take the shot, the gun says.
No, says the girl.
And with that they head back to the airport.
Two
The airport is a mess.
People are rushing this way and that, frantic to get one of the last seats before the Wave hits.
The girl and the gun sit against a wall watching all this.
They have a guaranteed seat on one of the last flights out. Most people don’t.
They watch men with guns—dumb stupid guns, not anything at all like the one the girl holds—try and keep a lid on things.
A man comes over and sits by them. He doesn’t carry a gun. Instead he has a thick notebook and a lot of pens.
Do you mind if I sit here? he asks the girl and the gun.
Why? the girl asks.
The gun wouldn’t have thought to ask this question and is suddenly interested in the answer.
Yes, why? asks the gun.
The man looks at them both.
He’s trying not to look scared, but they both know he is.
My paper is trying to get me on a flight. They told me to stay out of harm’s way. I looked around the airport and next to you seemed to be the safest place, he says.
The gun likes the answer. The man was scared, but he was also smart.
I saw your patch. He points to the one high up on her arm showing a cartoon coyote throttling a cartoon roadrunner.
I was in San Francisco. I saw what your unit tried to do, the man says.
The girl looks down at the patch as if she’d forgotten it was there.
It’s faded, but she remembers the day she got it.
Folds the memory away.
That was a long time ago. But sure. Take a seat, she tells the man.
The man gratefully drops down beside them. He’s smart enough not to ask anything else.
Three
The man wakes up. Something has changed.
It’s quiet now. Most people are sleeping. It’s dark outside.
The girl and the gun are standing over him.
Here, says the girl.
The girl is offering him a sheet of paper.
He takes it and recognizes it at once.
This is your seat, he says.
I don’t need it anymore, says the girl.
He scrambles to his feet as the girl and the gun begin to walk away toward the exit.
Wait. When the Wave hits there’ll be no more planes. You won’t be able to fly out, he calls after them.
She doesn’t turn around.
Four
It’s cold outside.
The gun doesn’t feel it, but registers the drop automatically as it focuses on the girl’s readings via the chip in her chest.
He’s right. How will we get out? the gun asks.
We’ll walk out, replies the girl.
The gun runs the figures, but says nothing.
Five
They reach the foot of the glacier the next morning just as the Wave hits.
The girl and the gun both watch it spread from the horizon.
It turns the crystal blue sky a bright clear green before fading to a new colour that sparkles, lit from beneath by the bright snow and ice and from within by the nano intelligence that just cut them off from the rest of the world.
Now isn’t that something? says the girl.
The gun understands this is a rhetorical question. It tries to lower its sensors anyway so it can experience something akin to what the girl is seeing.
After a few minutes the gun gives up.
You okay? the girl asks.
Yes, says the gun. No effect at all.
Six
They find the first dead body that afternoon.
Nice shot, says the gun.
The girl looks down at the dead man.
The dead man looks at nothing.
Seven
They count sixteen more on the way up. All head shots.
Not far now, says the girl.
Eight
They find them in a half-collapsed tent. Exposed to everything.
You came, says the other gun in the dead woman’s lap.
The girl leans over and gently takes the weapon from the cold hands and examines it.
Are you okay? the girl asks.
Yes. We made contact at 0800 yesterday, begins the other gun.
It’s okay. We’ll take the data. We counted seventeen on the way in. That sound right?
The other gun whirs as it cycles up. Angry.
No. Twenty, says the other gun.
The girl fixes the collapsed part of the tent as best she can.
You did enough for them to have a change of heart, says the girl.
We’ll get them, says her own gun.
This is the first time her gun has spoken since they entered the tent.
She marvels for a moment at how different yet similar their voices sound to her.
Can’t worry about them now. We’ll stay tonight and set off in the morning, the girl says.
She stands and looks down at the older weapon. The same model she trained on.
She folds that away too.
If that’s okay with you, she asks.
The older gun is silent for a moment as it transfers its data over to her weapon.
We’d like that. She said that you’d come. Even with the Wave. She knew, says the other gun.
Nine
The next morning they were some way across the glacier when the other gun detonated its thermite rounds while they were still chambered.
The girl did not look back, but the gun monitored the heat spike until they were too far away for it to register any more.
We could have taken him, said the gun.
Yes, said the girl.
But we didn’t, says the gun.
Would you want to be taken? she asks.
She pauses and looks down at her gun. The sensors along the sight flicker slightly.
No, says the gun.
They walk on in silence for the rest of the day.
Ten
They come upon the men the next morning just as the sun rises into the
broken sky.
They are still trying to carry the wounded one between them. She figures him for the officer.
She drops the man to his right, and then she herself drops to one knee.
They’re too far away to hear the shouting.
They’d ignore it anyway.
The uninjured man runs.
The girl and the gun track the running man.
They ignore the officer who is now sitting upright and firing wildly in their direction.
They’ll want to know why we didn’t kill the man with the tree, the girl says to the gun.
The gun fires and the running man falls face down into the snow.
No. I erased an hour and fifteen minutes from my uploadable memory and logged it as an atmospheric glitch, says the gun.
The girl moves her eye from the scope and down at the weapon in her hands. Two years together and it can still surprise her.
You understand why we walked away? she asks.
He was a low priority. Off the radar for almost a decade and presumed dead. You have operational authority on targets of opportunity, the gun replies.
The officer has stopped firing.
The girl puts her eye back to the scope and watches him bring his sidearm up to his head. She puts a round in his shoulder and moves the scope to watch the weapon fly a satisfying distance across the snow.
Nothing else? the girl asks the gun.
He wasn’t the mission, says the gun.
He wasn’t the mission and the day after tomorrow is Christmas, says the girl.
Eleven
When they get to the officer he’s still alive.
He looks up at them wearily and says something that the girl doesn’t understand.
The girl levels her weapon and shoots him in the face at point blank range.
Twelve
What did he say? she asks the gun.
They’ve been walking an hour.
He said, I killed you. Then he said it again. He thought that we were them, says the gun.
Good, says the girl.
Good.
Thirteen
The man has just set the table when the knock at the door comes.
He looks first to the child still playing with her present in front of the fire and then to his rifle leaning in the frame of the cabin.
He opens the door and looks at the girl and the gun.
We’re sorry to disturb you, but we saw the smoke. We were hoping to rest awhile. We’ll understand if you’d rather we didn’t intrude, says the girl.
The man looks at the girl. The faded uniform. He thinks she’s maybe seventeen. He’s wrong.
We? asks the man.
Merry Christmas, says the gun.
fin
First published in New Military Science Fiction (2014) Apex Publications, LLC
Edited By Jaym Gates & Andrew Liptak
A Girl and A Gun character design and art by Dave Kennedy
You can read more about the A Girl and A Gun series here.