The Trojan Horse
The Technicians continued peeling the pale thick heavy skin that covered Mara. The grotesque shell couldn't have been anymore foreign to the little girls rose thin skin. Once the last piece of carcass was removed it seemed somehow justice was served.
One of the men turned to Zephram, "The embryonic skin has been removed, tissue formation is complete," he pull the skin on Mara's cheek. It was firm and flushed red with warm blood.
The plate in the ceiling began to slowly move down. It formed a half cylinder around Mara's chest. Both the cylinder and Mara were lowered onto a table.
Each technician held a tube-like object in their hands. They plunged them into either side of the cylinder and the surface of the cylinder began to glow
The glowing cylinder pulsated and Mara's chest moved with each pulse of light in an attempt to help her breathing.
A grate under the little girls head lit up and engulfed her head in a shaft of bright light.
"Memory upload has begun," one man yelled in Zephram's direction.
Suddenly, as if jolted by a sharp pain, Mara twitched and jerked. She arched her back, swallowed some air and opened her eyes.
"She is conscious!" a technician yelled to Zephram.
"Good!" Zephram replied.
He bitterly stared out the window. His thoughts were of Stanley and Matthew. He knew the two boys were only a stone's throw away across the river. It was a guess, and an accurate one, that the boys were being slowed down by an old man in a wheelchair.
Mica was fragile a old man. Sara was committed to his advancement. Neither one was up to the challenge of leading the group's flight. So the two young boys, Matthew and Stanley took the lead. Their progress was sluggish.
They had to pass through the 'rough pillars' as Stanley called it. He knew the terrain well. According to Stanley it was once a beautiful place, but now it was in ruins. It was a ghetto and a very dangerous shell of a place.
Matthew stood staring at the graffiti scold across the face of a building, it read, "I will step on you to win."
Stanley looked at him and shook his head, "That's the mantra of those who destroyed this city fighting each other."
Once past the rubble of the slums they would come to a golden field of tall wheat. Beyond that was a forest, the East Forest.
On the brim of east forest was their destination, Mica's home. Matthew was eager to get to the sanctuary. Mica had promised to explain everything once they reached their destination. He had so many questions and those questions haunted his heavily burdened step. He was worn out, mentally and physically, but he eagerly pressed on because he knew each anxious step brought him closer to peace of mind.
The fugitives carefully made their way through the ghetto.
On either side, were rows of abandoned buildings. The foul crumbling shells towered over them without shame. Somewhere only two or three stories high. Others rose high into the sky.
The weather-beaten skyscrapers blocked the direct sunlight which made the gutted city seem even more bleak. Few people prospered at the foot of the dreary giants. Rich life was cramped in the streets. Those that suffered the desolate conditions were homeless. Their lost souls propped up by the rotten facades of the storefront.
