Rise

Chapter Three: Scrap Metal

The walk to Scrap Metal, the town closest to the Harris's farm, took Matt the better part of an hour, marching under the menacing sun. Even though the physical walk across the flat plain was not strenuous, the heat made it tiresome. Matt's eyes shone a little when he lay eyes upon the sprawling settlement, build up from salvaged  metal plates from tanks and downed aircraft that were destroyed during the war. The rusted steel and zinc buildings blended in against the mottled gold colour of the ground, an ugly stain against the blue sky above. As unpleasant as it was to look upon, the place was home to many people and they were thankful to have roofs above their heads.

Matt stepped into town, nodding hello to Bill the watchman who was posted at the gate. His rifle sparkled in the light of the morning sun, a clear reminder to the danger that was ever present. Not that one man could have any hope of holding off a raid from bandits, the gun was merely a deterrent for petty criminals. There was no need to show any identification to Bill, for Matt had visited many times before to trade in the marketplace.

Dust scattered into the air as Matt walked, kicked up from the dry ground with every step. He wracked his brain, trying to remember the way to his aunt's house. It had been so many yaers since he had visited. Margaret hadn't been on such good terms with her sister. Not since her husband had disappeared. After a few minutes of thinking, Matt still couldn't remember. He resolved to stop and ask someone, before he wasted more time. 

"Uh, excuse me. Do you know Miss Frieda Jenkins?" Matt asked a man who was leaning against one of the rusted buildings, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. Of all the things you'd waste your money on, Matt thought as he wrinkled his nose at the smell. He waved away a puff of smoke as the man exhaled.

"I might. Who wants to know?" The man replied, staring at Matt through aviator sunglasses that were missing the lenses.

"Matt Harris. Mrs. Jenkins is my aunt," Matt replied plainly, watching the man take another drag from his cigarette. The smoke trailed out of the edges of his mouth and from his nostrils, disgusting Matt entirely.

"Is she now? I don't remember ever hearing about a nephew," the man said, eyeing Matt with the bloodshot globes fixed into his skull. Matt just stared back, already familiar with the necessary protocol. No one in Scrap Metal ever gave a straight answer until after they put the asker through their own personal trial. Helped keep secrets away from outsiders. After a few more moments the man ceased eyeballing Matt and took another long drag from his cigarette.

"Ah, now I remember you. Freida lives in the last house down that there alleyway," the man said, pointing to a path that lay between two particularly rusted buildings.

"Thanks Tom. I will never understand this game. Even though you know me, and have known me for years, you still gotta give me the stink eye. What gives?" Matt asked, a smile creeping onto his face.

"I have to make sure you are still you," Tom said, squinting at Matt, scrunching his face up like he had just tasted a lemon.

"And why wouldn't I be me?" Matt asked, genuinely concerned. It didn't seem like Tom was joking and he never was the joking type.

"You haven't heard? People have been going missing recently. Just disappearing out of thin air. They go out for a walk and then BAM! Gone. I'm not sure what's been happening to them, but it's gotta be someting bad. Like replacing their brain with an A.I core! I don't know, but it keeps me up at night," Tom said, waving his hands and gesturing as he did so. His eyes grew wide and wild as he gazed off past Matt, deep in his own thoughts.

"A.I. core?"

"Artificial intelligence. Didn't your father teach you nothing?"

"Replacing our brains? That's crazy talk!"