Audio Datapoint: Partisans - Pvt. Alexievich, Spring
"Our regiment was supposed to be on leave after months of frontline combat around Gomel. Instead, we're given the unique and 'honorable' task of carrying out a mop-up operation in the endless forests south of Lepiel! Ha! Why? Well, to rid the area of bothersome 'partisans,' the recon bots that slipped through our lines. Let the civilians handle their own zones. The word is a relatively large partisan group of maybe 30 bots dubbed 'Group Rudnya' after the village around which they were first sighted have been harassing convoys and depots and then hiding in the swamps and woods afterwards. For days, we patrolled through the wide, cordoned off area, wading through thick underbrush, but not once did we see anything besides signs of a past partisan presence. It turns out they slipped through the cordon and were already harassing another zone to the east while we patrolled for nothing."
Spring - 5/07/65
The wheels of their car sped and splashed over lingering puddles on the darkened pavement, still wet from the short-lived snow and the following downpour. The rain had stopped a few minutes ago. They drove past Cornucopia, QuickFood's main competitor in the realm of automated grocery. It was a standalone building in the Crooked Run outdoor mall, which was just a few minutes north of Cloud 9. Its parking lot was filled with all kinds of buses, even yellow school buses, parked neatly in rows. Their tops and windows were still visibly wet.
The dashboard read 1:41. The earlier sea of overcast gray that had given snow—unusual for that late into Spring—for a short time less than an hour ago had recently given way to large, wispy-edged cumulus layers migrating slowly overhead, offering isles of shade below. A high altitude, thin layer of cirrus like a veil still dimmed the daylight and blue sky. A herd of whitetails grazed on the grassy median beside an old, abandoned car with a missing windshield.
On the I-66 overpass spanning perpendicular straight ahead, they all immediately noticed a halted convoy of black troop transports, which stretched across the whole I-66 in view, all against the backdrop of distant, rolling treelines. From their distance then, the six-wheeled trucks were just specks and Riley could barely make out the upper halves of people peeking from atop those transports. As they got closer and closer, Ella slowed the car to give them more time to take in the long procession. In the safe zone, military movement only showed in the form of distant VTOLs—usually airlifting artillery—and other aircraft. Riley hadn't seen a military convoy since her time east of the Leesburg-Emporia line.
Getting even closer to the overpass, Riley could then see sitting on the backs of those troop transports what looked like an exodus of people in civilian clothing—men, women, young and old. The convoy was oriented eastward toward the war. A few of those riding on the beds of the black trucks watched with turned heads and elbows draped over the sides as their lone car approached on the wet road below.
The car splashed audibly over a wide puddle.
"Those are civilians," Ada said as they drove into the shade beneath the overpass.
"Looks like they're heading east too," Riley stated, still mesmerized by the scene. "Maybe they're Civ Guard volunteers?"
"That's a lotta volunteers," Ella remarked as they reemerged from under the overpass. "I'll drive up to ask someone about it. Looks like they're on a break."
Their car stopped before turning left onto the interchange to let four whitetail deer cross the three-lane road. As they waited, Riley looked in the rearview at the troop transport-laden overpass, a gray cloud layer taking up the whole backdrop. A few moments later, they turned left. A black Humvee and an old soldier standing by it—the only person in view wearing a uniform and vest—blocked the other end of the interchange. The gentle looking man motioned them to stop. He had a prosthetic ring and pinky finger on his right hand. Riley was aware of the recent anti-USRC domestic terrorist attacks, usually by Nanite Ascensionists, and the old soldier was likely a precaution. Ella rolled down her window as the old man walked up.
"Hi, sir," Ella greeted.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. Passing through?" He asked, resting his hands casually on his ballistic vest's pouches.
"Oh, no, I just saw all these civilians and wondered why they're heading east on army trucks. Are they volunteers?"
The man briefly glanced over his shoulder at the halted convoy. Riley looked too and saw the people on the transport trucks quietly eating and drinking from water bottles.
"They're volunteers, all good men and women."—he adjusted his old, dark green baseball cap on his short black hair— "Most of them chose to wear their own tactical clothing and gear. That's why it looks like a hodgepodge."
"I see."—Ella nodded— "Were any of them drafted? Or just volunteers."
Riley studied the volunteers on one transport truck she could see from their position. They were all calm and quiet. Some of them gazed at the civilian car on the interchange as they ate.
"No, ma'am. All volunteers. Most of them just want to fight, some lost a loved one somewhere. They're tryna get back at this plague going on. You saw that snow earlier?"—Ella nodded— "That was all the plague's doing. Something 'bout the eastern hemisphere being consumed. But, y'know, I wouldn't be surprised if the government starts draftin' soon, if Zero Dawn takes its sweet time. I think it'll be a while till they finish that weapon if I'm being honest."
"What makes you think that?" Ella asked. Riley felt a little worried by his words, studying his expression closely.
"Y'know how it is, ma'am. The government will happily spend money on everything else but the welfare of its own people. I reckon it's the same with ZD."—he glanced casually over his shoulder again at the convoy— "Are y'all lookin' to volunteer? Volunteers might get better benefits than draftees if they start conscripting."
"We haven't thought about that," Ella honestly replied. "We're planning on heading west."
"It's all good. Ain't nothing wrong with that."—he briefly looked down the wet, empty interchange— "Y'all are young 'uns like my kids. I got two daughters back in Kentucky. Me, I was one of the last to see folks your age dying in foreign lands before the bots replaced us. Now we got it happening again. It's a shame, really."
Riley was always drawn in by the personalities of pre-automation veterans, especially those that had seen combat before 2055. They had a unique air to them, which seemed more vibrant during the invasion.
"I'll tell you, half these folks in this convoy will probably desert after a month tops," he nonchalantly said. "But I don't blame them. Them young 'uns, they're not built for war these days, no offense."
Ella smiled politely. "Are they all gonna be at the frontlines?"
"No, not all of them. Most volunteers have little training like these folks here, so they usually just man reserves in case of a breakthrough and train in the meantime. If they do go out to the front, it's usually just a handful embedded in experienced units, y'know, with the recalls. That's usually how they get the most training, in combat with the old ones."
"Sorry for all the questions…" Ella began.
"Ask away, ma'am. We're gonna be here for a bit longer, I believe."
"Thanks. I was just thinking about what you said about the draft. You really think they might start drafting soon?"
"Hmm," he pondered for a moment, rubbing his stubbled chin. "If the swarm somehow were to charge past the coastal states, the states on the edges of our country in general, umm, I think I could see a draft coming about to strengthen a new line of defense. Let's say if the USRC also makes a tactical retreat and gives up the coastal states voluntarily, then yes."—he adjusted his rifle sling in thought— "But even then, young untrained folks like y'all…like some of them"—he gestured back at the convoy— "will mostly be behind the frontlines, in reserve lines, brewing tea while manning reserve positions, training. It's the artillery and drones that do most of the heavy work."
"Winslow. We're ready to head out," called out another uniformed, old-looking man closer by the convoy. Winslow, the soldier who Ella was talking with, looked back again.
"Alright," he replied, then turned back to Ella. "It was nice talking. Y'all have a safe trip west."
"Thank you," said Ella. "Stay safe."
"I'll try."
With that, the kind soldier got in his Humvee. The six-wheeled, driverless transport trucks began to slowly move one at a time, cascading from front to back. Most of the volunteers riding on the backs watched the civilian car with solemn, curious gazes as it slowly made a U-turn on the interchange. In the horizon behind the transports and observant faces, towering cumulus clouds loomed faraway like sentinels. As Riley looked back at them with equal curiosity, she felt haunted by their expressions as they passed along.
A meat grinder.
That was what she'd heard the frontlines in Europe and Asia called many times in the past by many YouTube war commentators. She felt a little shame seep in as she watched that truly endless convoy heading east carrying thousands upon thousands of casually dressed civilians. She wondered if she was selfish for not contributing directly to the war effort to hold back the swarm, to safeguard humanity. How many US volunteers died so far overseas, she had no clue, but she knew it was likely no small number.
What should I be doing? She meditatively asked herself as they drove back down the interchange. What should I do, for the war? What should I do?
She did have plans to eventually contribute to the war effort once she moved to a more populated inland state where she could maybe stay with one of her cousins during the invasion. As they drove on back to Front Royal, she couldn't shake the haunting scene of those solemn faces atop those transports as they had slowly drove on like a funeral procession. Her memory of it already seemed surreal, as if all their faces had worn the same expression, a static expression like Nicole's in her nightmares as she sat on a dining chair on the back of a surfaced Horus in the middle of a still sea.
—
They were back at Cloud 9. On passing the main lounge, Rose invited them to watch the latest news. It was almost like a ritual for them there. They all sat together around the large, wooden coffee table. For the time being, there was no outside world, only the secluded lounge. The local news was showing a Zoom panel discussion with a former USRC lieutenant colonel, Mr. Clarke, and an expert on the militaries of the Sino-Russian Alliance, Mr. Chen.
Clarke: "To be frank, I don't foresee any large enemy breakthrough of the defensive lines prepared along the western banks of the Potomac or the western half of the, um, the Rappahannock River. We've seen those lines reinforced with tens of thousands of volunteers over the course of a few weeks. Everything is zeroed in. We have a formidable stockpile of old artillery shells, you know, 105mm, 155s, rockets, and the nano-construction industrial base in central states to rapidly mass produce all types of artillery and older munitions to sustain our current output for years to come.
"China, who's still standing strong in this fight, has pledged to continue supplying us with key materials for our defense industrial base through rocket-based transportation and we reciprocate the effort. The issue in the foreseeable future will, I think, not revolve around materiel, but manpower and morale. The DoD estimates that as of May this month, nearly 40,000 USRC recalls have deserted, most of them having fought overseas. For the Civilian Guard, the number is even higher: nearly 52,000 and rising. Combined, that's nearly five divisions out of the fight."
Host: "I just wanna chime in. In our previous panel, we discussed the possibility of shortening frontline deployments to 3-4 months from the current 9-12 months to, um, rotate troops more often and provide more R&R. What are your thoughts on the, um, the feasibility of that? To start, how many personnel do we have by branch?"
Clarke: "Okay. So, to start, we have about 2.5 million recalls, including National Robot Guard, divided between the western and eastern fronts and a few mixed in with Canadian Forces in Ontario and southern Quebec. They have the most training. Then, we have around I believe 16 million Civilian Guard volunteers, many of whom are embedded with the Mechanized Response Brigades, but mainly man 2nd, 3rd, 4th lines of defenses as separate reserve divisions while undergoing training.
"Lastly, we have about 2 million foreign personnel: one million from the WEA and Indo-Pacific nations that managed to escape to fight another day and, um, one million recalls and conscripts from the Sino-Russian Alliance, who're concentrated primarily in the Pacific Northwest theater. Combined, that's nearly 21 million personnel divided between the western, eastern, and northeastern fronts, which is extraordinary.
"However, even at that gargantuan number, we're still unable to switch to 3–4-month deployments. We simply have too large of a landmass to defend against a large and growing enemy force. Even now, we're seeing a rise in incidents of Scarab recon units trickling in through gaps in the lines and regrouping further inland. Pulling back frontline units to hunt and combat these 'partisans,' these 'insurgents,' thins out the frontlines even more."
Host: "Okay. Robot partisans. That's a strange thought. So, what do you think the solution will be? How can we realistically adopt 3–4-month deployment cycles? What's the required number of personnel, in your opinion?"
Clarke: "I think Chen's better suited to answer because the Chinese and Russians were able to mobilize a large chunk of their populations to combat the swarm."
Chen: "Yes, they've done remarkably well so far. For Russia, you know, this kind of defensive warfare is exactly what they've built their military to counter. It's what they've been preparing for economically and militarily since the end of World War II where they saw a numerically and technically advanced enemy swarm in and destroy everything in its path. With that memory of World War II still honored in the average Russian's mind over a century later, you can imagine that it wasn't difficult to mobilize tens of millions of Russians to defend their homes and families. In their military ads, we saw over and over comparisons of the swarm to the German invaders of 1941. They invoked the memories of the Siege of Leningrad and the Battle of Stalingrad to raise an army of nearly 70 million personnel at the beginning of this year in addition to the 1.5 million of the official Russian Armed Forces. It was a similar situation for China. China was able to mobilize 100 million active personnel and that number is likely rising."
Host: "Amazing. So, with those numbers in mind, how many do you think the U.S. needs to mobilize for a shorter deployment cycle? 70 million?"
Chen: "Um, I would say—and I'm not the only one to have said this—I would say that 55-60 million active personnel would be enough to sustain 3–4-month deployment cycles, at least the Civ Guard mainly. Remember, this is a type of warfare that's unprecedented in human military history."
Host: "50 million? Wow…"
Clarke: "It's either that or the USRC would need to reduce the amount of land it's trying to defend by retreating further inland, but then that would lead to other problems. You know, firstly, it would give the swarm more access to sources of biofuel and secondly, it would disrupt plans to deploy a chemical—which is still being tested—that would coat vegetation en masse and render them inedible for the swarm."
Host: "So 50 million. How do you envision mobilizing that many Americans in a short span of time would play out?"
Chen: "To do that would first require a combination of, one, effectively communicating enhanced post-war benefits; two, more effective and resonant digital media outreach that instils a sense of urgency and collective duty; and three, mandatory conscription, which has been heavily discussed and debated by the government since the start of this war to fill a USRC reserve force. I know mandatory conscription sound so ancient and ugly, but we have to convey to the public that this isn't a Vietnam War, or an immoral Lithium War in Africa. This is an existential threat, an Armageddon."
Host: "This seems inevitable. Bringing back conscription…with the number of deserters you mentioned, how hard would it be to draw up 50 million willing fighters?"
Clarke: "Oh, we have 50 million willing fighters, I assure you that. We just have to switch the media's message from one of a generally false complacency to one of urgency. With 50 million, we could most likely limit deployments to 3-4 months, and I think your average Joe, your average youth who's never dreamed of fighting, could handle 3 or 4 months of manning a strongpoint or short bursts of frontline rotations. Deployments aren't just constant fighting but a lot of preparation, maneuvering, extra training…"
As the panel discussion continued, Riley and Ada withdrew to the sofas in the lounge's far corner beside the window facing the still wet parking lot. Ada rested her right ankle on her left knee and crossed her arms. Riley lost herself in thought, letting her gaze fall on the brick storefronts across the inn's parking lot, wondering how she would do in the Civ Guard. She wondered if she would be a hero or a coward. She thought maybe neither. She also wondered if she would be able to handle combat. She didn't know. Ada sighed suddenly.
"I mean, Sophie did say there was a good chance people would start getting drafted," she uttered. "It was gonna happen eventually. The US is one of the last holdouts. Every other country conscripted I think."
Riley nodded slowly, recalling Sophie's brief words on conscription. Some weeks ago, while in the Skyland Resort dining room, she had said that nearly all European and Asian countries had used conscription to make an army out of their populations during the invasion.
"I mean, how large is the swarm?" Ada continued as if talking to herself. "21 million can't be enough to hold them back, right? Along the whole East Coast."
Riley briefly glanced at her, unsure what to say.
"Only the higher ups know," she meekly replied, studying her friend's shoes. "But we're just waiting out for Zero Dawn. Maybe conscription will guarantee more time for the project even if it's not really needed."
"Yeah…"
Riley followed a distant formation of planes in the sky against the backdrop of towering cumulus clouds. Worry slowly seeped in as she remembered Nicole, her sister, her parents. Her mind was good at veiling the reality that a plague swarm was closing in every day like a rising tide. But as she sat, the realization came out again in full force like a surprise attack.
"It's just…I'm scared, to be honest," Ada said with a meek chuckle followed by a solemn expression. "Some of my cousins were volunteers overseas. They—they didn't come back."
Riley looked at her sympathetically.
"It's what we read in history books, right? soldiers charging toward cannons," she continued with evident worry. Riley nodded. "Like World War I, World War II. I thought that was all ancient history by now."
"Yeah, me too. Sophie said we're on the defensive, so it's the swarm charging toward our cannons," Riley said matter-of-factly. "But even if we're drafted, we'd just be in the reserves. That's what everyone on TV's been saying."
Ada nodded and removed her ankle from her knee, placing her foot back on the carpet. They both looked silently out the window at the wet parking lot.
Riley worried again about how she would do as a combatant. Strangely, she felt a brief flicker of excitement in the idea, the thought of being a common hero, but it was quickly snuffed out by fear. She wondered if she would be able to see or talk to her sister while out at the frontlines. She had heard that communication between the safe zone and frontline was limited to a degree. Also, she worried that conscription might break up their growing friendship by sending them all to different locations. She didn't want to leave Ada, Addie, and Ella. She clicked with them and loved their presence.
"We can't do anything about it," Ada uttered, breaking the silence. She exhaled. "It's out of our control. Whatever happens, happens, right?"
"Yeah," Riley nodded understandingly, glancing again at her friend, studying her expression.
"Like you said, we just have to hold out until Zero Dawn, whatever the hell it is."
—
About half an hour later at 2:23, they were in the library. Riley decided to work for a little while there in the museum-like atmosphere, but they all ended up watching the news again on the front lounge's TV. She had gathered three books to digitize but joined her three friends on the lounge chairs on seeing that there was more breaking news relating to the war. The screen presently showed a map of New York with USRC lines highlighted in blue and a few towns further inland circled in red. The headline read: "37 People Dead, 41 Injured in Chatham, New York Far Behind USRC Lines." A moment later, the news anchor turned it over to a female reporter, who nodded and spoke briskly, on scene on a neighborhood street in the small town of Chatham, hemmed in on nearly all sides by beautiful woods and overgrowth. She was near a cordoned off area—near an intersection and railroad crossing—with wrecked, smoking vehicles and a partially destroyed two-story home nearby. There was a mix of National Robot Guard, EMS, firefighters, and local law enforcement all around on the two-lane street and sidewalks.
Reporter: "It's a pretty busy scene here, Kelly. This is what it looks like right now, the fire and smoke still rising from the destroyed military and civilian vehicles. We can see that National Guard personnel have cordoned off this section of 63 Railroad Avenue as crews—firefighters keep the fire contained to prevent it from spreading to nearby trees and homes. EMS are on scene as well and have set up triage for the 41 injured who were either a part of the convoy or who were nearby when the attack occurred.
"We recently got an update from the Chatham Chief of Police that these destroyed trucks were a part of an even larger NRG convoy carrying both evacuees and volunteers that was headed for Chatham High School's parking lot just down the road to be processed: the evacuees taking buses inland and volunteers taking the military trucks to a regional forward base.
"According to just shared reports and eyewitness accounts that the police chief received from locals, along with CCTV footage, at least three Scarabs emerged from the woods of Borden's Pond around an hour ago, crossed the residential areas together while sticking to thickets, then attacked the passing truck convoy from the treeline along Railroad Avenue. Just to the right of the camera a few meters down Railroad Avenue,"—the camera panned to the right— "we can see NRG engineers handling one of the Scarabs and an NRG Military Police android destroyed by NRG personnel. As for the other two Scarabs, around 1:33, a couple of residents along 77 Austerlitz Street reported seeing two Scarabs scurrying across the two-lane street into the dense forests just east of here."
The anchorwoman and reporter were then put side by side on the screen.
Anchorwoman: "Sara, in these live images we are watching now, we see them handling that destroyed National Guard android. Was the android caught in the crossfire? How exactly did it come to be destroyed?"
Reporter: "According to the Police Chief, the NRG android was supposedly hacked by the Scarabs. She was told by NRG personnel, who were a part of this convoy, that the armed MP bot dismounted from one of the transports during the attack, then seconds later turned and fired a few shots at the truck before being shot and disabled by one of the NRG soldiers riding on the truck."
Anchorwoman: "Oh my God. Hacked just like that? Sara, just one more question as we continue to watch these live images. We know that the remaining two Scarabs were last seen around 1:33 according to the Police Chief. Are there any efforts underway right now to apprehend and destroy those Scarabs? What's the situation regarding that?"
Reporter: "Local National Guard say that they, along with regional police and other agencies, are setting up a large perimeter and will sweep the area within that zone, but they're also relying on citizens to take the initiative. The Chief said that New York has one of the highest percentages of citizens armed with DEWs after the successful efforts to distribute DEWs to the public and they've been encouraged to be vigilant. 'Be on the lookout and engage them if you can,' is their message statewide. We know now that these 'insurgent' Scarabs may likely be responsible for the unexplained deaths and destruction recently across New York.
"But, Kelly, she also emphasized that this is not only a statewide issue, but an issue all throughout the East Coast. We now know that the Secretary of Defense ordered the creation of a joint National Guard, law enforcement, and Civilian Guard 'counterinsurgency' task force consisting of rotated, battle-hardened soldiers to address this growing issue of small Scarab groups slipping past frontlines. It's aimed at preventing a kind of 'guerilla warfare' that has the potential to significantly disrupt the war effort."
—The Next Day, 5/08/65—
At around 11:00 the night before, while watching the news in Cloud 9's main lounge, the governor urged the following groups of people to move west of the arbitrary Monterey-Danville line: children, the disabled, and the elderly. It was in response to a rise in sightings of small groups of Scarabs as far as the woods and forests around Charlottesville and reports of small-scale ambushes of military convoys and isolated incidents of indiscriminate attacks against unarmed civilians. Talk of the possibility of mass conscription was no longer relegated to obscure think tank experts on local news segments but was now in the mouths of every major news outlet anchor and the topic of a closely watched senate armed services hearing in the early morning of May 8.
Riley and her three friends visited Grace's house around 8 a.m. to spend time with Grace and Mary before they would leave by car further west even though the use of public transportation—mainly buses—had been recommended by officials.
"Come in," Grace said with a warm smile. "Have you guys eaten yet?"
They all nodded or said yes.
"Oh, well, that's too bad for your stomachs because I made more food for you guys."
"I have some room left," Ada said.
They all smiled at Grace's enthusiasm. Riley knew she was going to miss them both.
"I made sushi. There's nothing better, I guarantee you that."
They followed her into the sunroom with a view of the backyard. Mary was in there and greeted the four young women. On a round glass table beside the window was a platter of homemade sushi.
"Besides the sushi, I'm also gonna give you guys the key to the house," Grace nonchalantly said as she picked up a piece of sushi and ate it. "I don't think my granddaughter's gonna wanna stay behind to watch over it."
"Oh, you have a granddaughter?" Ella innocently asked. Riley was surprised too. Grace had never said she had children.
"Yes. I haven't told you guys about her yet?"
In the corner of her eye, Riley saw Mary's expression change and glanced at her to see she looked a little worried. However, she didn't dwell on it.
"I don't think so?" Ella replied. "Maybe I forgot, I'm not sure."
"I was gonna ask you guys if you saw her at the library. Was she there today or yesterday?"
Ella looked at her friends with a questioning look.
"No. We've never seen anyone else there beside you and Mary."
"Grace," said Mary. Grace looked puzzlingly at her old friend, sensing something odd in her tone.
"What?"
Mary looked at her friend silently for a moment.
"Grace, Erin's not with us anymore," she said with sensitivity.
"Yeah, I know. Where is she?" The gray-haired lady asked. Mary looked worryingly at her friend for a moment, then looked over at the four young women.
"Go ahead, sit in the living room. Make yourselves comfortable," she said with a kind yet slightly tense smile. "There's tea in the kitchen."
Before any of them could even nod or reply, Grace gently opposed, evidently confused.
"No, you can stay where you are."—she looked intently back to her brown-haired friend, trying to keep a calm expression— "Mary, where is she then?"
"Erin…Erin passed way four months ago. We got the letter in January. Don't you remember? We both came to terms with it a while back."
Grace stared back at her friend dumbfounded for what seemed like a long time.
"What do you mean 'passed away'?" She firmly inquired. "I just saw her sitting at this table last night"—she gestured to the round table with the sushi platter— "I was talking to her."
Mary looked both stoic and sad. Riley felt awkward and her spirit sunk on listening to their conversation. She assumed Grace had memory problems, maybe related to her life extension treatment. The four of them stood by awkwardly. They all looked at each other and without saying a word, quietly left the sunroom and entered the living room, sitting down on the suede sofa. However, they were still within hearing distance of the two old women.
"And what did she say to you, Grace? When you talked to her." Mary asked with a gentle, sympathetic tone.
"She—she didn't say anything. I didn't speak loud enough. She wanted to be left alone anyways. She just came back from her deployment to France and was tired, so I let her be. I saw her wearing her Recalls jacket."
A brief silence followed. Riley ran her hand over the green suede of the sofa.
"She died doing what she believed in," said Mary. "She's in a better place now. Not this…this shitty world."
"Mary, she's not dead," said Grace with a slightly raised, trembling, and annoyed voice. "She's not. I—I saw her here. She's gonna wonder why we're talking about her like this if she's in her room right now."
"Grace, look in the doorway, on the mantle of the fireplace. Please."
The gray-haired lady apparently did so, but Riley couldn't see from her position on the sofa.
"That's her urn, the beautiful jade green that you chose…those are her physical remains, but her spirit is in a better place. You know that."
"No," Grace uttered. "No. No. She's not dead! She's probably…in her room."
With that, she entered the living room and strode to the first door in the short hallway. She knocked on the light brown wood four times.
"Erin. Are you in there?"
She waited a second with no answer. Riley looked at the back of her head, her gray hair. She knocked four times again, then after a few seconds of silence, she opened the door wide open and looked inside, scanning from corner to corner. Riley could barely see inside the bedroom from her seat, only a small sliver of the white wall with a USRC poster on it, but from Grace's reaction, it was obvious that the room was empty. Grace stepped a little inside the room and looked over it again, but more slowly that time.
"Erin."
Mary then entered the living room from the sunroom, glancing worriedly at but not fully seeing the four women. She slowly approached her elderly friend from behind, waiting at the entrance to the small hallway. She briefly looked at the four friends again over her shoulder and gave a reassuring yet sad close-lipped smile. Meanwhile, Grace stood motionless in the bedroom doorway like a nun meditating silently in a cave. A few moments later, they heard her breath heave a few times from the bottom of her chest as if a deep sob was trying hard to let itself out, but she seemed to be trying to control it.
"I saw her in the sunroom last night," she muttered to herself, heaving a couple more times. "But I'm remembering the letter now. Oh my—No. Erin"
As soon as she finished uttering "now," she heaved and then began to sob deeply. Mary approached her but stopped just outside the bedroom doorway. The gray-haired lady sobbed for a few moments, then turned around and gazed not at but through her friend.
"I just need to be alone for a while," she uttered as she trembled and cried.
Mary looked at her friend for a moment, then nodded and turned, heading back to the sunroom with watery eyes and a solemn expression. Riley saw Grace slowly close the bedroom door.
—
It was then nearly 3:00. In the sunroom, Mary explained to Riley and her friends the whole situation. They no longer had the appetite for the sushi before them on the table. Riley had guessed right. Grace's life extension treatment long ago had given the side effect of recurring but rare memory lapses that varied in duration. The last time she had experienced such an episode was a few months before the war began.
Her granddaughter, Erin—whose mother, Grace's daughter, had died many years ago—had been a pre-2055 veteran, a recall, and had been deployed to France with a Mechanized Response Brigade as a regular rifleman. She had died while fighting on the outskirts of Lille, supposedly from a rocket barrage according to the official USRC letter, which included the combat medals she had received.
Mary sent a copy of Erin's army diary to their Focuses as they sat in the sunroom. Riley immediately scrolled to the last pages and read the last entry.
"The fields are overturned by the constant barrages. Snow begins to coat the dirt all around. Of course it reminds me of those powdered brownies we used to get on leave in Paris.
"Aaron and Carol. I wish I'd rode in the same Humvee, to die with them."
Afterward, they watched the news in silence for a while on the small TV in the sunroom, something they rarely did in Grace's house. There was just so much more going on suddenly: the rise in Scarab sightings and incidents far behind the frontlines, talk of mass conscription, the progress of the USRC's delaying action in the Pacific theater, talk of Zero Dawn, and more.
—
It was nearly 5 p.m. when Mary decided to check on Grace again. Grace had emerged from her granddaughter's room around an hour ago for a little while to grab some water and sushi. She had had a calmer expression and had told Mary that she was just watching old home videos with Erin's projector. Then, she went back into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.
Mary knocked lightly three times on the wooden door.
"Grace, it's me. You need anything?"
She received no reply. She knocked again three times.
"I'm gonna come in if you don't mind," she said as she placed her hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it.
She peeked inside as soon as it was open wide enough. Suddenly, she gasped.
"Grace!" She screamed, pushing the door open and running inside.
Riley and her friends rushed to the door to see what the matter was. Reaching the door, Riley looked in and saw Grace hanging by a belt from the closet's knob. A happy home video showing a younger Grace and a child who Riley guessed to be Erin continued to play on the opposite wall from the blue projector.