THE BEACON

by Jerry Donaldson

about300 words

The long, hot slog up to the tiny clearing took us all day.  We arrived just as the sun dropped into the trees.

We did our best, like we’d been trained.  Smitty and Gonzales took picket duty.  They sat back to back watching the tree line, M-16s ready and spare magazines within easy reach.  Me and the Captain struggled and swore setting up the beacon.

We could have just said screw picket duty, and then all four of us work together to get the beacon up.  If Artie found us we’d all be dead anyway, M-16s or no.  But we needed to go strictly by the book, like we’d been ordered long ago.  Otherwise, why bother at all?

At 19:23 the command ship’s low orbit would place it directly overhead.  Then we’d blink out our message using Morse code.  Old school for sure, but it was the only way.  Artie’d pick up any electronic signal instantly, and then we’d be toast in two minutes.

Artie was one big brain dedicated to killing.  It was every computer, every cell phone, every machine with a CPU in it, all linked up and thinking together.

Maybe Artie’d already won.  We hadn’t seen another human for months.  Mostly we laid low in our bunker in the ruined city.  Once  a week we’d hump it up here to try to contact the command ship.  Those were our orders.

Tonight we sent our signal and got no response.  Same as every week for the past 14 months.  No fresh orders.  Worse, no human contact.  So, like last time and every time before that, we packed up and hid in the trees to wait for the dawn.

Maybe we were the last men standing. Maybe nothing we did mattered anymore. We never talked about that.