AntiBio: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (19 page)

37

“Hey…what…the fuck…man?” Hoagie asks, coming to with Milo strapped to him. “Get the…fuck…off me.”

“No can do, brother,” Milo says. “We’re joined at the hips for this trip. The kid is steering us to some bolt hole where we can ride out the coming storm. And hopefully avoid the Cooties he says are on our tail.”

Hoagie tries to shake the grogginess from his head, but just ends up shooting daggers of pain through his body as the movement jostles his arm and leg.

“Aaaaaah,” he hisses. “What the hell are you talking about? Last thing I remember is some Cooties standing over me. But I don’t think they were Cooties.”

“Quiet,” Jude warns from up front. “Your voices carry on the wind. You’ll draw them right to us.”

The wind turns from a strong breeze into a clear and present danger, buffeting the Slides this way and that, forcing Jude to use all of his skills to keep them from hovering off the trail and
right over the mountainside.

Milo burps and struggles not to vomit as the constant back and forth motion, coupled with the fatigue from
his wound, makes his stomach churn. It’s a struggle he loses. He tips his head to the right and throws up the dregs of the last meal he drank, sending it flying in the wind.

“Nice,” Hoagie says. “You keep doing that and you’ll make me puke. And I can’t really turn my head, so it’ll be all over you.”

“Don’t.” Burp. “You.” Burp. “Dare.” Burp.

“Hush,” Jude snaps.

While he can make out the trail from the glow of the hover skids, the boy’s eyes are really following the dark outlines of the dogs ahead, trusting that they will keep them on track and not tumbling off into oblivion. The bug hounds move swiftly and silently, never slowing, never wavering from their constant pace. Jude smiles at their grace and efficiency in a world that inspires none.

It’s one reason
he couldn’t live in a Clean Nation city even if he was allowed to; too many people, not enough dogs.

After a few more
yards, the GenWreck dogs pull up and the GenSOF ones follow suit, stopping close to a large boulder that is precariously perched on the side of the mountain.

“We’re here,” Jude says. “I have to get you inside quickly. They are close now.”

“How the hell can you tell that?” Milo asks, wishing he had something to wash the taste of bile from his mouth. He’d even go for a pink or green shake. Shit, he’d choke down the blue if he had it.

“I just can,” Jude says. “This won’t be easy. You’ll hurt a lot. Try not to cry too much, okay?”

“We’re GenSOF, kid,” Milo says. “We can take it.”

“Speak for yourself, asshole,” Hoagie says. “You don’t have a broken arm and shattered leg.”

“Nope, just a knife wound to the gut,” Milo says. “And despite assurances it’s been cleaned, I’m pretty sure whatever was on the blade is rotting me from the inside out.”

“That’s lunch doing that,” Hoagie says.

“Oh, yeah, you’re probably right,” Milo laughs.

“City folk,” Jude says, shaking his head as he helps undo the cables holding Milo and Hoagie to the Slide. “You have to crawl inside. Go ten feet and then
you can stand. Just keep moving. I’ll be close behind.”

“Close? How close?” Milo asks. “Don’t bail on us now, kid.”

“I have to get them off our trail,” Jude says. “If they followed us this far then they aren’t going to quit. Too many scents for them not to find the bolt hole.”

“Do what ya gotta do,” Hoagie says. “If LT trusts you to watch over us then I trust you to keep whatever is after us from catching up.”

“Good way to look at it,” Milo says, crouching on his hands and knees before the barely visible opening under the boulder, his belly feeling like a hot iron is pressed against it. “You want to go first?”

“You go,” Hoagie says. “I may have to have you drag me part of the way.”

“You good, operator?” Milo asks.

“Solid,” Hoagie replies.

Jude watches Milo crawl inside first and then Hoagie follow after him. As City as they may be, he is impressed with how they handle the obvious agony they are both under. He has no illusions they’d survive long in the Sicklands on their own, but he thinks, with his help, he can keep them from getting themselves caught and killed.

Or he hopes
he can.

Jude waits until the men are out of sight then kneels in front of Ajax.

“In, boy,” he says. “You watch the entrance. No one but me, okay?”

The dog gives a quick woof then turns to the other dogs and barks twice sharply, bobbing his head towards the bolt hole. The bug hounds turn quickly and scoot in after Milo and Hoagie, each waiting until the one in front is completely out of the way before taking its turn. Ajax is the last to follow, and even though Jude knows he’s waiting right there, the dog is completely lost from sight, camouflaged by its pitch black appearance.

Jude studies the Slides for a minute and realizes there isn’t enough room on the trail for him to turn them around like he wants. Instead, he undoes the cables holding one to the other and pushes the rear Slide back along the way they came. He starts picking up speed, running faster and faster, until he knows he has enough momentum and then lets go. The Slide continues on, the hover skid keeping it a steady three feet off the ground.

The boy hurries back to the other Slide and repeats the motion, but doesn’t let go this time, instead he grabs on and pulls himself up, riding the Slide backwards. He reaches down and grabs the baton that had been secured against the side and snaps it into rifle form. He smiles at the ease in which it fits in his grip and nestles against his shoulder. A far cry from the older, more solid weaponry he has been raised to use.

He watches the Slide in front of him hurry along, hoping its proximity sensors keep it from straying from the trail. He knows they are designed to do that, but has never been able to test the theory. Learn something new in the Sicklands every day.

Within seconds, even with the wind that has turned into a low howl, Jude hears the
Sicklands hounds and Cooties coming. He takes a deep breath and sights down the length of the rifle, his aim focused on the lead Slide.

38

The alpha stops, feeling the vibrations in the air from the hover skids. Even though the vehicles don’t make contact with the ground, their static drives still exert a force upon the ground. It’s that force that the alpha feels and causes him to pull up short, his matted hackles raised, chipped and broken teeth bared.

The others stop behind him, the dogs on his heels, the humans a safer distance back. They wait and wait then all start to screech and jump, moving from foot to foot at the oncoming Slide. To their diseased brains, it’s as if a monster has come for them, hurtling on with a glowing fury. Some start to throw rocks at it while others crouch down, crude spears ready to stab and gut the thing.

Once in
range, the dogs, as a pack, leap and pounce on the Slide, their jaws trying to find purchase so their teeth can tear open the Slide’s throat. But, of course, the machine has no throat and the dogs are carried along, back towards the group of Cooties that rail at the Slide. The impact is almost comical, as the humans just stand there, confused by what is happening. Half of them are sent flying into the mountainside while the other half are flung from the trail, their screams lost as they plunge below.

Its momentum thwarted by the impact, and by the dogs’ weight, the Slide comes to a stop, hovering shakily in place while the
Sicklands hounds continue their search for a soft underbelly, but only finding a glowing discharge of static energy.

The alpha dog realizes the futility of its attack and jumps from the Slide, turns, and pisses by the front of it. Once it’s done relieving itself, it whips around, instantly aware of the second Slide coming towards it. Its teeth showing and greenish saliva dripping from its mouth, the dog lunges forward and races at the second Slide. It smells the meat on this one, knows this time it won’t be fooled.

Anger and hunger drive it on, fueling its muscles with a new desire to rip something open and eat, eat, eat its flesh and juices.

The alpha is feet from the Slide when it leaps, its eyes seeing the boy. Its mouth opens wide and for a split second it believes it has won, that it will take this thing down and feast like it hasn’t in so very long.

Then that split second is over as one of the beta dogs decides to make a play and leaps at the alpha, shouldering it out of the way. The alpha falls to the ground and tumbles over the side of the ledge.

Before the beta soars
another few inches, it is ripped apart by a static blast. Fur and flesh fly every which way, the smell of burning dog meat carried by the wind back to the dogs and humans that weren’t forced off the trail.

Cooties stand and shout, screeching their unintelligible threats. Dogs bark and snarl, their threats very clear.

Jude doesn’t care. He fires the rifle again, his aim sending the blast at the first Slide, ripping the front of it right off. He centers himself on his own Slide, fires again, and then leaps off, flipping backwards over the front and landing hard on the trail. His feet go out from under him as he hits the loose gravel, but he manages to fall against the mountain and not off of it.

He
doesn’t miss a beat, kneels, and fires blast after blast at the Slide that continues speeding towards the other and the group of Cooties and dogs. The vehicle reels from the attack and then bursts into a blinding explosion of brilliant blue light. Jude shields his eyes, seeing stars and spots behind his eyelids, and flattens himself against the trail as debris rains down on him.

After waiting a few minutes, his ears tuned to even the slightest drag of a foot or scrape of a hand, Jude finally picks himself up and stands looking at the carnage before him. A huge swath of trail is completely missing from the mountainside and there is no sign of a single dog or person. He raises the rifle, actually surprised it hasn’t sustained any damage, and sends a couple blasts across the divide, lighting up the area.

Nothing.

Except for a stray scrap of rotten rags and a tuft of dog hair here and there, but those are all lost to the wind in seconds.

Jude snaps the rifle back into a baton and tucks it into his belt, wrapping his ragged clothing tight around him as he turns into the wind and hikes his way back to the bolt hole.

39

“I apologize, doctor,” the AiSP says. “But we have arrived at Control.”

Dr. DeBeers stretches and looks out the windshield screen. “I said to wake me thirty minutes out.”

“Yes, but it was apparent you needed as much rest as possible,” the AiSP says. “Again, my apologies, but it was for your own health and well-being.
The new bacteria are working their way through your system at an alarming rate. I would seriously suggest-”

“
Shut up,” Dr. DeBeers replies, her head feverish and chest constricted. She sniffs, but her sinuses are clogged. “Has Management completed the facility wide lockdown?”

“No, doctor,” the AiSP responds. “You will need to remain in the bay for approximately twenty minutes before lockdown is complete.”

“Twenty minutes?” Dr. DeBeers snaps. “Unacceptable! Tell them to have the lockdown complete now!”

“Doctor? Dr. Benz is requesting comm
unication, as is Dr. Charter,” the AiSP states. “Shall I patch them through?”

“No,” Dr. DeBeers snarls. “They just want the subject for themselves. They want the credit for what I have found. Communications block in place now. Tell them that I expect Management to comply with my orders and be in full lockdown. This is my project and I will handle it f
rom here.”

“Doctor, I have-”

“SHUT UP!” Dr. DeBeers roars then succumbs to a fit of harsh coughing. She puts her white gloved hand to her mouth and it comes away spattered with drops of black and red. Instead of alarm, she feels warmth and satisfaction.

“Management can kiss my ass,” Dr. DeBeers mumbles. “I’m in charge. I’m the Chairperson. They can go suck a Cootie dick, for all I care.”

“Doctor? Is that a message you want me to relay?” the AiSP asks.

She
doesn’t respond, just watches as the gleaming white dome of Control looms before the Clean Guard transport. No matter how many times she leaves and comes back, it is always awe inspiring what has survived and been built in the Sicklands. To think at one point the doctors and researchers that came before her only had thick layers of redundant plastic and concrete to keep out the contagions that plague the Earth. Now there is the dome of Control, a swirling mix of static electricity and an ever constant spray of chemicals and solvents that keep anything and everything from penetrating the sterile environment.

Nothing gets inside the dome that Control does not want inside the dome.
And nothing leaves that Management doesn’t want to leave.

“Ugh,” the driver seated to Dr. DeBeers’s
left mutters as the AiSP relinquishes control of the transport. “I hate it when it does that.”

“We made much better time than if you had been driving,” Dr. DeBeers says. “
Don’t know why we need you fucks…”

“Yes, doctor,” the driver nods, keeping his further thoughts on the subject to himself. “Initiating bay protocols. We will engage with the dome in five, four, three, two, one.”

Dr. DeBeers shields her eyes from the blinding flash as the transport passes from the Sicklands and into an entrance tunnel, its hull cleansed completely of any microbe or foreign particle.

“And in,” the driver says, unbuckling from his seat. “Docking in five seconds. Do you need help preparing the cargo for departure?”

“No,” Dr. DeBeers snaps then smiles as she sees the look on the driver’s face. “I’ll wake him up and let him leave on his own legs.”

“Doctor, is that wise?” a trooper asks from behind her after being released from his post. “He is a trained GenSOF operator. Underestimating him could prove fatal.”

“I doubt that,” Dr. DeBeers smiles. “He may have been in the general transport bay before on previous runs, but he won’t have been in this one. I think the experience will be subduing enough.” She smiles at the trooper, showing her teeth in a deadly grimace. “And who’s to say I’m not even more deadly?”

A couple of th
e troopers glance at each other and Dr. DeBeers catches their disapproving exchange.

“You can flank us, of course,” Dr. DeBeers says. “And rescue me if I am truly in danger, if that makes you feel better.”

“Your safety is our concern, doctor,” a trooper says. “That is all. No offense meant.”

“I’ll be safe with this one,” Dr. DeBeers says as she gets up and turns to them. “I know what I’m doing, troopers. This isn’t the first operator I’ve brought in to Control.”

They all nod and stand, waiting for the hatch to open, as Dr. DeBeers walks between them and stands in front of Blaze. She begins coughing again and the troopers all take an involuntary step back.

“Oh, stop being babies,” she glares. “You’ll be in your vats soon and safe. That shit’ll clean out almost everything.” She looks at one of the troopers and winks. “Almost.”

“Yes, doctor,” the trooper nods nervously.

“AiSP, please wake the Sergeant up,” she orders. “Make it a good slap, bring him around quickly.”

Blaze gasps as adrenaline rushes through his system. He struggles against his restraints, a feral, panicked look in his eyes. He catches sight of Dr. DeBeers standing in front of him and he almost growls at her, the surge of aggression in his system making him lunge towards her. But being strapped in, he only budges an inch, causing him to thrash wildly.

“No
w, let’s mellow him out, AiSP,” Dr. DeBeers grins. “Crash him hard.”

A sudden lethargy takes over Blaze’s muscles and he turns and throws up from the sudden shift in chemicals pumped through his body.

“Now that we have that out of the way, Sergeant Crouch,” Dr. DeBeers smiles. “Welcome to Control. The
real
Control. If you will follow me.”

The body restraints are released and Blaze slowly gets to his feet. He feels as if the transport is rocking slightly and he would put out his hands to steady himself, but they are still secured together at the wrists. His feet are free though, and he takes a tentative step forward.

“If you even think of attacking me then the AiSP will flood your system over and over with nasty things that will have you begging to die,” Dr. DeBeers says as the hatch opens and the troopers pour out into the bay. “What woke you up was me being nice. Don’t make me get mean.”

“Right,” Blaze nods, his head swimming. “Don’t make you get mean. Wouldn’t…want…that…”

His mouth drops open at the sight before him. The bay is like nothing he has ever seen before. He’s used to the utilitarian construct of the Clean Nation cities’ bays, or the stark emptiness of the general transport bay his squad usually pulls into when on a run to Control. But this? This isn’t even in the realm of his comprehension.

The line of troopers that disembark from the transport all stand still, waiting as a vehicle similar to a TransPod trolley rolls up to them. Thin metal arms clamp around their shoulders and lift them into place on the vehicle. Their bodies go rigid as shiny metal discs are pressed to their temples, their eyes glowing bright white for split-second then returning to normal.

“I…uh…I…,” Blaze stammers. Dr. DeBeers just smiles, letting him take it all in.

The bay is ten times the size of the Caldicott City transport bay and dozens of machines hurry to and fro, all performing duties
at a speed that Blaze can’t keep track of. Many have thin arms like the trooper vehicle, while others have long tentacles with various tools shifting into different forms as needed.

Hundreds of t
roopers are hauled around from one end of the bay to the other, lifted and dropped as they either disembark or board transports. Blaze’s attention is so focused on the industry of it all that it takes him a long while of wide-eyed staring before he notices the walls.

He finally tracks the path of one of the trooper vehicles as it leaves a transport and makes its way to a bay wall and the row after row of bubbling liquid vats. The troopers are carefully lifted from the vehicle and deposited into their own
individual vat, bobbing along with the liquid’s agitation until they slowly settle to the bottom. Their feet are locked into place and the liquid goes from clear to bright blue then back to clear.

Blaze can see their eyes are still open, but as far as he can
tell, the troopers register nothing of what is happening to them. They just gasp a couple of times, bubbles of air pouring from their mouths and nostrils, then go still, eyes turning pure white.

“Not what you expected?” Dr. DeBeers asks
, coughing. “No one does.”

“Are they…alive?” Blaze asks as Dr. DeBeers takes him by the elbow and leads him away from the transport. Dozens of machines, small and large, buzz around them, instantly moving from their path as the doctor walks Blaze to a large hatch in the far wall.

“The troopers? Of course they are alive,” Dr. DeBeers laughs. “We aren’t Frankensteins here, Sergeant. While we have created synthetic nutrients and foodstuffs, we haven’t had any breakthroughs in creating synthetic life. Too complex, too chaotic.”

“Then what?” Blaze asks. “How?”

“Stunned you back to preschool speech, have I?” Dr. DeBeers smiles. “Not surprising. They are being held in stasis by a synthetic amniotic fluid. If we could create life then that is what we would grow it in. But since we can’t, we just store life there. It provides everything from oxygen to nourishment, ridding their bodies of all toxins and foreign microbes. The Clean Guard is the only truly clean fighting force on Earth.”

“And they j
ust stay in there?” Blaze asks.

“Until they are called on,” Dr. DeBeers says. She starts to cough violently and doubles over.

“You don’t sound so hot,” Blaze smirks. “Maybe you caught something nasty out in the Sicklands?”

“Doctor?” the AiSP asks.
Blaze is surprised the voice is patched into his com. “Facility lockdown is complete, but I must pass on Management’s request that you recuse yourself from Sergeant Crouch’s examination. It is obvious you have contracted a serious bacterial infestation and need-”

“SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!” Dr. DeBeers
screams, as she stands upright and wipes her mouth. She takes a couple of deep, but halting, breaths and adjusts her uniform, gaining her composure. “Please. AiSP, you will institute Management Chairperson’s Protocol 1. I am in charge and not to be questioned. Management can have Control back once I’m done.”

“Yes, doctor,” the AiSP says.

A small orb of a machine scoots close to Blaze and scans him, sending a ripple of red light across his body. It beeps loudly and moves to block his and the doctor’s passage, but she waves her hand and it skitters away, chirping shrilly.

“AiSP?” Dr. DeBeers asks. “
Wasn’t that Morganfeld 325 scheduled for incineration?”

“Yes, doctor,” the AiSP responds. “The M325 was
supposed to have been decommissioned twice now.”

“Decommission it
again,” Dr. DeBeers orders. “And make sure it’s done right this time, as in
actually
done.”

“I can have it reformatted and recycled, doctor. Will that do?” the AiSP asks.

“Is that what I asked for?”

“No, doctor.”

“Then how about you do what I asked.”

“Yes, doctor.”

A loud clanging is heard and Blaze turns around as a hole in the ceiling opens and massive metal tentacles rush at the M325. The small metal orb hurries one way then another, trying to dodge behind other machines. The tentacles follow it closely, herding it this way and that until it realizes its only escape is up into the ceiling. It races straight up and is gone, followed by the tentacles. The ceiling closes quickly.

“Holy shit,” Blaze says.

“Chaos,” Dr. DeBeers says. “That is what almost killed us and what has been trying to kill us ever since.”

She waves at the bay around them then points to the trooper vats.

“The main reason they are placed in stasis. Human beings breed chaos. Having those men and women running around Control would input too many variables to this complex. All it would take is for one of them to snap and all the hard work, everything we have strived to achieve, would be over.”

Her hand indicates the machines that never seem to stop moving. The constant shifting of light off of all the metal makes Blaze dizzy and he has to close his eyes for a second.

But that doesn’t help. His IRIS is initiated and the bay scene is superimposed on his vision, even with his eyelids pressed firmly together.

“I’m talking, Sergeant,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Do not try to hide from reality. Never try to hide from reality.”
She shakes her head. “Never ever ever try to hide from Him… I mean, from reality.”

Blaze opens his eyes, his IRIS disappears before he gets too nauseous from the brief double vision
, and looks at Dr. DeBeers.

“
Are you sure you know what reality is?” Blaze asks. “Because this…? This doesn’t look like it.” Even his GenSOF training is no match for the weight of it all. He feels his mental stability begin to crumble.

“This?” Dr. DeBeers asks just as they get to the large hatch. She turns and looks at everything. “This is more real than you can know. Get used to it, Sergeant. If what lives inside you proves to be what I hope, then this will become not only your reality, but the reality of all humanity.”