AntiBio: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (9 page)

16

The apocalypse, any apocalypse, seems to have a uniform. Rags.

That is what the men and women are wearing as they rush the transport. Dozens and dozens of rag wearing, scab covered, flesh rotted, snot dripping, survivors of the world post-antibiotics.

Cooties.

A sad and simple name that the Clean Nation cities call those that have been left to fend for themselves in a landscape that would make Dante
crap his robes. Afflicted by multiple diseases, the men and women clutch weapons of various design; cobbled together from anything that could be remotely lethal.

They charge.

“I have a lock on the front wave,” Ton says. “Stun burst first. If they don’t back off then we get serious.”

“More coming port side,” Hoagie says.

“Same with starboard,” Paulo says.

“I could speed through them,” Milo suggests. “Run the fuckers down. It’ll mean an extra washing of the undercarriage, but what the hell, right?”

“We subdue and negotiate first,” Ton says. “That’s the regulation. We go lethal only as a last resort.” The squad laughs.

The sound of rocks pelting the transport can barely be heard and Blaze turns his attention back to his vid screen.

“We have a group coming up from the rear,” Blaze says. “Less than twenty it looks like. But…”

He zooms in on the image, frowning at something that several of them struggle to carry.

“What the hell is that?” he mutters. “Worm? I need that weapon identified.”

The transport is silent.

“Worm? I need that info now!”

Still silent.

The operators turn and look at each other, worry clouding their features.

“AiSP Zebra, please respond,” Ton orders. “Worm? We need your annoying ass active, right now!”

The transport’s lights flickers slightly.

“My apologies, Lieutenant,” Worm says. “There was a server malfunction when the view screen diagnostics completed. I was able to fix the issue, but the glitch looped to other systems. The transport should be 100% operational now, though. Again, my apologies.”

“You can say sorry later,” Blaze snaps. “I need to know what that is they are setting up.”

The people on the view screen have stopped and are scrambling to stabilize a large tripod while a new group came up behind them with a large case in hand.

“That, Sergeant, is known as a Spike anti-tank guided missile system,” Worm says. “A relic of military weaponry pre-Unseen Wars. If they are able to l
aunch that at the transport then we will be destroyed. Unless the missile is no longer operational.”

“Not taking that chance,” Milo says as he engages the transport drive and speeds towards the oncoming mob of Cooties. “We need some distance between us and that thing.”

“Son of a bitch,” Ton swears as he begins firing on the mob. “Where the fuck did the Cooties get a fucking missile system?”

Bright flashes of light illuminate the dreary landscape and row after row of the diseased people drop, their bodies flailing about for a few seconds before becoming still. The transport bears down on them and the squad barely feels the thumps and bumps as reinforced rubber and steel meet flesh.

“I do not trust the security of our route,” Worm replies. “I believe that the area has been compromised by technology we were not aware of.”

“Ya think?” Hoagie asks. “
What clued you in to that? The million of crazy Cooties that didn’t show up on sensors perhaps?”

“The number of hostiles doesn’t come close to a million, Sergeant Menendez,” Worm responds. “It is closer to one hundred and fifty, by my calculations. What I was stating is that the forward route is giving off random signals. There is technology ahead of us where there shouldn’t be.”

“That explains why we didn’t see these fucks until it was too late,” Paulo says. “And why the satellites thought the mob was still a ways off.”

“Tech that can trick the sats?” Ton asks. “And mess with our vid screens so we have to run diagnostics? Cooties don’t have those skills.”

“Apparently they do, Lieutenant,” Dr. DeBeers says. “The facts are plainly in front of you.” She holds up her hands as she receives a withering stare from Ton. “I’ll stay quiet.”

The transport slams into more and more hostiles as they refuse to get out of the vehicle’s way. Chunks of wood, rocks, steel bars, bang against the transport’s hull, doing nothing more than scratch the surface. The vehicle is designed to take several explosive impacts without failing, so weapons that are less than a step up from caveman tech don’t have much effect.

“I think their targeting system is up,” Blaze says.

“You think?” Ton shouts as he moves from the stun strategy to lethal force. The attackers begin to scream as they are vaporized by static bursts that cook them where they stand. “Give me answers, Sergeant!”

Blaze tries to make sense of the readings on his screen, but the sensors cannot lock onto the missile system with any accuracy. As soon as he gets one reading the data changes and he is forced to ignore the information. His screen flickers a couple of times and then goes blank.

“Fuck!” Blaze shouts. “I don’t know what they are using, but it is messing with everything!”

“I have perfect visual,” Milo says. “Whatever is screwing with you must be directed back there.”

“Worm? What could do this?” Blaze asks, trying to reboot his station. “Worm?”

“I…can…what you will…data…fire…” Worm’s voice stutters and stumbles, interrupted by long spaces of white noise.

“Worm?” Blaze shouts. “Shit!
Lieutenant, I have nothing back here.”

“Switching starboard view,” Paulo says. “I have a lock on their location. Ready to fire counter- What the fuck?”

His station glitches as well and the wall goes blank.

“I’m going down,” Hoagie yells. “Can’t keep my station stable.”

“I’m flickering in and out,” Milo states. “But we’re still rolling. LT?”

“
I have visuals still also. Unloading ordinance,” Ton announces. “Going to scorch protocol.”

“You will be killing so many,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Such a shame.”

Blaze looks at her, almost as worried by the look of peaceful resignation on her face as by the breakdown of the transport’s systems. She locks eyes with him and smiles.

“Proto….evac…known stability…suits,” Worm’s voice falters.
“Recommend…hostiles…foot.”

“Jesus,” Hoagie says. “Is Worm suggesting we ditch the transport and go out in that shit?”

“Caldicott City command, this is Transport Eighteen requesting assistance,” Ton says. “Caldicott City command, please come in. This is GenSOF Zebra squad reporting. We are under attack by hostiles and expect artillery engagement shortly. Do you read me, Caldicott City command?”

There is no response, not even the crackling of white noise or interference. The com to CC command is dead.

“Try Control,” Dr. DeBeers suggests. “Our systems are considerably more robust so that we can communicate with all Clean Nation cities without worry.”

“We use the same sats,” Ton says. “There shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Then I’ll try,” Dr. DeBeers says, bringing up her vid screen again. “If you’ll grant me access to the com system.”

“Granted, doctor,” Ton says. He
watches the people in front of the transport burst apart as he fires static charge after static charge into the still thick mob. “Do what you can.”

“Control, this is Doctor Mona DeBeers,” she says as she swipes her hand across her screen. “Control, please come in. This is Doctor Mona DeBeers aboard the GenSOF Transport number Eighteen. We are under attack by Sicklands hostiles and need immediate assistance. Control, do you read me?”

A piercing shriek fills everyone’s ears and a far off voice can barely be heard.

“Dr. DeBeers, we read you,” the voice replies. “Can you give us your location?”

“Lieutenant?” Dr. DeBeers asks. “Our coordinates?”

“Ten clicks from route marker ninety-four,” Ton says. “I have activated the emergency beacon, but I don’t know if it is operational or not. We’re working blind here.”

“Not me,” Milo says as he swerves to avoid a large boulder that has been shoved in their path. “I’ve still got the pedal to the metal.”

If the windshield Milo looks out of
were physical glass instead of a digital representation, he would be blinded by gore and blood as the transport mows down the hostiles. But the screen system removes that part of the visual, leaving his view unobstructed by the constant barrage of offal and fluids.

“Beacon has been detected,” the voice says. “Do you need extraction, Dr. DeBeers?”

“Do we, Lieutenant?” Dr. DeBeers asks. “I can have the Clean Guard come to our aid.”

“Milo?” Ton asks. “Can you get us through?”

“If it all holds together, I can,” Milo says. The Transport shudders, causing Milo to wince and frown. “Ugh. We shouldn’t have felt that.”

“They have more than large rocks,” Paulo says. “I don’t know where these fucks got it, but we are dealing with military tech here.”

“Missile launchers, jamming tech, what else do they have?” Hoagie asks.

“Who cares?” Blaze says, standing up from his station and grabbing his pack. “But we should be suited fully in case that missile actually launches.”

He taps his wrist and his helmet’s face screen turns to a full shield, sealing his head completely. He snaps and nods and Gorge is at his side, alert and ready.

Hoagie and Paulo follow suit, as does Ton. The dogs each give a quiet bark then line up by the side hatch, ready to move out when ordered.

“Don’t give up on me yet,” Milo says. “I can see the end of it all. Look.”

Their attention is pulled to the windshield view screen and they
see the mob thinning, thinning, then they are through.

“Bam!” Milo shouts, grinning from ear to ear. “That was a whole lot of panic for absolutely no-”

His words are drowned out by the sound of a massive explosion. The aft end of the transport is lifted high into the air. Blaze sees the look of shock on Dr. DeBeers’s face just before the cargo wall goes solid again. Everything is plunged into darkness as Zebra squad find themselves suddenly upside down, the missile impact flipping the transport end over end.

The shouts of the men, a dog’s yelp, and then silence.

17

Even with the filtering that Blaze’s suit provides, the smell of charred metal and burnt hair is strong.

“Worm?” he croaks, his throat raw. “Worm? You back?”

No answer.

“Zebra, report,” Ton’s voice calls, shaky and filled with pain. “Operators? Let me know you’re breathing.”

“Alive,” Blaze says as he opens his eyes to an upside down world of chaos. Emergency systems must have not gone offline because Blaze finds himself strapped safely to his chair. He has no idea how he got back in it since the last memory he has is of standing up and prepping to evacuate the transport if needed. He’s even more troubled by the fact he’s upside down.

“Yep,” Hoagie says from his chair. “Still breathing.”

“All fingers and toes,” Paulo says. “Milo?”

“Just a bruised ego,” Milo says. “I should have been able to get us away.”

“How the hell did we get strapped back in?” Hoagie asks.

“…able to…suits…safety…,” Worm’s voice replies, scattered and distant in their ears.
“…canines…well…”

Blaze is able to wiggle free of his straps and falls to the ceiling of the transport. He stands on shaky legs and looks
up; glad Gorge is safely secured next to his seat.

“Thanks, Worm,” Blaze says as he reaches up and frees his dog.

The other operators follow his lead and drop to the ceiling of the transport. After some checking to make sure no one is seriously injured, the squad moves to the side hatch, bruised, battered, but functional.

“Plan?” Milo asks, snapping his baton into its rifle form. He presses the butt to his shoulder and glances at Ton. “LT?”

“Shhh,” Ton warns. “Listen.”

Their attention turns to a muted thudding. The operators frown and rifles are formed and shouldered. All five dogs tense, their dense muscles ready f
or violence, as their hackles rise and they bare their teeth.

The thudding stops and the squad waits. Nothing.

Then a faint tapping is heard and Blaze turns to the aft end of the transport.

“Cargo hold,” Blaze whispers. “The doctor is still alive.”

The tapping continues, grows slower and fainter, then stops and Ton shakes his head.

“Maybe not anymore,” he says, looking about the transport. “Take the fight outside?”

“I’m game,” Milo says.

“Same here,” Hoagie replies.

Paulo gives a thumbs up and Blaze nods.

“Worm? Can you open the hatch?” Ton asks, but there is no response.

He nods to Hoagie and the man moves forward, rifle switching into a pistol as he grabs onto the hatch’s emergency release handle. Ton holds up three fingers then folds them one by one until there are none left and Hoagie pops the hatch.

The metal
door flies open and the operators rush out into the Sicklands, rifles at the ready. They each turn in a different direction, surveying the area as fast as possible. There isn’t time to take in too much information before they are set upon by hostiles.

Five come at Blaze and he drops three with his rifle, frying holes into their chest
s before he has to duck under the swipe of an axe. He jams the butt of his rifle into the belly of one of the attackers then brings it up hard, snapping the man’s jaw in half, nearly ripping it from his face.

The other attacker, a skinny woman missing her entire nose and most of her left cheek, raises a piece of burning wood over her head, but she’s taken down by an angry mass of fur and muscle. Gorge rips into the woman’s throat, shaking her head back and forth, sawing the flesh until her teeth hit bone. With a loud crunch, Gorge snaps the woman’s neck.

“Good dog,” Blaze says as he rolls to his left and comes up on one knee, his rifle barking static into a dozen attackers.

Flesh sizzles and they cry out in pain as half drop to the ash coated ground. Blaze fires again and again, taking them out one by one until all that is left standing is a man that manages to get within three feet of Blaze, a sharpened spear of rebar clutched in his hands. He eyes Blaze then looks down at the smoking hole in his midsection. Blaze fires once more, obliterating the man’s head.

Gorge barks and Blaze turns in time to see the rock coming at him. He tries to duck, but it catches his shoulder, spinning him about. Gorge growls and snarls, launching herself at the woman that threw the rock. There are many screams as rags are torn apart so the bug hound can get to the unprotected flesh underneath. Blaze rights himself and runs towards the rolling heap of rotten cloth and dog hair.

“Gorge off!” Blaze yells and the dog instantly responds, pulling back from the woman.

A point blank shot to the chest and the life is burned from her body.

“Good dog,” Blaze says again.

Barks, snarls, blasts, shouts, echo off boulders and the rocky hillside the squad finds themselves up against. Moving closer to his squad, Blaze drops seven more hostiles, making sure each blast is a kill shot.

“You good?” Ton asks as he moves to Blaze’s side.

“Solid, sir,” Blaze replies. “You?”

“All good,” Ton says. “Couldn’t be better.”

“Good here,” Hoagie shouts as his rifle becomes a sparking baton and connects with a man’s skull. Bone cracks and there’s a hiss as fluids vaporize against the static of the baton. Hoagie pulls back and moves in close to Blaze and Ton. “Where’s Paulo?”

“There,” Milo says, a few feet from the others, his rifle pointing to a man and dog pressed up against the hillside, forced to fight off eight attackers.

The operators whistle simultaneously and four dogs sprint forward, leaping in the air when they are still several feet away. Paws slam into the backs of four attackers and there are loud grunts and cries of surprise as teeth sink into necks and shoulders.

Blaze, Ton, Milo and Hoagie are right behind their bug hounds, clutching batons which they bring down onto the skulls of the other four hostiles. The one in front of Milo spins about and jams a blade into the sergeant’s gut before
the Cootie falls to his knees, blood pouring from his scalp.

“Fuck,” Milo gasps as he looks down at the handle protruding from his belly. “Mother fucker.”

“Hold still,” Blaze says, catching Milo before the man falls to the ground. “I got this.”

Blaze yanks the blade free the
n jams his baton into the wound. Milo screams as the torn flesh is cauterized, but he doesn’t lose consciousness. His PSC pumps his body with pain killing endorphins as an automatic response to the trauma while Blaze drags him over against the transport’s hull.

“Don’t move,” Blaze winks.

“Fuck you,” Milo gasps, one hand to his gut, the other shifting his baton back to a pistol.

Tequila plants himself in front of Milo, the dog’s hair standing on end, his legs braced and taught.

A scream from the end of the transport draws Blaze’s attention and he tries to move that way, but is blocked by a pair of hostiles. Gorge goes for the legs of one man while Blaze swings his baton at the other. The first man hits the ground and his throat is ripped out before he can even scream. The second man dodges Blaze’s attack and lunges with a rusty hunk of metal that’s strapped to the back of his hand. Blaze wraps his arms about the man and throws him to the ground, ignoring the pain in his left bicep.

Dropping fast, Blaze jams his knee into the man’s throat and twist
s, crushing his windpipe. As the man lies there, desperately trying to suck in air, Blaze checks the gash on his arm. It’s minor and his suit automatically closes over it as StatFoam fills and cleans the wound.

Another scream gets Blaze moving and he hustles to the end of the transport where Dr. DeBeers is being dragged off by two women. Afraid of
hitting the doctor, Blaze holsters his baton and sprints at the women, Gorge on his heels. He tackles the woman on the right and slams her head into the rocky ground, shattering the woman’s skull. He rolls off and comes up fast, but Gorge has already separated the other woman from Dr. DeBeers and is backing her towards a large granite outcropping.

“Fucking Cleans,” the woman spits as she kicks at Gorge. “
Think you good. Not good.”

Gorge snarls and lunges, but the woman tucks her body and dives into the attack, knocking the bug hound back. She scrambles to her feet and backs away slowly, her eyes going from Blaze and then to Dr. DeBeers.

“Bitch,” the woman snaps. “Control enemy-”

But her words stop there as half of her head is vaporized in a cloud of blue sparks and red blood. The woman staggers a couple more steps then collapses in a heap.

“What the hell?” Blaze says as he sees the pistol in Dr. DeBeers’s hand. “Where did you get that?”

“It was on the ground,” Dr. DeBeers says, staring from the pistol to the corpse. “I just picked it up and fired.”

“I’ll take it,” Blaze says as he holds out his hand.

A loud banging comes from the cargo hold of the transport and Blaze looks over as the c
ylinders tumble from the back. He glances at Dr. DeBeers and takes a step back, almost certain the woman is going to shoot him with the pistol. But she holds it out to him instead, her hand shaking uncontrollably.

“Are you injured?” Blaze asks the doctor as he kneels next to her. Gorge, having finished off the first woman, pads up next to them, her ears turning in all directions as her eyes watch for the next attack. “You going to be alright?”

“I’m…just shaken,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Where is everyone else?”

There are a few last screams and shouts then the area grows quiet.

“I think they are mopping things up,” Blaze says. “Zebra squad?”

“Clear here, Sergeant,” Ton shouts from around the transport.

“See?” Blaze smiles, standing and holding out his hand. “Let’s get you up and moving. We can’t stay here.”

Dr. DeBeers looks at Blaze’s hand and shakes her head. “My StatShield is down,” she says. “I’m not protected against your bacterial load. You could contaminate me if I touch you.”

Blaze looks at her, puzzled. Then bursts out laughing. He quickly gets himself under control as he sees the look of pure anger on Dr. DeBeers’s face.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “But you are way past contaminated, doc.” He points at the two women’s corpses a few feet away. “I don’t think they are exactly sterile. Not that any of it matters if we don’t get moving. We stay here and more will come. We have to hike it towards Control and hope your Clean Guard meets up with us.”

“They will,” Dr. DeBeers says. “But we aren’t leaving the transport.”

“We what?” Blaze asks.

He whirls around as the sound of gravel shifting catches his ear. Pulling his baton, he snaps it into a pistol and fires, dropping the man that was running at them down the steep hillside. The body continues forward and tumbles up to Blaze’s feet. He looks over his shoulder to see Dr. DeBeers crawling into the transport’s cargo hold.

“Dr. DeBeers?” he calls. “We can’t stay here. They’ll keep coming and keep coming until our weapons
can’t recharge.”

“Then we barricade ourselves inside the transport,” Dr. DeBeers says, her hands running across the cylinders, checking for damage. “We do not leave this cargo under any circumstances.”

“I know you have a specific directive, doctor,” Ton says as he walks from around the side, his rifle up and pointed at the hillside. “But Sergeant Crouch is correct in his assessment of the threat. This is the Sicklands. You do not stay in one place in the Sicklands. You keep moving, preferably towards sanctuary.”

“This cargo is important beyond your comprehension, Lieutenant,” Dr. DeBeers replies. “And I will not leave it. In fact, I will need your squad to transfer these cylinders to the inside of the transport as it appears the cargo hold is no longer secure.”

“Doctor, listen-” Ton starts.

“No,” Dr. DeBeers states flatly. “You will comply or I will have your entire squad brought up on charges of sedition. That holds the death penalty in the Clean Nation.
You won’t even be given the option to become GenWrecks.”

“What’s this?” Hoagie asks, joining them. “We’re getting executed? What for?”

“No one is getting executed if you follow my orders,” Dr. DeBeers says. “I am Control, and Control outranks GenSOF. We are moving the cylinders inside and staying here until the Clean Guard arrives.”

“May I speak with my squad
briefly, doctor?” Ton asks, his face red with rage. “Is that allowable or will I be threatened with execution for that also?”

“Please do confer with yo
ur men, Lieutenant,” Dr. DeBeers says. “But make it brief as we need to secure this cargo before more hostiles arrive.”

“Sergeants,” Ton says and walks back to the other side where Paulo is crouching next to Milo. “Status?”

“His suit has given him a sedative,” Paulo says. “But I’m pretty sure there’s internal bleeding. I packed the wound with StatFoam, but he’s looking rough.”

“Time frame?” Ton asks.

“He has a dozen hours, maybe more?” Paulo guesses and shrugs. “No way to know for sure without med systems up and running.”