Metal and Ash (Apex Trilogy) (44 page)

“Yeah,” Mathew replied. “Mech Pilot Mathew Jespers. Where the fuck are we?”

“On the run,” Melissa said as she checked the rear vid, enhanced it, and watched the other mag-skiff follow them a mile back. “And being pursued.”

Mathew squinted into the distance and could barely make out the skiff. What he could make out easily though was the plumes of smoke on the far off horizon.

“Where is everyone else?” he asked.

“Where do you think?” Melissa snapped. “Captured or killed. And I doubt the Three are taking prisoners, so that leaves the one option.”

“Jeezus,” Mathew swore and then looked down at Beth. “Holy fuck!”

“What?!” Melissa jumped, nearly sending them over the edge of the road.

“Sorry, but…,” Mathew shook his head. “It’s just that she looks so much like…”

“Rachel Capreze?” Melissa asked.

Mathew nearly spun right off the skiff as he turned. “Yes! But she’s… Colonel Masterson said…”

“Yeah, he was right,” Melissa replied. “Sorry. Nothing lived through the destruction of the generator.”

“Then how…?”

“That’s not Rachel,” Melissa said.

“Yeah, I know that. She’s way too young. But who is she?”

“Beth Laughlin,” Melissa replied. “The Vessel.”

“Oh,” Mathew said. “The clone.”

“Yep,” Melissa said. “But she’s more than just that. Beth is her own person. She just looks like Rachel.”

“Yeah. Right,” Mathew nodded. “Just so weird.”

“That’s Beth,” Melissa smiled. She glanced back at Mathew and patted the empty seat next to her. “Get your ass up here if you can. I don’t want to fucking talk over my shoulder.”

Mathew winced as he climbed into the passenger seat. He looked Melissa up and down and frowned. “How old are you?”

“Fucking old enough to save your ass,” she replied. Mathew waited. “Seventeen. No, wait, eighteen. Fuck. Forgot my own damn birthday.”

“And Beth?”

“Same, I guess, biologically,” Melissa replied. “But only about four years old physically.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mathew nodded. “Clone.”

“Homegrown,” Melissa said.

Mathew watched the mountain road for a while then studied the rear vid. “They’re getting closer.”

“I know.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Fuck if I know. This is your wasteland. You fucking tell me.”

Mathew tapped his com twice then once then twice.

“This is Jethro.”

“We still open channel?”

“Matty? Holy fuck, man! You’re alive!” Jethro exclaimed. “Channel is closed again. The Mayor must have gotten bored with all the sharing.”

“I’m sure he’s still listening,” Mathew replied.

“You know he is,” Jethro said. “Where the fuck are you, man? I saw that you and Rache got the shield down. Great job! You on your way back?”

“Rachel is dead,” Mathew replied quickly before he choked on the words. “So is Themopolous.”

“And everyone else,” Melissa added as she found the com channel. “The Americans are toast on the beach. The Three has landed and are heading this way.”

“Jeezus fuck,” Jethro swore. “Dead? Everyone?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” Mathew responded quietly.

“No, man, no,” Jethro said. “Fuck.”

“Listen, Jethro,” Mathew continued. “We have a tail on us-.”

“Who’s us?” Jethro asked.

“American Ghost Melissa Bretton and the Vessel Beth Laughlin,” Melissa responded. “And there is a mag-skiff pursuing us.”

“A what?” Jethro asked.

“A fucking mag-skiff, dipshit,” Melissa responded.

“It’s like an ATV and a car mixed,” Mathew explained. “Although this one is kinda funky.”

“Had to make it myself,” Melissa said. “Vehicles were my dead uncle’s thing. I’m more into body armor.”

“Ok, so just the one mag-skiff?” Jethro asked.

“Yeah, but there will be more,” Melissa said. “Lots more. You wouldn’t happen to have any backup in the area, would you?”

“Not even close,” Jethro replied. “We are tied up here right now with a sea of deaders. Bisby, Harlow and Lt. Murphy’s team are on the way back with Marin and the Railers, but no where near you all.”

“The Rookie and Jenny?” Mathew asked.

“MIA for days,” Jethro said. “Not sure what’s up there.”

“I may be of service,” the Mayor interrupted.

“Dude, I knew you were listening,” Jethro said.

“I find your conversations fascinating, Mr. Jethro,” the Mayor replied.

“Ha, he called me mister,” Jethro chuckled.

“The person you refer to as the Rookie, but is now called by his given name of Dog, is riding towards the Stronghold as we speak,” the Mayor explained. “And his lovely woman, Jenny, is in the Railer train with her people, following close behind. Shall I patch you through?”

“Still no where close,” Jethro said. “Shoot me the com channel, Mayor ol’ pal. I’ll chat with the Rookie.”

“Dog.”

“No fucking way I’m calling him that.”

“That’s his name.”

“Still not happening,” Jethro insisted. “I’ll catch up with him soon. Right now I need to figure out how to get you folks back here.”

“May I suggest the new flying machines?” the Mayor asked. “That would seem to be the logical step.”

“Fucking duh!” Jethro shouted. “I keep forgetting about those things. You go your whole life without aircraft and it’s kinda a hard thing to remember.”

“Aircraft?” Mathew asked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Yeah, what are you talking about?” Melissa asked. “There was only one aircraft in the world and it was destroyed. Who else is building them?”

“Apparently the Brazilians,” Jethro said. “And they cloned a shit ton of crazy cowboy pilots.”

Melissa slammed on the brakes and the skiff skidded sideways. “What the fuck? Cloned cowboys? Are you fucking telling me Styles is in the wasteland?”

“You know the guy?” Jethro asked. “Yeah, he’s here. Along with about fifty copies of himself. They each have numbers. Styles 1 is in charge. He’s with Capreze now.”

“Get him on the com,” Melissa insisted.

‘They’re briefing-.”

“GET HIM ON THE COM!”

“Uh, ok, no need to shout,” Jethro said quietly. “He’s patched in.”

“Hello?” Styles voice came on the com. “Who am I speaking to?”

“Styles?” Melissa asked quietly. ‘This is Mel. Do you remember who I-?”

“Well I’ll be dipped in scab whore puss!” Styles shouted over the com. “Mel? Baby, you okay? Where the fuck are ya? I’ll come get ya right now.”

Melissa smiled through her tears and willed herself not to break down. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Sit tight, doll,” Styles said. “I’ll have that Jethro fella lock onto your com. Be there in an hour tops.”

“Thanks, Styles,” Melissa said as she leaned back in the seat. “Can’t wait to see you. How did…?”

“Plenty of time to chat when you’re aboard my BTT,” Styles said. “Just keep yourself safe, ok?”

“You bet,” Melissa said as she looked at the mag-skiff in the rear vid. “But hurry.”

“That’s all I know how to do,” Styles said. “Well, except for with the ladies. You know what I mean.”

Melissa laughed. “See you soon.”

Mathew turned around and watched the road behind them. “We making a stand or do we keep moving?”

“You up for a fight?”

“I’m barely up for a fart.”

“Nice one,” Melissa smiled as she wiped tears from her eyes. “Then we better keep moving. Styles will find us.”

***

“That’s an HAV on our ass, Stone,” Mr. Gein said. “Can we handle that?”

“You mean can I handle it?” Stone asked. “One HAV? Not a problem.”

“They’ll have heavy artillery.”

“I am well aware of what armaments the HAVs have, Gein,” Stone replied, annoyed. “And they still will not be a problem.”

“I can help,” Charlie grunted from the back of the mag-skiff. “Just free up my shock suit and I’ll take those fucks down.”

“Yes, then put a bullet between Mr. Gein’s eyes,” Stone said. “I don’t think that will be happening.”

“Why won’t he put one between your eyes, Stone?” Mr. Gein asked.

“Please,” Stone frowned. “I just said I’ll take care of the HAV. Do you think one wounded jack will stop me?” He shook his head back and forth. “Gein, you have to start paying attention. Get that gin fog out from between your ears.”

“I’m not wounded,” Charlie stated.

Stone spun about and socked Charlie in the face, sending him almost tumbling out of the mag-skiff.

“You are now, jack,” Stone grinned. “Anything else you aren’t that I can fix? Dead, perhaps?”

“Fuck you,” Charlie said as he wiped his bloody nose.

“Pull over,” Stone ordered and Mr. Gein didn’t even hesitate.

Stone stepped from the skiff and walked back down the road towards the HAV. He whistled absentmindedly as he studied the terrain and his surroundings. It only took a couple of minutes for the HAV to reach him.

***

“Sir?” a trooper asked over the com. “Reginald, sir?”

“What is it?” Reginald asked as he watched the mountains approach. And saw a small tendril of smoke far up the side of one.

“The advance HAV was destroyed, sir,” the trooper said. “They didn’t last a minute. We did get one image from them.”

“And?”

The vid screen in the front of the HAV lit up and Reginald stared at the face of a man he would have called friend in another life.

But that was another life.

Fifty

The ground was shifting shale and protruding rock, but the Great Maker knew it well. He knew every square inch around the Stronghold. His youth, from what he could remember, had been spent running the corridors of the buried fortress. He’d spent hours and hours learning the catacomb like twists and turns that lead to even more twists and turns. The memories of the layout were etched in his cyborg brain.

The memories of the people he had known had been erased long ago.

In a hidden outcropping, the Great Maker found what he was looking for. He disengaged from his arachnimech and walked stiffly to the concealed hatch. It took some effort, but he finally was able to pry it free. He wiggled himself through the small opening and rolled into the darkness, letting the hatch shut behind him.

He waited for his eyes to adjust, which due to their mechanical nature only took a second, and then crawled his way deeper into the Stronghold. He had a specific destination in mind and he had very little time to get there. Letting Capreze get the upper hand with the Pope was not an option for the Great Maker. He wasn’t going to let the blasphemers gain control of the wasteland again.

His cyborg body moved forward, gears whirring quietly, metal braces clacking on concrete, and headed in the direction of the Stronghold’s mainframe.

***

“You will not harm them,” the Pope sated. “That is only one of my conditions.”

The two men faced each other. The Pope had a few hundred thousand deaders, and several Rancher transports, behind him. Capreze had Stomper, Masters in a new mech, the Railers, and Jay in his mech, behind him.

Neither man was willing to give ground, but both were experienced enough leaders to know that ground had to be given or they would all fail. They just had to work out who would give that ground first.

“You can’t be serious?” Masters laughed. “No way we can have that many deaders wandering around!”

“Quiet, Mitch,” Capreze ordered calmly. Masters shut his mouth, but kept shaking his head in disbelief. “I can agree to that, Pope. You lend your forces to our fight and I will guarantee that your Disciples will not be harmed by any of my people.”

The Pope smiled at Capreze’s use of the proper term for the undead. “Harmed by no one,” the Pope pushed. “If the Disciples are to go to war against the other things out there then those that survive are afforded the same rights in the wasteland as the living.”

Many of the Railers swore and spat as they held their carbines. Masters nearly jumped his mech at the Pope, but Jay grabbed his machine and held him back.

“Chill the fuck out, Masters,” Jay growled over the com. “Don’t you blow this, asshole.”

“I don’t know if that is possible,” Capreze responded to the Pope. “Whatever your beliefs are, you are welcome to them, but the undead are a danger to the living. I don’t think protecting them is in my personal best interest, let alone those I have sworn to protect at all costs.”

“Might I interrupt?” the Mayor asked over the com.

“Can I stop you?” Capreze asked.

“Not likely,” the Mayor chuckled. “I believe a compromise is easily attainable. JP, you just want your Disciples the chance to be free and roam as they please, correct?”

“Without being hunted and killed,” the Pope replied. “Yes.”

“Fair enough,” the Mayor said. “And Commander Capreze you want the wasteland to be safe so that people, the living, can be free to thrive and live in peace without the worry of being torn apart, correct?”

“That’s what any sane person would want,” Capreze replied. The Pope smiled at the jab.

“Excellent,” the Mayor said. “Then this is what I propose: when the fighting is over, and Lord willing we all survive, we will create a wasteland tribunal made up of representatives of the many different factions that inhabit this desolate landscape. That tribunal will be responsible for creating a framework for basic laws and codes that will apply to the living and the undead. If the living attack the undead without provocation then they will be brought to justice. If the undead attack the living without provocation, and hunger doesn’t count, then they will be brought to justice. How does that sound?”

“Like a bunch of fucking crazy talk,” Masters mumbled.

“Oh, I have to agree with you there, Pilot Masters,” the Mayor chuckled. “But such is the nature of the wasteland. Insane or not, it is what we have been given and what we have to make do with. Gentlemen?”

“I’m open to working that out,” Capreze replied.

“As am I,” the Pope nodded. “As long as no harm comes to the Disciples during the interim.”

“I can live with that,” Capreze said. “As long as no harm comes to the living. My people won’t go hunting if your Disciples don’t either.”