AntiBio: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (13 page)

23

“Fifteen clicks until contact,” the AiSP announces.

“More static weapon signals,” one of the Slide riders states. “Still no orders to engage?”

“They are out of range of this convoy,” the AiSP responds. “Proceed as ordered.”

The Slides push on, their hover skids below them humming with energy as they steer through the twists and turns of the route. Scanners on high resolution, the riders watch as more and more signals indicating static powered weapons appear around them. While their AiSP has stated they are out of range, more than a couple riders become wary of that assessment.

“I detect increased heart rates in Slide riders Three, Four, and Six,” the AiSP reports. “Please state the nature of your anxiety.”

All stay quiet, none wanting to admit they fear the increasing frequency of the signals.

“I have adjusted your serotonin levels,” the AiSP says. “The heightened levels will remain until the unnecessary fear response has subsided. Please be aware that your behavior has been logged and noted. Your duties in the Clean Guard will be evaluated and adjusted when you return to Control.”

There is no response to this from the riders since a response is not asked for nor would it make a difference. The AiSP is there to keep them safe from their own humanity. And as they have been told a thousand times, humanity has no place in the Sicklands.

24

“Runner coming down!” Ton shouts, his rifle aimed at the boy that is scurrying from rock to rock on the hillside. “Open fire when in range!”

“Roger that, LT,” Hoagie says as he runs towards the boy, closing the distance so he can engage faster. “I’ve got the guy on my-”

He grunts and cries out as the breath is knocked from him, a large shape colliding with his right side. Hoagie hits the ground and his rifle flies free, returning to its original small form as soon as it disengages from his glove. He tries to fight off whatever has him pinned, but the deep rumble that vibrates above him makes him stop cold.

Bug hound. A big one. And pissed.

“LT!” Hoagie calls out.

“I see it, Hoag!” Ton shouts as he sprints towards the man and beast. “Hold still!”

“Can’t really move!” Hoagie yells.

The bug hound, its paws forcing Hoagie’s shoulders into the dirt, snaps at the sergeant’s face, greenish slobber splattering against the visor. It barks and snarls as its snout slams into the visor, sending sparks flying this way and that.

Hoagie is astounded at the size of the thing; it has to be at least three times the size of the squad’s bug hounds. The dog’s fur is matted and slick, looking more like the skin of a reptile than a canine. Its back paws are planted squarely on Hoagie’s thighs so he can’t even wiggle slightly without sending the dog into a snarling, snapping rage.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a blur coming. He wants to cry out and warn Belly, but he knows that the dog is in battle mode and nothing will stop it from protecting its operator. The collision is violent and messy as the bug hound on Hoagie turns just as Belly leaps, jaws open wide.

The yelp of pain and sound of tearing flesh makes Hoagie’s stomach churn, but he doesn’t dwell on it as the weight is lifted from his body. He rolls several feet away and looks for his baton, his hand finding it quickly. But something finds him just as fast.

“Fuck,” he says as two massive paws step around the baton. “More?”

A second bug hound watches him, its lips curled up to reveal unbelievably large and sharp black teeth. It starts to lunge at
Hoagie, but howls in pain as the dark is lit up by blue static fire. The thing whirls around, ready to face its attacker, and charges towards Paulo who stands only a few feet away.

Hoagie grabs up his baton and snaps it into a pistol, firing on the dog then twisting around and taking aim at the tumbling ball of fighting fur and blood.

So much blood.

Even in the fading light, Hoagie can see the blood of the fighting dogs splatter
ed about the ground. He tries to get a bead on the monster that nailed him, but it has Belly’s throat in its mouth and Hoagie can’t shoot it without shooting his own bug hound. Fighting his instincts, he pushes to his feet and turns back to Paulo, sending shot after shot into the haunches of the second bug hound as it springs into the air.

Paulo fires also and the dog’s stomach tears open, intestines falling to the earth in a smoking pile, as the bug hound is knocked sideways by the static charge. It whines and yelps as its legs spasm. Unable to right itself, the dog thrashes harder and harder, howling in rage and frustration until the life drains from it and it stills.

“What the fuck?” Paulo says. “Have you ever seen one that big?”

“No,” Hoagie says. He looks at Paulo’s Munch as the dog focuses on a spot to their left. “And it’s not the last.”

As the evening light turns to night, Paulo and Hoagie watch six new shapes barrel at them. All Hoagie wants to do is get over to Belly and pull him from the fight, but he knows he doesn’t have time. His dog is doing what it’s trained to do and he has to do what he’s trained to do.

He snaps his pistol into a rifle and opens fire. Paulo joins him and they unload on the attacking
Sicklands hounds. A third stream of static charges comes flying from Ton as the man stands guard by the transport hatch. They continue firing until their weapons are close to empty of all charge.

Before them are the smoking remains of six
dogs. Some are missing limbs while others have huge holes in their massive rib cages. Paulo, with Munch taking lead, walks cautiously over to the dead dogs; his rifle trained on them every step of the way.

Hoagie rushes over to the still forms of the first dog and Belly. He falls to his knees and shoves the huge body off of the smaller one, knowing by the dead weight that he’s hefting a corpse. He pushes the body aside and takes his dog up in his arms. Black eyes move haltingly and lock onto Hoagie’s as the operator disengages his visor so he can lean in close and feel the wet fur of his bug hound against his cheek.

“No, no, no, no,” Hoagie whispers, as he feels the dog shudder and go still. “NO!”

He falls back on the ground and pulls the dog onto his lap, rocking it back and forth, over and over, as an anguished cry bubbles up from his gut and erupts from his throat.

25

“STOP!” Blaze shouts as he takes aim and fires. The static blast hits inches from the boy’s heels, but it doesn’t stop him. “LT!”

The boy increases his speed once he reaches level ground. He ignores the shouts from the operators around him, focusing instead on a shape moving close to the stack of Cootie corpses. His short legs carry him forward, and his nimble feet keep him from tripping over the barely visible rocks and holes that litter the earth.

“Get down on the ground!” Ton yells, moving away from the transport, his rifle firing blast after blast at the boy. “Halt immediately!”

“Fascinating,” Dr. DeBeers says from the hatch, causing Ton to whirl on her, his rifle dangerously close to discharging in her face. “They do adapt.”

“Get back inside, doctor!” Ton shouts. “That’s an order!”

Dr. DeBeers looks amused at the use of the word order, but
after a brief coughing fit she nods and steps back into the shadows of the transport.

“Worm, I need-” Ton starts to shout then curses. “How many
human targets, Sergeant?”

“Just the one!” Blaze yells, getting to the bottom of the hillside. He tries to get a bead on the kid, but the boy is moving too fast, zigzagging here and there, never presenting a clear target. “Adolescent male! Maybe
twelve or thirteen years old!”

“Gun!” Ton shouts, seeing the boy pull a pistol from his pocket. He takes a knee and fires blast after blast towards the kid. Each misses, but he can see the shape slowing, tiring. He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out as he leads the shadowed form and pulls the trigger.

The blast flies from the rifle’s barrel and streaks through the night, catching the boy in the shoulder just before he can get to the pile of corpses. The pistol flies from his hand.

“NO!” the kid screams, not in pain, but in frustration. “IDIOT!”

Blaze closes on him, nails the boy with a hard kick to the side as he tries to stand up, his shoulder a smoldering, blackened mess of rags and flesh. The kid does cry out in pain this time and rolls onto his back, his hands held up to ward off Blaze. Gorge circles around, preventing the boy from trying to scoot further away.

Then a black shape comes at them from the pile of corpses and Blaze barely has time to get his rifle up and fire. The massive bug hound slides across the ground, coming to rest against th
e kid’s head.

“Get this off me!” the boy shouts and tries to shove it away, but his shoulder protests.

Gorge jumps at the bug hound and grabs it by the scruff, yanking and pulling until its well away from the boy. She sniffs it then turns and squats, leaving a puddle of pee by the dead dog’s head. Trotting back, Gorge stands guard over the boy.

“Nice doggie,” the boy says, looking up at Gorge. “Good doggie.”

“Just shut the fuck up, kid,” Blaze says. “You need to shut up or things will get way worse for you.”

“I was coming down to warn your guys about the hounds,” the boy says, tears of pain streaking his face, washing clean lines into the layers of grime that coat his skin. “You didn’t have to shoot me.”

“Your dogs killed my Belly, you little fuck!” Hoagie roars as he rushes towards Blaze and the boy, having set Belly’s corpse down. “And I’m going to kill you!”

Blaze can’t get between them in time and Hoagie yanks the boy up in the air by his neck. He lifts him high, and the kid’s feet kick and thrash above the ground as Hoagie crushes his throat.

“Hoagie! Stop!” Blaze yells. “Don’t kill him!”

“Fuck that!” Hoagie snarls, sounding more like his late dog than a man. “Little fuck is going to pay!”

“Sergeant Menendez!” Ton yells. “Drop that hostile this second!”

“NO!” Hoagie roars as the kid’s eyes bulge and his face turns purple. “Shoot me, LT! Only way I’m going to-”

The words are cut off as Hoagie falls to the ground, his body bucking and shaking from the smack Blaze gives him with his static baton.

“Shit, Blaze,” Paulo says, still sweeping the area with his rifle. “That was harsh, man.”

“LT ordered him to stop and he wouldn’t,” Blaze said. “I did what I had to do.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Sergeant?” Ton shouts. “Holster that weapon immediately!”

“He was going to kill the kid!” Blaze protests.

“Then he kills the kid,” Ton responds. “Won’t be the first time things get out of hand in the Sicklands and a
captive Cootie dies. But it is the first time I’ve seen an operator attack another operator to save a fucking Cootie!”

“Sir, listen,” Blaze says. “The kid said he was trying to warn us about the bug hounds. He was also saying stuff up on the ridge.”

“What stuff?” Ton asks, afraid of the answer he’ll get.

“GenSOF stuff, sir. Something about being more than our training, more than honor or duty,” Blaze says. “It was a twisted version of the GenSOF code of conduct, sir.
And the kid doesn’t talk like a Cootie.”

“Shit,” Ton mutters. “GenWrecks.” He shakes his head and nods towards Hoagie. “Get him up and in here. Bring the kid too. We may need him as leverage if things go south.”

“This isn’t south?” Paulo asks, looking at the dog corpses then at the pile of Cootie corpses from the first battle of the day. “I’m thinking we’ve full on flipped hemispheres with this shit.”

“Just get inside the transport,” Ton snaps.

Blaze grabs the kid and flips him about, snapping a thin line of wire across his wrists. The wire snakes around the skin, weaving in and out until the boy’s hands are completely immobilized.

“I can’t allow that child in here with me, Lieutenant,” Dr. DeBeers says. “I am already at risk with my proximity to your operators. It’s a manageable risk since I know exactly what bacteria you grow in your bodies. But a child of the Sicklands? There is no way to know what runs rampant in his system. Look at his face! That abomination cannot be allowed anywhere near me. He will also compromise your integrity, Lieutenant.
” She coughs harshly. “I advise you put him down like the animal he is.”

“If you haven’t noticed, doctor, we are fond of animals,” Ton replies, watching as the other GenSOF bug hounds trot over to their dead comrade and one by one give the body a long sniff before letting out a quick, short howl. “Sergeant Crouch has intel that this boy may be more than just normal Sicklands trash. I want to interrogate him and find out for sure.”

“Then you will interrogate him outside of the transport,” Dr. DeBeers says. “That is a direct order from an agent of Control. You cannot ignore that direct order without forfeiting your commission and declaring yourself a traitor to the Clean Nation.”

“You fucking bitch,” Blaze snarls. “We risk our lives doing our job for you people each and every day, but you could give two shits.”

“Your job is to do what I say, Sergeant Crouch,” Dr. DeBeers says. “There is no room for debate. You are to perform like a good soldier, just as you have been trained. By great expense to the Clean Nation cities, I might add. Do you think it is cheap to house and feed a GenSOF operator and his or her Canine Unit? Let me assure you it is not.”

“You didn’t just break me down into credits, did you?” Blaze says, moving towards the transport. “I really hope you didn’t just do that.”

“I did,” Dr. DeBeers replies. “Because that is what you are. A number. Whether it’s as a body or as a bottom line. In the end, you are just a number.”

“No wonder there are GenWrecks,” Blaze growls.

“Too far, Sergeant!” Ton yells.

“Ask her what’s in the cylinders?” Blaze says, pointing at the transport. “Come on, LT, ask her. They are corpses. Probably dead operators heading to Control to be dissected and studied. Is that the honor our duty deserves?”

“Careful Sergeant,” Dr. DeBeers grins. “You are sounding dangerously like one of the residents of the Sicklands. I hope you aren’t becoming a sympathizer.”

Ton looks over at the doctor. “Is he correct? Are there corpses in those cylinders? Is that the cargo we are delivering to Control?”

“No, Lieutenant, there are no corpses in the cylinders,” Dr. DeBeers replies.

“She’s lying!” Blaze shouts. “She confirmed that there were bodies in there! Ask Paulo!”

“Sergeant Kim?” Ton asks. “Are you willing to back up Blaze and say that the doctor is lying?”

“Well, technically she didn’t say there were corpses,” Paulo says. “She just acknowledged there were bodies.”

“Same thing!” Blaze yells.

“Hardly, Sergeant Crouch,” Dr. DeBeers says. “A corpse is specific type of body, a dead one. I can assure you that the bodies in those cylinders are far from dead.”

Paulo, Blaze, and Ton all look at her, wide eyed.

“I’m sorry, doctor, did you say that the cargo we are carrying is living people?” Ton asks.

“I did,” Dr. DeBeers says. She looks at Blaze. “Weren’t you paying attention when I said they were
stasis
cylinders?”