Metal and Ash (Apex Trilogy) (42 page)

Shiner grabbed him and yanked him back. He manipulated the BC mech so that the cockpit filled with biochrome and crushed the CMP inside. Blood squirted from the cockpit in a stream that shot out close to fifty yards. Shiner didn’t waste a moment and dismantled the mech, changing the BC into large versions of the assault rifles he knew the Canadians preferred.

“Here!” Shiner shouted as he tossed a massive weapon to Bad Shell just as the mech was setting its legs to fire its shoulder cannons. “You will like this!”

Bad Shell opened fire immediately and the five Cans that had been coming at him were torn apart at the waist. The giant battle robots were ripped in half by the largest caliber bullets ever created. Torsos fell one way, legs fell another.

Awl Good came in fast, followed by Thunk, and they crushed, smashed, and shredded the Cans until they were BC confetti littering the wasteland dirt.

The last two Cans just stood there, their pilots terrified to even move. They had witnessed what the mechs had done in less than two minutes and they knew their deaths were standing before them in the guises of old metal and pissed off AIs.

***

CMP Esther cringed at what became of half her fighting force. She had barely blinked and the fight was over. Messages came streaming in and she didn’t even bother to look down at them. She typed out one order and then took her own advice.

“Run,” the message said.

The remaining CMPs all turned their mechs away and sprinted north as fast as they could. The wasteland had seemed easy for a minute there when her Cans had fought the human pilots. But she had grossly underestimated the old mechs and half her pilots had paid with their lives.

***

“Your comrades are leaving you,” Shiner said as he walked up close to the last two CMPs. “Exit your mechs and you may join them.”

One of the CMPs immediately opened his cockpit and climbed down his mech. He looked about, saw the Cans retreating and took off after them. He would rather die running through the wasteland than by being crushed to death by one of the old mechs.

The second CMP didn’t move. She kept her mech still, but Shiner could tell by a quick scan that her weapons system was at full power.

“Do not do it, pilot,” Shiner warned. “Power down and step away-.”

A blast from behind ripped the cockpit to shreds. The mech swayed for a moment, a smoking hole in its middle, then toppled over.

“We do not have time to waste,” Bad Shell said, finally getting to fire his cannons. “The human had a chance the first time. Second chances do not exist in the wasteland.”

Shiner did not feel the same, being an AI that had received more than his share of second chances, but he knew they did not have time to waste as Bad Shell had stated.

“We must accompany the humans back to the Stronghold,” Shiner said. “The Ranchers have unleashed the undead upon them. They will not be able to fend off those numbers.”

“More smash?” Thunk asked.

“It will not be metal against metal,” Hollow Eye said. “It will be metal against undead flesh. The Great Maker would not have approve of us aligning with Capreze. Fighting the Cans is one thing, but-.”

“The Great Maker fled in cowardice,” Shiner announced. “If we are to have a place in the wasteland then we must help Capreze’s people survive. They will be essential to rebuilding the land.”

“Huh,” Bad Shell grunted as he rested his massive rifle against his shoulder and lowered his cannons to his back. “I do not think the land needs rebuilding. But I do like this weapon.” He patted it approvingly. “I would like to see what it does against the undead flesh.”

Forty-Eight

Deaders went flying through the air as Stomper kicked out again and again. He had tried to stay true to his name and stomp them into mush, but they swarmed his legs too quickly and he found he had to keep moving and kicking in order to stop the deaders from overpowering him.

Masters, on the other hand, found evasion to be the best course. Just keep the deaders from catching him was his strategy. He rolled, tumbled, leapt, and flat out ran as needed.

“I could give two fucks who hears me,” Masters shouted over the com. “Get those Railers out here with the big guns! Or I’m gonna be a fucking deader snack in two seconds!”

“They are on their way,” Jethro responded. “But I don’t know how much good they’d do. That’s a lot of undead.”

“Yeah, ya fucking think?” Masters snapped. “How about you get your cyber-ass out here and count them? Tell me just how many there are?”

“Hey, fuck you, Mitch!” Jethro snarled. “You think I wouldn’t fucking give anything to walk out there right now? Fuck you!”

“I believe this is a conversation better left for less dangerous times,” Stomper stated. “Focus should be on the deaders.”

“Oh, I’m mother fucking focusing!” Masters shouted.

“And doing an excellent job, Pilot Masters,” the Pope interrupted over the com. “Quite impressive acrobatics. Is that a new style of mech? I don’t believe I have seen it before.”

“Who the fuck is this?” Masters snapped as he shredded a line of deaders with his 50mm guns just before leaping into the air and diving over a throng of a hundred deaders.

“This is Pope John Paul Ringo George,” the Pope stated. “But you can call me JP.”

“I’ll call you dead is what I’ll fucking call you!” Masters shouted as about thirty deaders tried to climb up over his mech. He rolled in a tight circle, crushing the undead into a wide smear of rotten flesh.

“Tut tut,” the Pope clucked. “Such language and ego. One of those things will be your downfall, pilot.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking a few hundred thousand deaders will be my downfall, dipshit,” Master replied. “Get a fucking clue.”

Cannon fire fell from the sky and Masters whooped as he realized that the Railers had finally made it out of the Stronghold.

“About fucking time!” Masters shouted as he emptied his 50mms and started to unload his RPGs.

But with everything he threw at the deader horde he barely made a dent. They just kept coming and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before they were completely overrun.

Carcasses flew everywhere, leaving piles of offal and dismembered limbs across the wasteland. Masters kept up his evade and crush routine while Stomper punted cluster after cluster of deaders. The Railers had cannons firing, flame throwers blasting, and every available person on top of their train unloading their carbines into the deader mass.

But it wasn’t enough.

Masters went down and struggled to get to his feet. The deaders swarmed over him like ants and Stomper had to come to his rescue, lifting him up and shaking the deaders loose.

“We are in an unwinnable situation,” Stomper stated. “Retreat is the only scenario.”

“Just throw me at that Pope fucker!” Masters shouted. “Toss me right up his ass!”

“Your mech would be too large to fit up his ass,” Stomper replied. “Your understanding of anatomy is flawed.”

“Stomper?”

“Yes, Pilot Masters?”

“Fuck off.”

“That was rude.”

“Don’t give a fuck.”

“You really want me to toss you into the middle?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Masters!” Jethro shouted. “Are you fucking insane?”

“You got a better idea?” Masters asked.

“Yeah, fuckhead!” Jethro replied. “Retreat and get your ass back to the Stronghold. We’ll figure it out from there!”

“Spoken like a true pussy mechanic,” Masters said. “Stomper. Toss me.”

“Alright,” Stomper said and took aim.

***

“JP?” Brother Reynaldo asked. “I would suggest you take cover inside your transport.”

“I am not afraid of the foolish mech pilot,” the Pope said. “I have God on my side. He will not let me die today.”

“But, JP-.”

“Quiet, Brother,” the Pope said. “I have made my decision. Please do not argue.”

“Yes, JP,” Brother Reynaldo responded. “May the love of the Disciples guide you.”

“Amen,” the Pope replied as he watched Stomper wind up then throw Masters’s mech right at him.

The Tumbler flew through the air and rocketed towards the Pope’s transport. The man didn’t flinch, didn’t show a speck of fear, as fifty tons of metal got closer and closer with every millisecond.

The mech slammed into the deaders and left a smeared path of blood and gore until it rolled to a stop just feet from the Pope’s transport.

“I would think a massive mech like that would have better aim,” the Pope laughed. He blew his whistle twice then held the note. All of the deaders within twenty yards of the transport stopped then turned their attention to Masters’s mech. “Dear Disciples. Please show this mere man what strength you have.”

The deaders rushed the mech and soon covered it completely. The Pope began to blast a complicated order through the whistle then set it aside and watched as the deaders obeyed.

A few thousand hands began to rip at the Tumbler’s exoskeleton, tearing struts and rivets free at an alarming rate.

Masters sat inside the mech and frowned.

“Well, that was a fucking stupid idea,” he grumbled. “I hate it when Jethro is right.”

***

June, Jay and Capreze all stood at the entrance to the Stronghold hangar.

“I should be out there,” Capreze said.

“Fuck that,” Jay replied. “You need to be right where you are. You have more than just Masters and Stomper in the field. We’re still waiting to hear from Rachel, Matty and the doctor. Plus, Harlow and Biz haven’t reported in yet.”

“If anyone should be out there it should be me,” June said. “I’m the damn mech pilot.”

“Without a Reaper chip,” Jay reminded her. “And sorry to say that even with all the Stronghold tech I still can’t build an interface that doesn’t need a chip to work.”

“Then give me a fucking rifle,” June snapped. “Let me fight something!”

“If I’m valuable then you are just as valuable,” Capreze said. “With Themopolous in the field you’re in charge of the medics and infirmary.” Capreze looked out at the wasteland and the battle that raged. “And we are going to need those skills soon.”

“Commander?” Jethro asked. “I’m picking up something weird.”

“Can you be more specific?” Capreze asked.

“If I could I would,” Jethro replied. “I have proximity warnings going off, but sensors can’t find anything.”

“How is that possible?” Capreze asked.

“Some of the systems can detect shifts in air density,” Jethro responded. “It’s mainly for weather and making sure a freak waste storm doesn’t hit us off guard.”

“And you’re saying there’s a storm about to hit?”

“No, sir,” Jethro answered. “Not at all. What I’m saying is that the air about twenty yards in front of you is denser than the air around it. There’s something there.”

Jay shook his head as he looked out at the empty space. “You’re losing your cyber mind,” Jay said. “There isn’t a damn thing out there.”

June squinted her eyes and studied the space Jethro was talking about. There was a slight shimmer then it was gone. She walked over to a locker by the side of the hangar opening and grabbed a carbine and magazine.

“June? What are you doing?” Capreze asked.

“Listening to Jethro,” she replied as she shouldered the rifle and walked carefully out of the hangar.

She cringed as the Railer cannons fired, but didn’t let the carnage out beyond the perimeter distract her. She walked right up to where she thought she saw the shimmer and stopped. There was nothing unusual about the space. The ground looked undisturbed and as far as she could tell she was the only thing out there.

Then the air ripped right open and a door appeared about twenty feet above her head. A ramp started to slide from the bottom of the door and June had to leap out of the way to avoid getting hit. She came up on one knee and took aim at the door as it slid open.

“Well, howdy, Miss,” Edgar Styles said with a tip of his cowboy hat. “Sorry about that. Didn’t notice you there. Are you alright?”

June just stared at the cowboy hat wearing pilot, her eyes not believing what was right in front of her.

“Yeah, I’m guessing I’ve caught you off guard,” Styles nodded. “Name’s Edgar Styles. The First. Trust me, you’ll want to remember that number.”

“Who…who the fuck are you?” June asked as she heard foot falls behind her. She didn’t look, but as the sound of slides being pulled back reached her ears she guessed Capreze had sent out some of the Railers to back her up.

“I just told ya,” Styles replied, grinning at the show of force. “Edgar Styles the First. I’m captain of BTT1.” He slapped the invisible hull of the aircraft then laughed. “Aw, shit! I forgot to uncloak the little lady!”

He walked back inside the door and was gone for just a second when the entire aircraft suddenly appeared before everyone. Gasps and calls rang out and June took a couple steps back.

“There we are,” Styles said as he came back. “I hear that y’all could use a little help?”

“What the hell is that?” Capreze asked as he walked past the Railers and June and stood at the bottom of the ramp. “I’d like a few answers please.”

“This is the BTT,” Styles grinned. “One bad ass mother fucking aircraft that can help with your little zombie problem out there. I have enough firepower to make a pretty good dent in that horde.”

“Ok,” Capreze said. “I thank you for the offer to assist, but will one of those really make a difference?”

“Just this one?” Styles shrugged. “It could. But I don’t really like to gamble so I brought a few more.”

Styles raised his hand above his head and gave a thumbs up. The air above everyone shimmered then filled with BTTs.

“I’m thinking maybe another fifty might do the trick?” Styles smirked. “And in case you are wondering about my intentions I have a holo here to show you from the Emperor of Brazil. He can vouch for me.”

“There’s an Emperor of Brazil?” June asked Capreze.

“Fuck if I know,” Capreze shrugged. “I can’t keep all this shit straight. Someone’s gonna have to draw me a goddamn map at some point.”