Metal and Ash (Apex Trilogy) (43 page)

“Oh, the holo will explain it all,” Styles said. “Can we project it inside?”

“Holo?” Capreze asked. “Not sure what you’re talking about. Is it a vid?”

“Vid?” Styles asked, puzzled. “You mean like flat screen? That’s data work, man. How about you come aboard and I’ll show you.” Styles walked down the ramp and extended his hand. “I am guessing you’re the famous Commander Capreze? It’s good to meet ya.”

Capreze took the offered hand and shook it. “Good to meet you too, Captain Styles,” Capreze replied. “But I don’t really have time to watch any vids. We have a bit of a battle going on.”

Styles circled his finger in the air and the BTTs above banked and shot towards the zombies.

“Not for long,” Styles grinned. “The holo will only take a minute or two. You thirsty? I have a fully stocked bar inside. Some of the best whiskey you can find.”

“Bar?” Jay asked, suddenly appearing at Capreze’s side. “Being Chief Mechanic, I better go see this holo and have a look inside this machine.”

Capreze grinned. “I guess you better. Captain Styles? I have two minutes to watch the vid.”

“Holo, Commander,” Styles corrected.

“Yes, holo, fine,” Capreze nodded as he walked up the ramp. “Two minutes.”

“No more, I promise,” Styles nodded as he showed Capreze and Jay into the BTT.

“I’ll just wait out here!” June called after them. “Assholes.”

***

Alarms filled the cockpit, as well as smoke and sparks, as Masters watched helpless. His mech was being ripped apart from the outside in and he couldn’t do anything.

“Shitty way to go,” Masters said to himself. “Really shitty way.”

Steam hissed from a busted line and Masters scrambled to shut down the system. He stared up at the cockpit hatch and the hundreds and hundreds of deader faces smashed up against it, their teeth gnashing and craving the warm flesh inside. The hatch windshield started to crack and Masters sighed.

“Yeah, fuck you,” Masters said as he flipped them off. “You’re coming to eat me and shit. Blah-dee-fucking-blah.”

The ground shook and shuddered and Masters braced himself as the Tumbler shifted to the side. Another shudder happened and Masters wondered if an earthquake was hitting. But the timing between shudders didn’t seem right.

In just a second he watched as deaders started to be yanked back from the cockpit hatch. In only a moment he was able to see light and sky again.

And Stomper standing over him, plucking up deaders and flinging them into the wasteland.

“Hey, big guy,” Masters said. “How’d you get through all those fucks to get to me?”

“Leapfrog,” Stomper said. “Jump, jump, jump.”

“Nice,” Masters smiled then frowned as he looked past Stomper’s form and focused on the sky above. “Uh…what the fuck?”

Stomper checked his sensors. “Flies? Are those flies for the leapfrog?”

“This fucking place just keeps getting weirder,” Masters said. “I am seeing those things right? Are they fucking flying?”

“It would appear so,” Stomper said as he swatted away about twenty deaders that tried to attack Masters’s mech again. “Hmmm. We have to find a way to get you out of your mech.”

“Nah, just give me a hand up,” Masters replied. “I can keep fighting.” The mech hand Masters tried to extend didn’t budge. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Stomper responded. “You do not see the damage that I see. That mech will not be tumbling again.”

Deaders began to climb Stomper’s legs and he had to shake and dance to keep them off. Master’s cockpit was overrun instantly and plunged back into a dead flesh tinged darkness. There were just too many for them to fend off.

The sky opened up above Masters and Stomper. Not with rain, but with heavy caliber bullets as the BTTs started to systematically clear the undead from around Masters and Stomper. Already dead bodies fell to the wasteland ground truly dead, their corpses torn apart. The dirt was covered in filth and the parts of deaders that still moved due to their brains not being pierced.

That was corrected with near surgical precision as one by one the still moving were silenced by perfectly accurate single shots.

***

“STOP!” the Pope shouted over the com. “HOW DARE YOU?!” The man looked up at the BTTs in disgust and awe. He couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.

“You bring flying demons into this fight, Capreze?” the Pope scolded. “You have not only made a deal with Satan himself, but you have become one of his minions!”

“What the fuck are you babbling about, Pope?” Capreze asked, more than amused by the man’s tone. “You came at me.”

“Those are outsiders!” the Pope shouted. “They are not from the wasteland! You have brought foreign devils to our land to usurp our rightful place with God!”

“I’m not usurping shit, asshole,” Capreze snapped. “You brought your fucking horde to wipe me out! I got lucky and had some help show up. Stop acting like a crybaby and realize it’s over for you! You have ten seconds to surrender or those aircraft open fire again and wipe you off the face of this planet!”

“I will never-!”

“Nine!”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Eight!”

“I am a man of God!”

“Seven!”

“You will have the wrath of God upon you!”

“Six!”

“The Disciples cannot be held back!”

“Five!”

“Their day will come!”

“Four!”

“And the righteous will rise!”

“Three!”

“Damn you, Capreze!”

“Two!”

“You will rot in Hell for this.”

“One!”

“Hold on!” Jethro interrupted. “Everybody just chill the guns, okay?”

“Jethro, get off the com,” Capreze ordered. “Mr. Styles? Fire at will.”

“No, Goddammit!” Jethro shouted. “We need them!”

The com was silent from all ends.

“What?” Capreze finally asked.

“Remember that mass that has crossed the border and is on its way across the wasteland?” Jethro asked. “We thought they were just deaders, right?”

“Yes, so?” Capreze replied. “I think we’ve shown we can handle them.”

“No, we can’t,” Jethro said. “The Mayor’s people have been handing me data for hours now. Those aren’t just deaders, Commander.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Capreze asked. “You aren’t making sense?”

“Their signatures make them look like deaders,” Jethro explained. “And for all intents and purposes they are.”

“Get to the point, Jethro,” Capreze growled.

“I am, dammit! Shut the fuck up and let me finish,” Jethro snapped. “Uh, sir.”

“Then finish.”

“The data isn’t showing them shamble or walking,” Jethro said. “Or empty handed. They are armed and they are running right at us.”

“Armed?” Jay butted in. “Shoot that data to my tablet.”

“It’s there,” Jethro replied. “From what I’m looking at these are soldiers, man! Fucking undead soldiers! With rifles and shit!”

Capreze was silent as he looked at his own tablet and the data Jethro shared.

“That’s not all is that?” Capreze asked.

“No, sir,” Jethro answered. “They have more mechs mixed in with them. Plus transports.”

“I can take your people on an air assault,” Styles said. “You just say the word.”

“Thank you, Captain, but my folk are used to both feet on the ground,” Capreze answered.

“Or our entire body,” Masters said. “Anyone gonna help me get out of here?”

“Shut it, Mitch,” Capreze ordered. “You can sit tight.”

“I will not allow the Disciples to be used as your pawns, Capreze,” the Pope said. “I will fight to the death first!”

“Listen, jackass,” Jethro barked. “There are as many of them coming at us as there are of yours. And they have guns. You think they’re just coming here to slap us around? They’re gonna wipe the wasteland clean, man. Open your fucking eyes!”

As the Pope argued with Capreze and Jethro, an eight legged mech at the back of the deader horde quietly slunk away, trying to put as much distance between itself and the mess that had unfolded.

***

The Mayor sat in his chair and listened to the arguing. He smiled as each side tried to make their points, even though their points didn’t mean a damn thing.

“What now?” Talaria asked.

“Separate the channels again,” the Mayor said. “I think they’ve learned their lesson. We’ll let them tire themselves out then I’ll step in and get this wasteland reincarnation really going.”

Forty-Nine

Norton heard everything that Capreze, Jethro and the Pope said until the signal was cut short.

“What the fuck happened?” Norton shouted. “Get me that signal again!”

“We can’t, sir,” a tech said. “The channels are closed again. We are no longer broadcasting to the entire wasteland and they aren’t either.”

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again!” Norton roared. “I want our com locked down!”

“It is, sir,” another tech replied. “We had the program ready the moment our communications were freed.”

“Good,” Norton said, calming down slightly. “Get me the Three. I want to report that we are on schedule.”

“But our mechs were nearly destroyed and pushed back, sir,” the tech replied. “Won’t that anger them?”

“This is why you are a tech and I’m in charge,” Norton grinned. “What else happened, moron?” The tech didn’t answer. “Well, let me tell you. Two of Capreze’s best pilots were taken down.”

“But the other mechs-.”

“Do you want to get your head blown off?” Norton threatened. “My goal was to crush Harlow and Bisby. I did that. The retreating mechs will become part of the legion and join in the glory of our certain victory. The wasteland has been Hell for centuries, but it’s never seen hell like I’m bringing.”

***

“Not what we had planned,” Mr. Continental said. “The business with the Canadians.”

“All is well and on schedule, though,” Mr. Plain responded. “And our taking of Monterey was brilliant.”

“Quite,” Mr. Brown Eyes agreed.

The Three’s eyes fell on Ms. Isely as she sat at the end of the table from them.

“I did say Reginald would perform,” Ms. Isely stated. “No need to doubt me there.”

“Yes, well…,” Mr. Plain said. The rest of the sentence was left unsaid, but the entire room understood the implication.

***

Reginald was surprisingly energized as he changed the speeders’ mass from boats to HAVs (Heavy Assault Vehicle). The HAVs weren’t quite as large as he was used to dealing with, but the BC available was limited. He made due and there was still plenty of room for his troopers.

“No survivors, sir,” a trooper reported. “As requested, all wounded were executed.”

“Perfect,” Reginald replied as he lowered the ramp of an HAV and stepped inside. “Have the men rest in shifts. I want half alert at all times. We know nothing about all of the dangers of this wasteland. It could be scrub brush and Gila monsters, or it could be mutants like the Dead Zone.”

“Yes, sir,” the trooper nodded.

“Yes, sir,” Reginald said to himself, liking the sound of authority. “I am in charge now, Stone. No more second to you.”

“Sir?” a second trooper asked. “We have a scan of two vehicles a few miles ahead. They are giving off BC signatures.”

“So there are survivors?” Reginald asked. “That is disappointing. Send one HAV after them.”

“Kill on sight?”

“But of course.”

***

The mag-skiff Stone had put together was not suited for the rough ride across the wasteland and he stopped the vehicle only a few miles from Monterey with mountains looming before them.

“Those don’t look nice,” Mr. Gein said. “You know how to drive over mountains?”

“I know how to drive over anything,” Stone replied as he got out and made the design adjustments needed. The wheels were widened and the suspension lifted. Stone reinforced the undercarriage and strengthened the front grill. “There we go.”

Mr. Gein looked back and checked on their insurance, but Charlie was still unconscious.

“Why do you think they’ll care if he lives or dies, Stone?” Mr. Gein said.

“I would guess once they know who we are they’ll execute us on the spot.”

Stone tapped his temple. “Because I have all of the Three’s data on Capreze up here. He’ll care simply because he cares.” Stone looked at the barren ridges and peaks. “Even in this piece of shite land, that man has figured out a way to keep his humanity. Normally I’d laugh at that, but it is a lucky stroke for us.”

Mr. Gein nodded. “So then that’s the plan for the future,” he looked at the mountains. “But what about the present? How are we getting through these things?”

Stone smiled. “I say we just follow the other skiff that’s ahead of us.” Stone handed Mr. Gein a pair of binocs he had fashioned earlier.

Mr. Gein looked through the binocs and frowned. “That’s a jack skiff, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Stone replied.

“Why would we follow that?”

“Because the person driving that skiff is a Ghost,” Stone smirked. “A certain Melissa Bretton. I’d recognize that genetic signature anywhere.”

Mr. Gein looked over at Stone as he set the binocs down. “How in the hell could you possibly know that?”

Stone tapped his temple again. “I can see the cancer that’s forming in your liver, Gein. You think picking out a jack from a bunch of mountain rocks is difficult?”

Mr. Gein blanched at the comment, but kept silent as Stone drove the skiff forward into the mountains.

***

The pain wasn’t horrible, but it was enough to rouse Mathew back to consciousness. That and the never ending bouncing and banging of the mag-skiff as it struggled up an old, barely visible highway pass through the mountains. He tried to steady himself as he sat up, but realized that just hanging on for dear life was going to have to do.

“You okay back there?” Melissa asked as she navigated around a couple of boulders that took the skiff dangerously close to a two thousand foot drop off. “You’re Matty, right? The guy she’s been asking for?”