AntiBio: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (15 page)

29

Hoagie sprints around the front of the transport, his rifle firing at the fleeing transport. He tags it a couple of times, but the blasts aren’t enough to take out the vehicle’s StatShield.

“Fuck!” he shouts as he gives up the chase, his legs still weak from the stunning Blaze had given him.

He turns and only his battle reflexes save him from being sliced open by the front blades of the Slide that speeds past. Snapping his rifle into a baton, Hoagie breathes
deeply and runs at the Slide as the rider turns it about, ready for another go at the operator.

But that rider doesn’t get the chance as Hoagie brings his baton down onto the man’s neck, right in the space where helmet and body armor meet. Blue static arcs and the rider convulses as Hoagie sends wave after wave of static pulses into the man’s body.

The air is filled with the smell of burning skin and melted alloy steel as the rider’s body tumbles to the ground. Hoagie braces the Slide then hops up onto it, his hands slipping into the control ports in the front. He tries to dial his helmet into the Slide’s system, but the machine will not comply.

“Old school then,” Hoagie says as he sends the Slide rocketing forward and back into the fray.

The other five Slides have split and two are converging on Ton while three head towards Paulo. Hoping the riders see Ton as the lesser threat, Hoagie aims for the Slides firing at Paulo. He tries to initiate the Slide’s weapons system, but nothing will obey.

So he lets go of the control ports and leans back, his baton snapping into a pistol. Firing again and again, Hoagie hits the closest slide, knocking it off course and into the other two. The three vehicles skid to a stop before they can collide and do some real damage. All three riders’ heads turn and Hoagie realizes quickly that he’s outnumbered and outgunned.

“Shit,” he says, firing his pistol a couple more times before he jams his left hand into a control port and spins the Slide around. “Time to run.”

The hum of the hover skids on his Slide increases in volume until it is an
ear-piercing whine. Hoagie tucks his baton into his belt and concentrates on keeping the Slide under control as he pushes the vehicle to its top speed.

The Slides behind him try to gain ground, but they have to deal with the constant chaos of the twists and turns of the road as Hoagie leads them away from the GenSOF transport. Not used to the vehicle, Hoagie struggles to maintain his balance as he dips and swerves his way through the Sicklands. Even with the powerful headlights of the Slide, it’s nearly impossible to make out all the boulders and spears of stone that stick out here and there along the road. The brief idea to take the Slide deep into the Sicklands, off-road, is quickly pushed aside as Hoagie nearly loses his head to an outcropping on his left.

All along his sides, blue static blasts rip into the terrain, creating a gauntlet of stone shrapnel. Hoagie can feel the pieces of granite and slate tear into his armor and doesn’t know how much more he can take. His StatShield is obviously down, and without the integration of his visor with the Slide, he has no idea where he’s going or if he’s even headed after the Clean Guard transport or back towards Caldicott City.

The whine of his Slide is joined by the sounds of the others and he risks a glance over his shoulder. All three are right there, only inches off his tail. They have only been playing with him.

Hoagie weighs his options.

He can keep running, leading the Slides farther and farther away from the GenSOF transport, hoping it gives Paulo an advantage so he can take out the two left back there and keep Ton from getting killed.

Or he can hit the brakes, let the three Slides ram into him and sort it out from there. He could live, he could die, he could be horribly maimed and end up with his limbs strewn across the Sicklands.

He tries to come up with a third option, but all he has are variations of the first two.

“Fuck it,” Hoagie snarls as he cuts the power to the Slide’s hover skids.

The machine drops like a rock to the ground and Hoagie is thrown free as the machine flips end over end, tearing itself apart against the rocks and stone that had plagued Hoagie’s flight. The three Slides behind him don’t have a chance to adjust their course and collide with
his Slide and each other. White armored riders are flung into the landscape, their bodies hitting hard against the unforgiving terrain.

Hoagie’s vision is clouded by grit, and he tries to wipe it from his eyes, but his left arm won’t obey, pinned under a rock, while his right only responds with waves of shooting agony. He looks over and can see the bones of his radius sticking out of the black armor that covers his forearm. Glancing at his right
leg, he can see things are even worse there from the unnatural angle it lies.

“Not…good,” he croaks as he spits blood and dirt from his mouth.

He knows he needs to get his left arm free and draw his weapon, as he hears the crunch of boots on gravel, but it is wedged too tightly under the rock. The rock must have shifted just enough when he hit it to trap his arm, and without his other arm to shove it loose, he’s stuck tight.

The boot steps get louder and louder, and Hoagie cranes his neck around, trying to find which direction they are coming from.

Then, standing above him is a vision out of a nightmare.

It’s not the white of the Clean Guard he expected, but the dirty browns and greys of Sicklands rags. Covered from head to toe in a variety of materials, a man stares down at Hoagie, his eyes obscured by thick, black goggles. In his hands is a long rifle, a model Hoagie hasn’t seen in years. The muzzle of the rifle starts to glow blue and Hoagie closes his eyes.

When the blast comes, Hoagie is ready. He has said his goodbyes to the world many times before heading out on missions, and this one was no exception. His conscience is clear and despite the fucked up nature of everything, he knows he’s going to die with honor.

A second blast and a third is heard and Hoagie wonders why he can’t feel them. Did he break his neck or back in the crash? Is he paralyzed?

No, no, he can feel his broken arm and leg pretty fucking well.

He cracks open an eye and sees the man standing over him, rifle to his shoulder, firing blast after blast. Then Hoagie realizes those aren’t the only blasts he’s hearing. He watches the man calmly keep firing until he at last lowers the rifle.

“Clear!” he shouts, throwing up his hand and giving a thumbs up. “Marco?”

“Clear, boss!” someone shouts.

“Collette?”

“Clear here, Red!”

“Nick?”

“We are covered, boss! What now?”

The man crouches by Hoagie’s head and lifts up his goggles, he pulls the rags away from his face and smiles down at the operator.

“What’s your name, operator?” the man asks.

“Uh…GenSOF Sergeant Courier Class Hogarth Menendez,” Hoagie replies.

“Good to meet you, operator,” the man says, patting Hoagie on the shoulder. “I’m Red. How’s about we get you clear of that rock and try to fix that arm and leg up for ya?”

“Yeah, uh, that would be great,” Hoagie says. “But…who the fuck are you?”

“Who do I look like?” Red asks.

“A Cootie,” Hoagie replies.

“Good,” Red smiles. “That’s the look I was going for.” He puts his fingers to his lips and whistles loud. A bug hound trots up next to him and sits, waiting for orders. “Zeus? This is GenSOF Sergeant Courier Class Hogarth Menendez.” He looks down at Hoagie again. “You got a nickname, son? I don’t think you like being called Hogarth.”

“Hoagie,” Hoagie replies. “I go by Hoagie.”

“Zeus, this is Hoagie,” Red tells the dog who is normal sized and clean, not like the massive animals that attacked Zebra squad back at the transport. “He’s good people, got it? No eating.”

Zeus barks once then licks Hoagie’s face.

“Good boy,” Red says as he stands and whistles again. “Coffin squad! Let’s get this operator free and hoof it back to that transport! There are still two Slides to deal with!”

Boots hurry towards them and Hoagie is soon staring up at three more rag-covered people, each holding a different type of rifle with their own healthy looking bug hounds standing at their sides. One of the people nods and kneels down next to the rock that has Hoagie pinned.

“Should be easy enough,” the man says, placing his shoulder against the rock. “Squad ready?”

“We got him,” a woman says as she grabs Hoagie’s good leg while Red grabs his shoulders. The third man stands over them, his rifle up, covering the area while they work.

“Hey, hey, wait!” Hoagie shouts.

But they don’t.

He screams as he’s pulled free and his broken limbs bounce across the ground.

“Sorry about that,” Red says. “But we’re in a hurry.”

“Yeah…” Hoagie gasps. Despite being trained to swallow levels of pain that would kill others, Hoagie stays conscious for approximately two seconds.

“He held out longer than I thought,” Marco says.

“GenSOF all the way,” Red smiles. “Get him up and let
’s go.”

30

The two Slides lay on the ground, their riders between them, using the vehicles for cover as one rider shoots at Paulo hiding behind the pile of bug hound corpses and the other shoots at the transport where Milo I shooting from the hatch, using the cylinder for cover.

“Eventually you’ll run out of charge on those pistols!” Paulo shouts.

“You will too!” a rider yells at him.

“But can you kill me with your bare hands?” Paulo asks.

“We’re Clean Guard!” the other rider shouts, firing at Milo.

“That doesn’t answer the question!” Milo yells, returning the fire.

He ducks down as three successive blasts nail the cylinder. A loud hissing is heard and the cylinder control lights turn from green to red. Seams appear on the side and the top slides away.

“What the hell?” Jersey asks, her voice groggy. She starts to sit up, but Milo shoves her back in the cylinder. “Hey!”

“You want to get your head blown off, lady?” Milo asks. “Stay down!”

The two riders look at each other, check their weapons, and decide to make a move towards Paulo since he has the least cover. They leap from behind the Slides and rush forward, pistol
s up and firing.

But they only get a couple steps before they go flying, their bodies knocked to the ground by several static blasts.

“Clear!” Marco shouts, kneeling by the corner of the transport. “Operators! Do you hear me?”

“We hear you,” Milo replies. “Who the hell are you?”

“Coffin squad,” Marco says. “We’re the cavalry.”

“There is no Coffin squad in GenSOF!” Paulo yells. “Nice try, you C
lean Guard fucks!”

“That’s because we aren’t GenSOF,” Red says from behind Paulo. His rifle is up, but his hand is out in a placating gesture. “Don’t shoot, okay?”

Munch is at Paulo’s side and he starts to growl, but stops when Zeus steps next to Red. The two bug hounds watch each other then Munch sits, his mouth open, tongue hanging out. Zeus matches the behavior.

“See?” Red says. “All cool, operator.”

Paulo looks at the way the man carries himself and holds his weapon, realizing even if he can turn and shoot fast enough to hit the man, he doubts he’ll live through it, even with Munch’s help. Who doesn’t look like he’ll be much help at all. Paulo sets his rifle aside and it snaps back into short baton form. Munch whines a little, but stays by his operator’s side, still casually watching Zeus.

“That’s new,” Red says, looking at the baton. “How does it change mass like that?”

“Not a clue,” Paulo says. “Been trying to work that out myself for years now.”

“Years?” Red asks, kneeling down, trying to look less threatening, but staying out of striking range. “That means they must have been in development
just as I got out. Bummer I didn’t have a chance to take one with me. Sure would beat lugging this around.”

He pats his rifle and Paulo studies the weapon.

“Horstein LK-92?” Paulo asks. “Those have been out of use since before I became Courier Class.” He looks into Red’s eyes. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Red,” Red smiles, offering his hand then pulling it back. “Not going to try anything, are you?”

“I wouldn’t admit it if I was,” Paulo says. “But pieces are falling into place, so no, I don’t think I will.”

Red offers his hand again and Paulo takes it. Red stands and helps Paulo to his feet as Munch watches them both closely.

“Good dog,” Red says.

“Yeah, he is,” Paulo says. “So’s yours.”

“Thanks,” Red says. “You injured?”

“Nope,
just took a tumble,” Paulo says. “I got lucky.”

“That you did,” Red nods. “Let’s check on the rest of your squad. Care to tell your friend in the transport not to shoot?”

“Milo? Chill,” Paulo calls out. “Friendlies, not hostiles.”

“And you confirmed that how?” Milo yells.

“Because I’m still alive to say they are friendlies and not hostiles!” Paulo yells back.

“Makes sense,” Milo says. “Where’s everyone else?”

“My people have Hoagie,” Red nods as Collette and Nick carry the unconscious sergeant from around the transport, Marco leading the way, rifle up and watching everything. Their bug hounds follow behind then split up, setting a perimeter around the area. Zeus goes and joins them. “He had a spill fighting off Slide riders. Won’t be using that arm or leg for a while.”

“If the transport was working we could get him patched up,” Paulo says, waving at the upside down vehicle. “But that ain’t happening soon.” Munch trots off and picks a spot in the bug hound perimeter. The other dogs spread themselves out so they are evenly spaced. “Hey! Seriously, dog? Oh, never mind.”

“What’s wrong with the transport?” Jersey asks, sitting up from the cylinder. She looks at Milo. “I’m assuming it’s all safe?”

“We’re in the Sicklands, lady,” Milo says. “Nothing is safe out here.”

“What the hell?” Red asks, stopping where he stands. “Why are you here? Jersey? What is going on?”

She looks over and her eyes go wide. “Red?” She looks around her. “Wait? What’s happening?”

“We got word it was going down,” Red says. “Tracked the signal as soon as the transport left Caldicott City. I have three squads waiting about forty clicks ahead, ready to pounce. When the transport didn’t show as scheduled I grabbed my squad and hiked it this way.”

“Crap,” Jersey says, rubbing her forehead. “I must have been tagged
somehow. Last thing I remember was getting my day’s quota ready for pick up. The bell rang, I opened the door, and that’s it.”

“Jesus,” Red says. “If they know about you then others may be compromised.”

“No shit,” Jersey says. “You just figuring that out?”

Red raises a finger and frowns at her. She holds up her hands apologetically.

“Sorry, sorry, getting human trafficked makes me grumpy,” Jersey says. She studies the transport and matches Red’s frown. “You know this should be the other side up, right?”

“
Someone, tell me what’s going on,” Paulo says as he kneels next to Ton’s body. Snorts lies next to her operator, her eyes studying everything carefully.

“Good girl,” Paulo says and pats
Snorts’ head.

“He alive?” Milo asks.

“He’s breathing,” Paulo says. “But pretty banged up. That doctor went all ape shit on him.”

“Doctor Mona DeBeers,” Red spits. “Ape shit doesn’t begin to describe her.
That woman has some loose screws up top.”

Jersey gasps and scrambles up out of the cylinder. She stumbles past Milo and wedges herself into a corner of the transport.

“She’s that scary?” Milo asks.

“No, no, my StatShield is off,” she says. “This is the Sicklands. You are all GenSOF. I’m fucking dead.”

“Oh,” Milo says. “Yeah, that is not good.”

Red appears at the transport hatch, but backs off when Tequila stands and raises his hackles, a low rumble coming from his throat
as he blocks Red’s way.

“Tequila, calm,” Milo says. The bug hound lies down, but doesn’t move from the hatch opening.

“Thanks,” Red says and nods at Milo then looks over at Jersey. “Press your wrist. Just calm down and press your wrist. It was taken offline when you were put into stasis.”

Jersey nods, her bottom lip trembling. “Oh, right, yeah. I’m not supposed to leave CC. That’s not my job, not part of the plan. I’m intel and tech, not get sick and die.” She presses her wrist and blue static shimmers over her. “Let’s hope I haven’t already been exposed to anything lethal.”

“You can StatMist when we get the transport up and running,” Red says. “Think you are up for that?”

Jersey looks around and studies the condition the vehicle is in. She sees the cables sticking out from the wall. “Yeah, if that isn’t too much of a mess. Who just starts yanking cables out?”

“Me! And again, will someone tell us what is going on?” Paulo asks, leaving Ton and walking over to check on Hoagie as Nick and Collette set him down. “You people are obviously trained, but you said you weren’t GenSOF.”

“Not anymore,” Marco says. “Not after what they did to us.”

“I wish Ton were awake,” Red says. “He’d be useful as I try to explain.”

“Wait, you know LT?” Milo asks. “Jesus…are you-”

He’s cut off as the line of dogs start to make quiet woofing sounds. Not barks, but loud enough to get everyone’s attention.

Red, Marco, Nick, Collette, and Paulo all spin and raise their rifles as someone walks out of the darkness.

“Just me,” the boy says. “Can someone cut me loose?”

The kid walks closer and the dogs part, letting him through. They close ranks on Gorge, who is trailing the boy, but after some butt
sniffing, they decide she’s good and let her through. She trots up and sits next to the kid, her eyes on Red, then sniffs the air and looks towards the transport. She runs to it and hurries inside, stopping right next to Jersey. She sniffs again and then gives a low whine, her tail wagging slightly.

“She knows you? How?” Milo asks. “Who the hell are you, lady?”

“Long story,” Jersey says, carefully reaching out and patting Gorge on the head. “Hey, girl. You know my smell, don’t you? Smelled it on your daddy? Where is your daddy?”

“Uh, we don’t really consider ourselves bug hound daddies,” Milo says.

“Well, you should,” Jersey snaps.

Outside, Red smiles down at the boy.

“Hey, son,” Red says. “You okay, Jude?”

“As always, Pop,” the boy replies, turning to show his wrists. “Cut me?”

Red pulls a knife from his belt and slits the binding, freeing Jude’s wrist.

“Pop? Jude?” Paulo asks. “Will someone tell me who you are be
fore I lose my freaking mind?” He stops and takes a step back. “Wait…you’re GenWrecks, aren’t you?”

“GenWrecks?” Jude grins, rubbing his wrists.
He wipes his forehead and the “sores” come right off. He flicks the gunk to the ground and wipes his hand on his clothes. “I hate that name.”

“We’re the resistance,” Jersey
calls out.

“Part of it,” Red says. “And we won’t be for much longer unless we can get the transport up and going.”

“On it,” Jersey says. “Think you big strong soldiers can flip this thing?”

“Not without the hover skids at least partially operational,” Red says.

“We can use the Slides,” Marco says.

“Good call. Make that happen,” Red responds then looks at Paulo. “You cool, operator? You look a little green.”

“I’m solid, man,” Paulo says. “Just confused as hell.”

“We get the transport up and Worm will explain it all,” Red says. “But right
now, we need to flip this bitch and get moving. They get Blaze to Control and shit is going to get a lot harder.”

“Blaze is at Co
ntrol?” Jersey cries. “No! They’ll slice and dice him up!”

“Exactly, so you better hustle your ass with the fixing,” Red says.

“On it,” Jersey nods.