Biohell (33 page)

“A dead end,” nodded Franco.

“Did you steal anything else from
the woman?”

“I got her cards.” He stared at
his red gloss boots, trying to remember. “I sold them on, as well. What was her
name?” He frowned, squinting, then his face lit up in a smile. “Christiane
Solomonsson. That’s right. A proper weird name; even against the craziness of
The City.”

“Never heard of her,” said
Keenan.

“I have,” said Franco. Keenan
looked at him inquisitively. “You have?”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing at his
temples. His eyes were closed. “She works for NanoTek. She’s a top-dog military
biomod engineer. A weapons designer.
Shit.”

~ * ~

CHAPTER 9

INFERNAL AFFAIRS

“Those
zombies, they were deadly, dangerous, vicious... not like the ones we met
before!” Franco’s eyes were wide as he set up the burner and sat a big pan atop
thin TitaniumII legs. He fished through his rations, tipping dried noodles,
tinned CubeSausage, and salt into the pan. Knuckles arrived with a jerry can
and Franco poured water into the soon-to-be-Franco-stew.

“They were different,” agreed
Knuckles. “But you... you fought well, Big Man. You were fast, fearless. A
hero! You saved us all.”

“A hero?” Franco scratched his
beard. “I wouldn’t go that far, lad, but yeah, you little, helpless children,
you needed my support. Hey, hey what’s that?”

Sammy, one of the young girls,
was playing with a Scope.

Franco’s eyes narrowed. “That’s
mine, you thieving little scumbag!”

Keenan slapped him on the back. “Kids
giving you a hard time, mate?”

Franco grinned sheepishly. “Nah,
boys will be boys an’ all that. Listen, we was talking, about them damned
dangerous zombies. It was like they were super-zombies, über-zombies...” his
lips quivered, eyes widening yet further, “even... wonder-zombies!”

“
Wonder
-zombies? Franco,
are you still on your medication?”

“No, I am not!” Indignant.

“Well maybe you should be.”

The PAD rattled, and when Franco
managed to wrestle it from the iron-grip of Little Megan,
who just would not
bloody let go,
he activated the machine and glanced up at Keenan.

“Hey Kee, it’s Steinhauer—that
stinking old flabby bitch of a donkey’s bitch. He wants you.”

Keenan nodded, lit his Widow
Maker cigarette, and took the PAD from Franco. The wind howled across the high
vantage roof top, and Franco went back to his pan and the promise of food for
the orphans, the kid-thieves, the
gang.
Keenan walked to the edge of The
Happy Friendly Sunshine Assurance Company’s corrugated roof and leapt onto the
low parapet, gazing down into the blackness of streets far, far below. Like a
deep concrete ocean. A graveyard chasm. The wind rocked him, and he felt
suddenly invigorated—a few hours earlier, he had been close to death, to a
watery grave. Now he stood, a saviour. Yes, it was only a small victory; but
sometimes a small victory was all that was needed between survival... and
extinction.

“Yeah, Steinhauer?”

“We have located the Professor.”

“What’s he called?”

“Xakus. An expert in codecs and
all things bio-mechanical. He’s currently holed up with an academic mob at The
Great Malkovitch Library, about eighty klicks due south of your current
location. He’s an ex-NanoTek biomod engineer. And let’s just say he owes
Quad-Gal Military a few favours.”

“We’ve lost our transport.”

“Well, we’d fast-drop you a ship,”
said Steinhauer, “but it would seem the, ah, deformations have taken over a
variety of military installations across the entire planet. They’re shooting
down aircraft like there’s no tomorrow. The City has become a no-fly zone.”

“You mean they’re controlling SAM
sites?”

“Yes, Keenan. They are showing
far more intelligence and resilience than we initially gave them credit.”

“Now there’s a surprise,” said
Keenan. “Considered them a backward race, did you? Easy targets? A lot less
technically advanced than QGM? Steinhauer, mate, after all the shite we’ve been
through, you should have fucking known better.”

“When you know the full facts of
the situation, Keenan, then you may judge,” said Steinhauer, voice icy. “But
for now, just do your job. Did you link up with Franco and Pippa?”

“Franco, yeah.”

“Not the girl?”

Keenan smiled at that. “If Pippa
heard that, she’d cut your throat.”

“Which is what makes her a
perfect field operative. Do I need to reiterate co-ordinates...”

“No.” Keenan’s voice was hard.
Too hard. He watched below as a fire blossomed, raging down the street to
ignite a distant fuel tanker. Flames roared into the sky, billowing orange and
purple. Even a hundred storeys up Keenan could feel the heat.

“You OK Keenan?”

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“You be careful. Every report we
receive, well, our intel speaks of insanity, atrocity, murder and mayhem.”

“And that’s just the Quad-Gal
infantry.”

“You taking the piss, Keenan?”

“I don’t need to, Steinhauer. You’re
giving it away—labelled in glass bottles for all to savour and enjoy. Did you
sort out the mess on Galhari? After all, it’s the place I call home.”

“Get me that decoded SinScript
information, Keenan. Then we’ll talk about the junks.”

The PAD died, fluttering with an
EXTERMINATION command in Keenan’s hand. He finished his cigarette, smoke
whipped away by the promise of another storm; he flicked the butt into the
raging inferno far below.

Franco approached, warily.

“You OK, bro?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what to say
about Mel.”

Franco shrugged. “There will be a
way to cure her. I will find it. Even if I have to waltz up to NanoTek’s major
HQ and bang on the doors and demand to see their chief bio-engineer!” He
laughed. His eyes glinted. “Now there’s a thought.”

“I need to leave,” said Keenan.
He lit another cigarette, and Franco tutted. He didn’t approve of Keenan
smoking. “I have the co-ordinates for the man who can decode this.” He placed a
hand against his ribs, where the SinScript sat in its protective case within
his WarSuit; a tiny, inoffensive black coin. So small. Vulnerable. Yet holding
the secrets to an extinct invading
race.

“We will come with you.”

“No.” Keenan shook his head. “You
see to Melanie. After all, at the moment her bite is worse than her bark.”

“Funny, Keenan. You’re getting
better. We’ll book you a spot at The Frog and Bucket soon enough. But,
seriously, you helped us get this far; it’s the least we can do to repay you.”

“Perhaps. Listen, these people
may be able to help Mel. They are professors, academics; the man I need to see
is ex-NanoTek.”

“Interesting.” Franco rubbed at
his beard, which made scritchy scratchy sounds.

“He’s also an ex-biomod engineer.”

“Well then!” roared Franco, “that’s
definitely our next port of call!”

“Can you get us transport?”

“You want a chopper?”

Keenan shook his head. “Steinhauer
says the zombies have taken over the SAM sites.”

“What, across the entire damn and
bloody planet?”

“It would seem that way.” Keenan
gave a tight smile. “Mighty advanced, our little drooling, undead friends, aren’t
they? A bit more intelligent than fried chicken.”

“Yeah. Just a bit. Well, give me
thirty minutes. I’ll knock us some transport together.”

“And Franco?”

“Yeah mate?”

“Make sure it works this time. I
remember the T5 Jeep you got us on Jeptune.”

“Hey, that exploding engine wasn’t
my fault!”

“It sure looked that way at the
time. It took me weeks to get engine oil out of my hair.”

“This time, it’ll be right mate.
Or my name’s not
Grease Monkey Mick.”

“But...”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing,” sighed Keenan.

~ * ~

Mel,
armed with a chainsaw and her talons, had successfully chased the zombies from
the building— exterminating most en route. A few had escaped, mainly by jumping
out of windows under Mel’s furious violent whirlwind onslaught. Several had
ended up in pieces, scattered liberally about the office locations. Thankfully,
she did not come up against any more
wonder
zombies.

Securing doors, Mel had padded
around the building with glowering eyes, like some futuristic Grendel. She
activated security shutters, managed to get the lifts back online, and seemed
happy (grunting and growling) that she was finally on a mission; doing
something of good, of
worth.

Returning to the roof, she
squatted next to Keenan who sat, hands on his knees, head back against a wall,
eyes closed, cigarette dangling from battered lips. He opened one eye.

“What can I do for you, love?”

“Grwwll. Ilding ecure.”

“Is it? You sure?” Mel nodded,
tiny eyes watching Keenan. “Listen,” he said, “I appreciate you saving my life.
I don’t know what the hell has happened to you, but we’ll do our best to help.
We are going to see a biomod engineer... he should know how to revert you back
to your feminine form.”

Mel nodded, armoured neck
crackling.

Why doesn’t she look like the
other zombies? Keenan thought idly, watching as she moved away, across to the
group of children. They had grown used to her now, and even Little Megan—who
had screamed the building down when she awoke to see Mel’s distorted face
looming over her, drooling pus—was happy playing between the transformed woman’s
thick, muscle-trunk legs.

Keenan shook his head, wearily,
painfully. “What a weird world we live in.”

“Talking to yourself?”

“Shit. Lad, you move quietly.”

“Practice,” said Knuckles,
sitting cross-legged before Keenan. “Franco’s downstairs. Got us some
transport. Wait till you see it!”

“You are
not coming,” said Keenan, eyeing
the young thief.

“Yes
I am. I know this part of The
City better than anybody. I know all the back-routes to The Great Malkovitch
Library; I know the best places for ambush, for robbery, and I know the best
escape routes if the shit goes down. I’m a wheeler, a dealer, a ducker and a
diver. You see only a ten year old boy in front of you; but I am experienced
far beyond my years. You saved my life, Keenan.” Knuckles’s eyes were filled
with tears, but his face was a defiant snarl. “Let me do this for you. Let me
help you.”

“And who will look after your...
gang?” said Keenan. His voice was soft, an understanding of sorts registering
in his mind. Knuckles was proud, defiant, an adult in all but physical age.
Keenan had been the same when he was young, and he felt a bond grow between him
and this skinny little orphan with red gloss boots.