Date: 2015-06-02 04:00:00+00:00
Description: The Sicklands are burning.Coffin Squad, a mix of GenWrecks and GenSOF operators, races from GenWreck base to GenWreck base, only to find death and destruction. The abominations of the Sicklands -the cooties- have systematically destroyed everything they have come across, all in the name of an entity that no one can find- the Other.Now Coffin Squad, with the help of some unlikely allies, must leave the Sicklands and dive back into the Clean Nation stronghold of Caldicott City in a desperate attempt to keep GenSOF Command intact. Mysteries greet them, hordes of diseased citizens attack them, and
Publisher: SEVERED Press

AntiBio 2

The Control War

Jake Bible

Copyright 2015 by Jake Bible

Part One

Dusk

The children…

Little Jenna, her eyes so wide, her face so flushed.

Penny and Carlos, their hands grasping at my uniform, sparking from the static charge of the protective material, the life slipping from them.

Maude, knowing what is happening, but powerless to do anything, her face blank and set, her eyes locked onto mine.

My wife’s body lying in the hallway, lifeless, inert, just another casualty of a war that should be over, that is over, that was over a long, long time ago, that will never be over…

1

Naked and twitching, Dr. DeBeers squats in the corner of the isolation cell, her arms wrapped across her chest, her eyes flicking from one corner of the room to the next to the next to the next to the—

“Mona? Did you hear me?” Dr. April Charter asks as she crouches in front of her colleague. “Mona? I asked if you’d like to take a sonic and maybe get some food. Would you like that?”

Dr. DeBeers, the former ranking member of Control’s Management, just sits there, her eyes moving from corner to corner to corner.

“She hasn’t spoken in two days,” Dr. Richard Benz, Head of Bacterial Coding, sighs as he leans against the open doorway to the holding cell. “She’s been in this isolation cell for four weeks and only gotten worse.”

“I know, Richard,” Dr. Charter says, standing up from the still twitching form of Dr. DeBeers. “I have been watching her for four weeks.”

“Richard?” Dr. Benz chuckles. “Aren’t we informal this morning. Have I done something to curry favor with you, Dr. Charter?”

“You haven’t incinerated her yet,” Dr. Charter replies. “You have that going for you.”

Dr. Benz narrows his eyes and looks long and hard at his colleague; Dr. Charter does not look back, but keeps her eyes focused on Dr. DeBeers.

“Do you really think I’d kill Dr. DeBeers?” Dr. Benz asks finally, stepping from the doorway and into the isolation cell. He brushes past Dr. Charter and stands over Dr. DeBeers. “She is the greatest sample we’ve ever had here at Control. Inside her somewhere is the key to unlocking how we tame the Sicklands; how we take back this blasted country from the bacteria and filth that coat every square inch.”

“Do you really want to take it back?” Dr. Charter asks. “Or do you want to lock it up, make it an extension of Control? An extension of your control?”

“An extension of Him,” Dr. DeBeers says suddenly, her eyes finally leaving the corner the corner the corner and focusing on Dr. Benz and Dr. Charter. “We are all but an extension of Him. He has already won and you do not know it. She will not stop Him.”

The naked woman lets loose with a loud fart and Dr. Charter grabs Dr. Benz by the arm, quickly rushing him out of the isolation cell. The door slides closed just as Dr. DeBeers fills her hands with her own excrement and throws it after them. The waste hits the door and wall and splatters, sliding slowly to the floor. Both doctors watch this happen as they stand in the corridor outside the transparent isolation cell walls and door; a permanent view into madness.

There is a bright flash and the excrement is obliterated from the room, the surfaces sterilized by a blast of cleansing static energy.

The cleanliness incenses Dr. DeBeers and she repeats her poo flinging until she lies on the floor, exhausted and defeated. More flashes, more static blasts cleaning the cell. Slowly, like a small child afraid to get beaten again, Dr. DeBeers sits up, bringing her knees to her chest.

Her eyes go back to searching the corner the corner the corner.

“He will come for me,” Dr. DeBeers says. “He already has. For He is here. He is everywhere! He always was and always will be!”

The tinny sound of Dr. DeBeers’s voice rings in Dr. Charter and Dr. Benz’s ears, a haunting sound of insanity and devotion filtered through Control’s com system.

“AiSP?” Dr. Benz says. “Increase Dr. DeBeers’s sedation by forty percent.”

“Forty?” Dr. Charter gasps. “That’ll turn her into a drooling vegetable.”

“Better than a shit tossing nutjob,” Dr. Benz says. “Management elected me Chairperson. I want Dr. DeBeers sedated until the next round of tests. If you feel this is unwarranted then bring it up when Management next convenes. We can all vote again and maybe you’ll get the position. Then the shit thrower will be your problem.”

“She’s already my problem,” Dr. Charter snaps. “She’s all of our problem. Something happened out there in the Sicklands and if we don’t figure out what then it could happen in here.”

“It won’t,” Dr. Benz says. “I have put certain safeguards in place to purge Control if any new bacterial loads are detected outside of that isolation cell. You and I are being scanned a million times as we stand here talking. The AiSP would have alerted us to any contamination then vaporized us on the spot, saving the data from our remains for the rest of Management to study.”

“Dear Lord…” Dr. Charter whispers. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Hardly,” Dr. Benz says. “It’s bloody exhausting. I would rather be working on the canine units and finalizing the bacterial communications network. Dr. DeBeers is fascinating and a possible key to defeating the Strains, but studying her could take years. We push forward with current projects, continue our studies of the samples, and run Control as we always have.”

“Minus one of our most valued members,” Dr. Charter says.

“Precisely,” Dr. Benz says. “Sad, but necessary.” He smiles at Dr. Charter, looks at the ever twitching form of Dr. DeBeers, then nods, pleased, and starts walking down the stark white corridor. “Coming, doctor?”

“Yes,” Dr. Charter says. “I am.”

“Good,” Dr. Benz says. “Where are we with the samples?”

“We have called more to Control for study,” Dr. Charter says. She presses her wrist and swipes at the air in front of her as her eyes go black. “If you check your IRIS, you will see that the numbers are getting greater each day. We send out the call and they come.”

“Except for the GenWrecks,” Dr. Benz counters. “Those burnouts are resistant to any influence.”

“Yes, true,” Dr. Charter nods, swiping her hand so her IRIS image of bacterial culture projections disappears from her and Dr. Benz’s vision. “Their lack of consistent nutrition should weaken their systems, yet observations show them as strong as ever.”

“Those that are still alive,” Dr. Benz says as a doorway at the end of the hall slides open before them. “Do we know who is attacking their bases? Any leads on the unseen menace that is killing the pitiful GenWrecks?”

The doctors step into the next hallway, the walls of which are transparent, just like Dr. DeBeers cell, and show a massive lab on each side of the hallway filled with exam tables. Control personnel take notes and confer with each other as long, specialized robotic arms descend from the ceiling and dissect the inert, captive humans splayed out on each table. Pink faces, the dirt from their skin having been scoured clean by static and manual scrubbing, stare out into the hallway, their infected brains trying to make sense of what is happening to them.

Neither doctor gives the samples much attention. Once inside Control, the cooties, denizens of the Sicklands, are nothing but numbers. Data to be studied. Samples.

“Information is limited,” Dr. Charter says. “Patrols from GenSOF have reported seeing bands of cooties fleeing the smoking remains of GenWreck bases, but they cannot confirm whether or not the cooties are the attackers or just scavenging what is left.”

“Who is our contact in GenSOF right now? Not General Lowman?” Dr. Benz asks.

“Yes, it is General Lowman,” Dr. Charter replies. “He isn’t exactly the most original of thinkers, but he does know the Sicklands and how to get us at least some information from his GenSOF squads.”

“I could have an AiSP do his job more efficiently,” Dr. Benz says. “But I guess he gets to handle the Clean Nation cities’ administrators. That is a job I would never want. Keeping a buffer between us and those elite bureaucrats does make dealing with the man bearable.”

“It’s the little things, doctor,” Dr. Charter says. There is a small chime and Dr. Charter stops walking, her fingers at her wrist. “Good. I have some results to check. I’ll catch up with you at the meeting this evening.”

“Results?” Dr. Benz asks.

“I’m conducting follow up tests on Sergeant Crouch’s cultures,” Dr. Charter answers. “Seeing what stress they can handle before breaking down. Don’t forget, he could also be the key to defeating the Strains.”

“I’m no longer so certain of that,” Dr. Benz says. “But I’ll leave you to your hypotheses. Discoveries aren’t made by being complacent.”

“No, they are not,” Dr. Charter says. “Later then?”

“Later then,” Dr. Benz nods and continues walking.

Dr. Charter waits until the man is through the door at the end of the hallway then turns on her heels and hurries back the way she came. She nods at the few assistants and lab techs that she comes across on her way to her quarters. No one gives her a second glance, well used to her hustling from one end of the massive domed complex that is Control to the other on a fairly regular basis. Timing is always of the essence in Control.

She reaches her quarters and slips inside, making sure the door is locked and secured behind her. Her heart beats rapidly and she forces herself to calm down as she presses a panel and part of a wall slides aside. Taking a deep breath, Dr. Charter squeezes herself into a space barely more than a glorified closet that is filled with old tech video monitors and control panels.

“Please be okay,” she whispers to herself as she sits down at a small chair. The wall slides closed next to her.

Dr. Charter activates the video screens and brings up a view using a small joystick on the control panel. The view is of a GenWreck squad, Coffin Squad, standing by the entrance to a large cave. Smoke and flames fill the entrance, but Dr. Charter gives a sigh of relief as she sees a man standing amongst the bunch, hunched over and studying the ground while the other operators turn about slowly, their static rifles to their shoulders, covering the area, watching for attackers.

The man, GenWreck Jonathan “Red” Blakely, shakes his head as another man, former GenSOF Lieutenant Courier Class Alton “Ton” Lane, points a finger at the cave then back out towards the Sicklands. Red keeps shaking his head then stops as he looks directly into the camera observing him. He starts shouting and a woman appears on the screen. Red points at the camera, almost as if he is pointing directly at Dr. Charter, then points at the woman.

The woman, a Burn worker from Caldicott City named Jersey Cale, flips Red off then steps to the camera and smiles. Dr. Charter can’t hear what she says, but the view changes suddenly as Jersey wraps an arm around the orb that contains the camera, completely unaware she, and the others, are being watched.

“Where is Jude?” Dr. Charter asks as her wrist chimes. She looks at the time and lets out a wounded squeak as she realizes she has wasted too much time watching Coffin Squad. “Dammit Red, find Jude.”

Dr. Charter stands and shoves the wall open, hurrying into her quarters. This time a loud scream issues from her throat as she sees Dr. Benz standing before her. The door to her quarters is open and the rest of Management is standing out in the hallway.

“Control AiSP has been keeping me apprised of your sudden disappearances from its monitoring,” Dr. Benz says casually, as if it is normal for a member of Management to come out of a hidden closet. “It wasn’t hard to figure what you were up to. I just needed to see it for myself.”

“We needed to see it for ourselves,” Dr. Shamus Lopez says, a grossly corpulent fellow that seems to be made of roll after roll of fat. “It was hard to believe when Dr. Benz first brought us the information.”

It’s obvious to Dr. Charter that the exertion of standing in the hallway is about to break the man.

“Shamus, where is your hover chair?” Dr. Charter asks.

“Do not try to make this personal,” Dr. Louis Sheffield says. A nondescript, average-looking, middle-aged man, Dr. Sheffield fails miserably at trying to be intimidating. “You will not curry favor with any of us by playing to our emotions.”

“Is that so?” Dr. Charter asks, folding her arms across her chest. “Gordon? Do you agree?”

A short man with kind eyes, Dr. Gordon Whittaker sighs heavily.

“This is a mess of your own making, Dr. Charter,” Dr. Whittaker says.

“Quite a mess,” Dr. Benz says, looking past Dr. Charter and into the closet containing the ancient video equipment. “How about you be completely honest and show us just exactly how much of a mess it is?”

Dr. Charter starts to protest, but realizes there is no point. If she fights then Dr. Benz will have the Clean Guard detain her, possibly torture her. She’ll end up in an isolation cell just like Dr. DeBeers.

“We can no longer afford to hold ourselves separate from the rest of the Clean Nation cities and the Sicklands,” Dr. Charter says, waving a hand towards her equipment. “I believe we are at war and may not even know it.”

“Is that so?” Dr. Benz smirks. He studies Dr. Charter’s face and the smirk slowly fades away. “You aren’t joking. Jesus, April. Why didn’t you come to us with this? The whole point of Management is to make sure Control is ahead of any threat outside the dome.”

“I didn’t come to you because I wasn’t sure,” Dr. Charter says.

“But you are now?” Dr. Whittaker asks.

“Yes,” Dr. Charter says.

“How can you be certain?” Dr. Lopez asks.

“I can’t,” Dr. Charter says. “It’s a gut feeling.”

Dr. Lopez laughs at that statement, but Dr. Benz holds up a hand and cuts him short.

“Enough of this talk here,” Dr. Benz says. “We go below where it is secure and we can discuss this fully.”

“I have experiments running,” Dr. Lopez protests. “I can’t just drop—”

“You can and you will,” Dr. Benz says. “We meet down below. Now.”

He narrows his eyes at Dr. Charter then waves a hand at the video equipment.

“Can you bring the data or is it too cumbersome?” he asks. “That tech looks centuries old.”

“Not quite centuries old, but close,” Dr. Charter says. “Only way I could keep the AiSPs from detecting and intercepting the data.”

“Bring the files you have,” Dr. Benz says. “I want all the data you are using to back up your gut feeling.”

“It’ll take me a while to do that,” Dr. Charter says.

“You don’t have a while,” Dr. Benz snaps. “You have thirty minutes. Make it happen.”

Dr. Charter nods then turns and gets to work at the control panel in the closet. She doesn’t look back as one by one the other members of Management hurry off to take care of what they need to before meeting down below in the subterranean levels of Control.

2

The stench of cooked meat wafts towards Red and Ton as the two men stand by the mouth of the cave. Neither move away from the stench, away from the smoke, but just stand there and stare into the glowing maw of death before them.

“How many were stationed here?” Ton asks, his eyes watching the dancing shadows that cover the barely visible cave walls.

“Too many,” Red replies, his eyes locked on the dancing shadows as well. “Close to thirty. If all squads were in base then we lost at least thirty operators today. We pack them in tight at each base.”

“You’d have to,” Ton says. “Only way to stay alive.”

“Not that it did much good,” Red responds, flicking a bit of soot from his cheek. “Eighth base, Ton. The eighth.”

“We should go,” Ton says. “Move on to the next base. How many do you have left?”

“Not many,” Red says.

A hard breeze pushes past the two men and into the cave, clearing some of the smoke briefly. Towards the back, silhouetted by the light of the flames, a blackened hand lies on the ground, its fingers curled up, locked into position by a cruel, agonizing death.

Red turns from the sight and looks up into the grey clouds that perpetually cover the Sicklands. His mouth opens in a silent scream of rage as his body shakes with emotion. His hands pound his thighs, the dull slaps echoing across the barren landscape.

The operators around Red and Ton glance back at the noise then quickly look away, preferring to keep guard with static rifles to their shoulders than witness the grief of one of the men that is their rock, their foundation for going on.

“Worm is calling us,” Jersey says from the open hatch to the transport that sits idle a few meters off. “He says we have incoming.”

“When don’t we?” former GenSOF Sergeant Courier Class Simon “Blaze” Crouch says.

None of the GenSOF operators can be considered any class other than deserter now. Genetic Special Operations Forces will have disowned them all for going off reservation and joining ranks with the GenWrecks of the Sicklands.

Blaze looks at Jersey and she gives him a hard scowl.

“What?” Blaze asks. “This is the pattern, right? We move from one dead base to the next, always with cooties on our asses.”

“Can it, man,” former GenSOF Sergeant Courier Class Paulo Kim snaps. “You’re bringing me down. Your bitching ain’t helping anything.”

“Not bitching, just observing,” Blaze responds. “Are you saying that hasn’t been the pattern?”

“How far off?” Marco asks, one of Red’s GenWrecks. He glances over at his fellow GenWrecks of Coffin Squad. “Nick? You up to driving some more?”

“I haven’t slept in two days,” Nick replies. “Better let Worm drive.”

“We risk detection if he plugs into the transport’s controls system,” Jersey says. “Passive observation of the scanners is one thing, but an AiSP driving is another. Even with our sat links severed and PSCs out, the eyes in the sky can still spot patterns.”

“So what?” Jersey asks. “The eyes in the sky will see us or they won’t. Doesn’t matter who is driving. Not like we’re the only transport out in the Sicklands, GenSOF or GenWreck. We’re always a target.”

“Jersey’s right,” Ton says. “GenSOF knows which trannies are theirs and which aren’t. They spot us and it looks like an AiSP is driving then we’ll be targeted instantly. Normal GenWrecks aren’t their priority, but we are.”

“I’ll drive,” Paulo says. “I’m not as good as Nick when it comes to navigating this area of the Sicklands, but I can hold my own. Just point me in the right direction.”

“We aren’t leaving,” Red says. “Not yet.” He turns back to the cave. “We need to go inside. This facility has surveillance. Not all do. I want to see who’s killing us. We need that data collected, if it hasn’t been destroyed.”

All of the operators crane their necks to see if Red is joking. They quickly realize he is not.

“Get in the transport and suit up,” Ton says without argument. “Full armor and stat helmets. Test your air intakes fully. I don’t want to have to carry any of your asses out of that cave because you pass out from smoke inhalation.”

“What about the incoming?” Jersey asks. “Worm is pretty adamant that we need to get going.”

“Worm will have to figure out a plan,” Red says. “We’ll keep Paulo and Blaze in the transport with you and that weird fucking orb. When trouble shows up, you alert us.”

“How? No coms,” Blaze says.

“Honk the fucking horn,” Ton growls before Red can respond. “Don’t be fucking dense.”

“The tranny has a horn?” Blaze smirks.

“It sounds just like you screaming when I jam my boot up your ass,” Ton says.

“Oh, that horn,” Blaze replies.

The squad hurries from the cave and into the transport, ready to get their new mission going so they can get the hell out of the area.

3

The transport hatch closes up tight and Blaze takes a seat at his station, bringing up all external vid views. He watches as the rest of Coffin Squad, stat suits active and glowing against the dark smoke coming from the cave, carefully work their way to the mouth before being lost from sight.

“Worm? You got scans on the squad?” Blaze asks.

“Yes, Sergeant Crouch,” Worm replies, his AiSP voice emanating from the speakers embedded in the ceiling of the transport. The AiSP’s voice would have gone directly into Blaze’s ear, but with the operator’s Personal Sat Chip gone, that is no longer possible. No com, no ear Worm. “But scans are weak. The cave’s configuration and mineral makeup is an excellent jamming mechanism. I am sure that is why this location was chosen.”

“We’ve gone from ultra tech to almost no tech in weeks,” Blaze says. “It’s enough to drive an operator crazy.”

“Back to basics,” Paulo says from the driver’s seat. He turns around and looks at Blaze, but shifts his focus when he catches the look on Jersey’s face. “You okay?”

“Red still doesn’t trust us,” Jersey says. “The only Zebra Squad member in there is Ton, and that’s because he and Red are old friends. That leaves us in here to play backup.”

“First, there is no us,” Blaze laughs. “You are not an operator, baby. You are tech support at the most. Second, Paulo needs to be in that driver’s seat and ready to go if trouble hits before they come out of there. Third, I wouldn’t trust me either. I could have been compromised back at Control when DeBeers had me strapped down for examination. You’ve admitted, Red’s admitted, and Worm has even admitted that I’m different because of the super bugs growing in me. All good, normal reasons to be sitting here staring at useless vid feeds.”

Jersey glares at Blaze, but he doesn’t back down, just holds her gaze until her face softens slightly. Slightly.

“First, I am way more than tech support, you asshole,” Jersey says. “I’m the love of your fucking life and the only one in this transport that knows shit all about bacterial loads and how to deal with them.”

“That is not entirely correct, Ms. Cale,” Worm interjects. “My Ai protocol is vastly more qualified to analyze Sergeant Crouch’s bacterial load than your personal training. I can analyze and process data at a speed that cannot be matched by the human brain.”

“But you have no instincts, Worm,” Jersey counters. “And instincts seem to matter a lot out here in the Sicklands. Especially since we are no longer sat linked.”

“Instincts are merely human reactions to intellectual processes they cannot define or understand consciously,” Worm says. “I have no such separation, Ms. Cale.”

“You two can share the credit when you figure out my unique bacterial loads, okay?” Blaze sighs. “Not like you’ll get the findings published in science journals or anything. So how about you two cool it with the nerdy rivalry?”

The small orb floats by Jersey’s side, never more than a few feet from her.

“You figure that thing out yet?” Blaze asks. “That should be what you two are really focusing on. The thing gives me the creeps.”

“Leave it alone,” Jersey says protectively. “It got me to you and then got us all out of Control. It may be a simple Ai protocol, but it isn’t creepy. It certainly isn’t dangerous.”

“I don’t like how it watches us all the time,” Blaze says. “Worm? Have you figured it out yet?”

“Not yet, Sergeant Crouch,” Worm says. “But I agree with Ms. Cale that it does not present any danger. The Ai protocol it uses is rudimentary, but I believe the orb houses something more complex. Unfortunately, it refuses to link with my Ai protocol so I can fully study it.”

“See? It’s a secretive little shit,” Blaze says.

“Nah, it’s kinda cute,” Paulo says. “It reminds me of a bug hound pup, always on your heels, following you around.”

“Exactly,” Jersey says. “It’s my pup. Thanks, Paulo.”

“Et tu, Paulo?” Blaze smirks.

“Just calling it like I see it, man,” Paulo says, shrugging. “Worm? How are we looking with the incoming hostiles?”

“At present speed, ETA is twenty minutes,” Worm says. “I count close to a dozen, at least. It is hard to say with my limited scan range. I do not detect any tech, as of right now.”

“Cooties,” Paulo says. “We can handle a dozen cooties.”

Blaze turns back to the vid images of the smoking cave.

“Don’t get cocky,” Blaze says, pointing at the image. “Cooties did that to trained GenWrecks. I don’t think a dozen cooties are as easy to take down as they used to be.”

“Did Simon Crouch just tell someone else not to get cocky?” Jersey laughs. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

“I’m maturing,” Blaze says. “It’s probably because of my super bacteria.”

“Bacteria would not be a factor in any changes to your maturity level, Sergeant Crouch,” Worm states. “More like divine intervention is the contributor to that miracle.”

“Holy shit!” Paulo guffaws. “Worm just made a joke! And a fucking good one!”

“Did I?” Worm asks. “I will have to check my humor protocols for unscheduled changes. I did not intend to make that joke.”

“Don’t mess with a good thing,” Paulo says. “If you can burn Blaze then leave that humor protocol alone.”

“Har fucking har,” Blaze says. “And Worm?”

“Yes, Sergeant Crouch?” Worm replies.

“Go fuck yourself,” Blaze says.

“That is not anatomically possible,” Worm states. “I have explained this to all of you several times.”

4

The static shield covering Red’s face gives the world a strange, blue glow. Coupled with the dense smoke from the still burning fires that ravage the GenWreck base, visibility is almost zero as Coffin Squad slowly makes its way deeper into the cave.

“Scanners aren’t telling me much,” Ton says from Red’s shoulder. “I don’t know how you people have functioned out here for so long without sat links.”

“You get used to it,” Red says. “Low tech is the Sicklands way. Not that I’m not happy for these StatSuits. We’d have choked to death within five feet of walking into this place without them.”

“Yeah, they come in handy,” Ton says.

Ton holds up a fist and the squad stops instantly.

“What you got?” Red asks.

“Bodies,” Ton says, pointing his rifle towards a dark mound a few meters ahead. “I think.”

“Eyes open,” Red says. “Cooties like to play hide and seek.”

“Cooties can breathe smoke?” Collette asks.

“Who fucking knows?” Marco says as he watches the squad’s six, his eyes and rifle sweeping back and forth, ready for an attack from behind.

“Holy Static God,” Collette says as the squad reaches the mound. “They’ve melted together. You can’t tell where one body starts and one ends.”

“That’s not because they’ve melted,” Ton says as he kneels by the mound of burnt flesh. “It’s because they have been ripped apart. Look at this shit.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” Marco says. “I’ll just keep looking this way.”

“Fuck me,” Collette says as she kneels next to Ton and nudges the mound with her rifle. Small, blue sparks jump out when the static weapon and the burnt flesh connect. “What the hell are those? Teeth marks?”

“Yeah,” Red says. “The cooties had a taste before they torched the place.”

“Shit,” Nick says, choking back his gorge. “That means they killed everyone before setting the fire.”

“No way,” Marco says. “No way a bunch of cooties could take out a whole base. They had to use the fire as a weapon first and then attacked during the panic.”

“Nick is right,” Ton says. “The fire would have spread too fast for the cooties to have stopped long enough to dismember the bodies and have a nibble.”

“That’s Lonnie,” Collette says as she lurches to her feet. She hurries away from the mound and deactivates her static visor so she can puke. “Oh…fuck…”

“You know him?” Ton asks, looking at the scorched face of one of the bodies.

“We know them all,” Red says. “But Lonnie and Collette served together in GenSOF before being booted out into the Sicklands. He was a good guy.”

“Get your visor back up,” Ton says as he stands and looks over at Collette. She’s busy puking and coughing at the same time. “You’re going to choke to death if you don’t get your visor up.”

“Fuck off,” Collette says.

“Do it,” Red orders. “Pull it together, operator. We have a job to do.”

“Data locker should be over there,” Nick says, nodding towards a barely visible branch to the cave. “It should have held up to the heat.”

“Then let’s get to it,” Red says. “Let’s not forget we have company coming.”

“Good,” Collette says as she rejoins the squad, her static visor active once again. “I need to kill some cooties after seeing this.”

“Let’s avoid a fight for as long as we can,” Ton says. “We’re a dying breed, apparently, so no need to risk getting killed if we don’t have to.”

“I’m not going to risk getting killed,” Collette snarls. “I’m going to do the killing!”

“Collette, stow it,” Red orders. “Get your shit together and gut the fuck up. You risk all of our lives getting worked up.”

“Getting worked up? That’s what you call it?” Collette shouts.

“Hey,” Marco says, putting a hand on Collette’s shoulder. She tries to shrug it off but he just grips tighter. “We aren’t the enemy. Save that anger for when we have to actually fight. You’ll get your chance, don’t worry.”

“He’s right, unfortunately,” Ton says. “We can only run so long. Soon we’ll be in the shit and wishing we weren’t. Save your grrr for then.”

“Let’s get the surveillance data and get out of here,” Collette growls. “I’m fucking done with this place.”

Nick leads the squad to a branch in the cave. One by one they enter the branch, rifles ready, their limited scanners at full power. After a few meters, they come to a door set into the wall. Nick glances back at Red and the man nods.

Carefully, Nick reaches out and shoves the door open. It swings inward on noisy hinges, the creaking sound almost deafening in the enclosed space. The squad waits, but nothing attacks so Nick moves forward, his rifle whipping right then left before he gives a thumbs up.

“Clear,” Nick says. “Data lockers are right over…here… Are you shitting me?”

“What?” Red asks as the squad moves into the small room. “What’s wrong…? Fuck.”

A row of thick metal lockers stands against the far wall of the room. The entire front of the lockers are bent and torn open, revealing only emptiness.

“Why the hell would cooties break into these?” Red snaps. “What the hell would those syphilitic fucks need with raw data?”

“Maybe this attack wasn’t just about killing,” Ton says. “Maybe it was coordinated and planned.”

“Are you shitting me?” Red asks. “Cooties can barely coordinate hunts, let alone an attack on fully armed GenWrecks. We’re missing something here.”

“That’s the story of our lives right now, boss,” Marco snorts.

“Are there backups?” Ton asks. “Another set of lockers?”

“No,” Red says. “No backups.”

“Then we go to another base,” Ton says. “But we don’t stay here.”

Red stares at the empty lockers for a minute then nods.

“Fine,” he says. “Another base. If the cooties haven’t gotten to them all.”

“We’ll get ahead of them,” Nick says. “We have to.”

“Yeah,” Red says. “We have to.”

5

“We have to keep ahead of them!” Hoagie yells from his makeshift sled, his eyes locked onto the far off shapes of the Sicklands bug hounds that have been trailing them across the grey and barren landscape for what feels like forever. “We can’t slow down!”

“You think?” Milo shouts as he hobbles along beside the sled, his eyes darting from the GenWreck and GenSOF bug hounds that are pulling the sled, to the boy that leads them all. “Jude? How far until we get to this bunker?”

“No more than a click,” Jude calls over his shoulder, an older rifle clutched in his hands. “We’ll make it.”

“It’ll be close,” Milo states. “Can we get inside and secured before the bug hounds catch up?”

“We have to,” Jude says.

“Yeah, I know we have to,” Milo snaps. “That wasn’t my question.”

Jude glances over his shoulder and shoots Milo a look far beyond his years.

“We have to,” Jude repeats. “That’s the only answer, no matter what the question is.”

“Roger,” Milo nods, not wanting to argue with the boy. “Just checking.”

Hoagie holds up a static baton and snaps his wrist, causing the weapon to grow and turn into a full-sized rifle. He puts the rifle to his shoulder and tries to activate his StatSuit armor, but the power has run out.

“Shit,” he grumbles. “I want a closer look through the visor scope. And with my PSC gone I can’t bring up my IRIS.”

“Why do you want a closer look?” Jude asks. “All you’ll see are Sicklands bug hounds. They’re ugly. What else do you need to know?”

“How many coming at us would be nice,” Hoagie says.

“Too many to fight and survive,” Jude shrugs. “Exact numbers are useless.”

“This kid is really getting on my nerves,” Hoagie says. “The second my legs are healed up enough we should ditch his ass.”

“I can hear you,” Jude says.

“I know,” Hoagie replies.

“Leave the kid alone,” Milo says. “We’d be dead without him. We’ve lost this pack of bug hounds three times so far. We’ll lose them again. Just chill.”

“We may keep losing them, but they also keep finding us,” Hoagie grumbles. “We’re just running from bolt hole to bolt hole.”

Several of the bug hounds pulling Hoagie’s sled snort and growl.

“You haven’t been doing much running,” Jude says, voicing the dogs’ implied sentiments. “But plenty of complaining.”

“Milo, man, I think you lied to me,” Hoagie says. “I didn’t survive that slide fight with those Clean Guard fuckers. I actually died and am in smart ass kid Hell.”

“Leave him alone, Hoag,” Milo replies. “Seriously. You’re the one acting like a kid here. Just shut up until we get to the bunker. Once there you can bitch and moan all you want. But until then you need to shut it.”

“Screw you,” Hoagie responds, but does shut up, his eyes focused on the growing pack of Sicklands bug hounds pursuing them.

They keep moving in silence, but something about the pack of bug hounds begins to gnaw at Hoagie. He starts to speak then closes his mouth so he doesn’t get yelled at. He watches as the pack gets closer and closer, but is still luckily a good half a click behind them.

Then it hits him as to what he is seeing.

“Shit,” Hoagie mumbles. “Hey, guys?”

“What?” Milo sighs, grunting slightly as he nearly trips over a cluster of rocks in his way.

“Those aren’t just dogs,” Hoagie says. “There are cooties in there too.”

Milo slows his loping gait enough to glance back over his shoulder. He frowns and shakes his head.

“Too low to the ground,” Milo says. “Those are bug hounds.”

“No, man, not all of them,” Hoagie says. “I swear there are cooties in that pack too. It looks like they’re running on all fours, acting like fucking bug hounds.”

“I’ve never seen them do that,” Jude says. “Cooties tend to stay back from the bug hounds or they’ll get their throats ripped out.”

“Good call on their part,” Milo says. “Cooties aren’t known for their thinking skills, but they do know how to survive. I agree with the kid, Hoag. You’re probably just seeing things. The Sicklands will totally mess with your head.”

“I’m a trained GenSOF operator, Milo,” Hoagie snaps. “I know what I am observing. There. Are. Cooties. With. The. Bug. Hounds.”

Milo takes a second look and his frown deepens. “Maybe…”

“No maybe about it, man,” Hoagie says. “The cooties are running with the hounds.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jude says, pointing towards a formation of huge rocks a few meters ahead. “The bunker’s in there. Just a few more minutes and we’ll be locked down. This bunker should have aux power and a surveillance system. We can watch the pack when we’re safely inside. Once they give up and move on we can take off for the next rendezvous point.”

“You still think your dad is going to catch up with us?” Milo asks, his voice less than confident. “We’ve been flushed from three bolt holes and two bunkers. Even if he and the rest got out of Control, they are going to have a shitty time tracking us down.”

“My dad will find us,” Jude says with a confidence that Milo’s voice lacks. “I’m making it pretty easy to track us down.”

“Maybe that’s the reason we can’t shake these fucking sick mutts,” Hoagie says then laughs. “Hey, I like that. Sick mutts. That’s what we’ll call them from now on. No need to insult our bug hounds by calling the sick mutts the same thing.”

“That’s not half bad,” Milo chuckles.

“I like that,” Jude says, smiling. “Sick mutts.”

“Well I’ll be dipped in StatSolution and tickled pink,” Hoagie replies. “We actually all agree on something.”

“Here it is,” Jude says as they get to the rock formation. “Ajax! Hold!”

The lead bug hound pulling the sled comes to an abrupt halt and the rest of the bug hounds follow suit. The large dogs instantly turn and fan out, their leads stretching taught as they take up protective stances around the three humans. Drool drips from their hairy jowls as their black tongues loll from their panting mouths. Their jet black eyes are lost in their jet black fur so that it looks as if six large, hairy shadows are standing in the grey dirt.

“Give me a couple minutes,” Jude says. “Be ready to move fast when I give the all clear.”

Milo starts to respond then stops as he focuses on the oncoming pack of sick mutts. “Hey kid?”

“What?” Jude asks as he starts to climb up over the first large rock.

“Not trying to gang up on you here, but I think Hoag was right,” Milo says. “There’s cooties in with those mutts.”

Jude turns and squints into the ever present gloom. “Shit. Not good.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Hoagie smirks. He points at Jude. “That’s one big I told you fucking so.” Then points at Milo. “And one for you too. You can both kiss my GenSOF ass.”

“Get us inside, kid,” Milo says. He flicks his wrist and his static baton snaps into rifle mode. “We can cover this spot for only so long.”

“Now we’re talking,” Hoagie says, bringing his own rifle up. “Won’t be as easy without targeting, but we don’t need it with a pack that big.”

“I hear ya there,” Milo says as he sights down the barrel. He grins, ready for the fight, if need be. Then the grin slips from his face. “Hoag? You seeing what I’m seeing?”

“That the pack is growing?” Hoagie asks. “Because, yeah, I’m seeing that.”

“They were hiding their numbers,” Milo says as the sick mutt pack gets closer and starts to spread out.

Several of the bug hounds begin to growl, the sound so low that Milo feels it in his bones more than hears it.

“I’m going to let the pups loose,” Milo says, slinging his rifle as he hurries to the bug hounds and unhooks them from the sled. “You need to get up, Hoag. We can’t take on all those sick mutts.”

“And cooties,” Hoagie says. “Don’t forget there are cooties.”

“I doubt you’ll ever let me forget it,” Milo says.

Hoagie snaps his rifle back into a baton then shoves it into his belt. Painfully, he stands up from the sled, a steady moan escaping his lips as he puts his weight on his still-healing legs. He takes a couple deep breaths, but it does nothing for the pain.

“Man, I wish Worm was here to jack me up on some endorphins,” Hoagie gasps as he takes a couple tentative steps.

Milo hands him a crutch then gets busy grabbing up as many supplies as he can carry from the sled. Hoagie takes the crutch then cautiously makes his way across the pocked and pitted ground to the rocks.

“You’re going to have to climb up,” Jude says, his face appearing from the top of the closest rock. “Bunker is open, but there’s no ground entrance.”

“This day just keeps getting better,” Hoagie says. “Care for some help?”

“Ajax! Zeus!” Jude calls. “Get the dogs inside!”

Two of the bug hounds split from the pack then turn and yip at the others. The rest of the bug hounds bark their replies then follow the lead hounds as they jump from short ledge to short ledge and scramble their bulks up onto the rocks.

The far off sounds of sick mutts baying and barking reaches everyone’s ears and the bug hounds’ growls intensify. Jude braces himself against the rock he is on and reaches down for Hoagie’s hand.

“Just grab on. Kick your toes into the depressions right there,” Jude says. “You’re too heavy for me to pull all the way up. Your legs will have to take some of the weight.”

“I hope this bunker has some booze in it,” Hoagie says. “And I’m not just saying that to keep my bacterial load in check. I’m gonna need to get shit-faced and sleep for a week after this.”

“I hear that,” Milo says he drops the gear by the bottom of the rock and helps shove Hoagie up. He catches a heel to his chin and stumbles back, his hand rubbing at the sore spot.

“Dammit, Hoag,” Milo says. “Watch those gimp legs of yours.”

“Quit whining and bring the gear, bitch,” Hoagie says as he gets to the top of the rock and collapses next to Jude. “Come on, man. Snap snap.”

“Asshole,” Milo chuckles.

“Toss some up,” Jude says, his hands out.

Milo starts throwing what he can up to Jude, who sets everything next to Hoagie. Hoagie just lies there, leaning back on his elbows as he watches the sick mutts and company get closer.

“Five minutes, tops,” Hoagie says.

Milo looks over his shoulder and swears.

“We’ll have to leave the rest of the gear,” Milo says as he scrambles up the side of the rock. “Take us in, kid.”

“Gladly,” Jude says and grabs up as much gear as he can carry and carefully makes his way down an incline and into a space between two of the large rocks. “Follow me.”

6

The looks on the members of Management’s faces are pretty much how Dr. Charter imagined they’d be if she was ever forced to reveal her findings. She wanted more time to make sure the looks were one of stunned belief, not the looks of suspicion and suspected madness.

“That… You… Not…” Dr. Sheffield stutters.

“My thoughts exactly,” Dr. Lopez says. “You expect us to believe that the bacteria that plagues the Sicklands has somehow become, what? Sentient?”

“Not sentient exactly,” Dr. Charter says. “But perhaps connected. Like the hive mind of an insect species, yet on a cellular level.”

Dr. Whittaker clears his throat and starts to speak then just shakes his head.

“But…how?” Dr. Sheffield asks. “How could this even be possible? Bacteria have never shown any hint at intercommunication. They can work symbiotically with other organisms, but only on a basic level.”

“Bacteria act,” Dr. Lopez says. “They do not talk. They do not communicate. Bacteria do not orchestrate with each other to plan the overthrow of the human race. You have lost your mind, Dr. Charter. I, of course, knew it was bound to happen, but still—”

“You what?” Dr. Charter snaps. “What the hell does that mean, Dr. Lopez? You expected me to lose my mind?”

“You have always been the least stable member of Management,” Dr. Lopez replies. “Even Dr. DeBeers, despite her current setback, has been infinitely more reliable than you.”

“Why would you compare me to her?” Dr. Charter growls. “Because I’m a woman? Fuck you, Shamus.”

“How dare you!” Dr. Lopez yells, his fat rolls shaking uncontrollably under his chin. “You profane charlatan!”

“Doctors, please,” Dr. Whittaker sighs. “Let us not devolve into name calling. It is not like Dr. Charter has betrayed us. She has merely been conducting her own scientific investigation based on a hunch. We all must admit that many a discovery has been started by this very same process.”

“That is not one hundred percent true, doctor,” Dr. Benz says.

“Well, of course it is,” Dr. Whittaker frowns. “Look at Newton alone. He was—”

“No, no, I mean it is not one hundred percent correct that Dr. Charter has not betrayed us,” Dr. Benz says. “She has been betraying us for some time now. Haven’t you, April?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Dr. Charter responds, head held up, back straight, defiant of Dr. Benz’s accusation. “I have been loyal to Control since I started here.”

“Okay, that may well be true,” Dr. Benz says. “So, perhaps, betrayal is not the right term. Dually loyal? Playing all sides?”

“I play no sides,” Dr. Charter insists. “Unlike you, Richard, I do not see this as a game. There is no cat, there is no mouse. Our work here in Control will either save the human race or destroy it. There is only one side I am on and that would be the saving the human race side.” Dr. Charter leans forward, her hands firmly pressed against the surface of the circular table they all sit at in the musty-smelling subterranean level below the Control dome. “But, since you are so pitifully trying to deflect here, Richard, maybe you should tell us who the real betrayer is in Management.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Dr. Benz replies, licking his lips nervously.

“Yes, Richard, you do,” Dr. Charter says.

“Dr. Charter, please refer to Dr. Benz properly,” Dr. Lopez says. “It is disrespectful to keep calling him Richard. This is a formal proceeding, after all.”

“Is it?” Dr. Charter asks. “Is it a formal proceeding? Then I would like to formally accuse Dr. Benz of being responsible for what I have found.”

“Dr. Charter, you must be joking,” Dr. Sheffield sputters. “There is no way under the Static God’s watch that Dr. Benz could have anything to do with your silly hunch. Which, for the record, I would like to state I do not believe in at all. It is merely a hunch. And one you have yet to show any evidence truly exists.”

“Then let me show you the evidence,” Dr. Charter says, her eyes on Dr. Benz.

She stands up and walks to a small cart a few feet away. The cart holds several boxes of bulky video tapes as well as a player and monitor. Dr. Charter grabs a tape and slides it into the player then sits back down as the monitor hums to life.

“It’s as if we are in the Dark Ages,” Dr. Lopez mutters, but quickly quiets down as the tape begins to play.

There are more than a few gasps from the other doctors. All except Dr. Benz.

“That is me you see there,” Dr. Charter says. “I am almost nine months pregnant. I will give birth to a healthy child three weeks after the date this tape was recorded.”

“Where are you?” Dr. Whittaker asks. “Is that a…cave?”

“It is,” Dr. Charter nods. “It is one of the many hidden GenWreck bunkers out in the Sicklands. The man recording this tape would have become my husband, if it was allowed. Unfortunately, he became a fugitive from Control and the Clean Nation instead. I was only able to hold my son for six hours before I was sent back here, ending my fictional sabbatical to Caldicott City.”

“That was where you were?” Dr. Whittaker asks. “In the Sicklands and not in Caldicott City? I remember that time, though. You actually had quite a bit of research you brought back with you. How did you manage that?”

“I did studies on the GenWrecks and the nature of the bacteria in the Sicklands,” Dr. Charter replies. “Some of that data is the basis for Dr. Benz’s special project that none of us should know about.”

“You may be taking more credit than you are due,” Dr. Benz says.

“Secret project?” Dr. Sheffield asks. “Dr. Benz seems to have nothing but scorn for our own projects, or beliefs, so I would love to hear what he is hiding.”

“We assume he is hiding something,” Dr. Lopez snorts.

“Don’t laugh, Shamus,” Dr. Charter says. “This involves your work as well.” She points to Dr. Sheffield. “And your theory of the Other. It is all tied together now, thanks to Dr. Benz.”

“You are about to step over a ledge you cannot step back from, April,” Dr. Benz says. “Be very careful.”

Dr. Charter gets up and takes out the current tape, replacing it with a different one. The video feed begins to play, showing a view of the Sicklands.

“What you are seeing here is some footage I captured only two weeks ago without the GenWreck Coffin Squad knowing,” Dr. Charter says. “Using the Morganfeld 325 orb bot as my eyes, I was able to observe some strange behavior from some of Dr. Lopez’s mutated canines.”

“My what?” Dr. Lopez exclaims. “You have no authority to interfere with my work!”

“Just watch, Shamus,” Dr. Charter says.

“Morganfeld 325? You have been controlling that nuisance?” Dr. Whittaker asks.

“Again, I needed tech that was not part of Control’s systems and protocols,” Dr. Charter responds. “A decommissioned orb bot was the perfect solution.”

“The chaos that little thing has caused…” Dr. Sheffield sighs.

Dr. Charter merely smiles and points to the monitor. The video image is grainy and dark, but a pack of Sicklands bug hounds can be made out on the screen. They slowly emerge from behind a pile of boulders, their matted fur slick against their bodies. Foamy drool drips from their mouths as they hunker low, stalking the GenWreck squad before them.

“Now, watch the two on the left,” Dr. Charter says. “They circle around and come at the squad, their eyes completely focused on the GenWrecks.”

“You see all this and don’t try to warn the GenWrecks?” Dr. Whittaker asks.

“I embedded the orb with the squad to observe only,” Dr. Charter says. “Mainly to observe Sergeant Crouch. But, even if I had wanted to interact and warn the squad, there was no need. These are GenSOF trained operators. Mutated bug hounds, no matter how good they are, cannot sneak up on a trained squad.”

The video image shows the pack of sick mutts getting closer and closer. Then there are a series of static bursts that light up the feed. The view pulls back so the image is of the entire scene. The canines try to scatter and surround the GenWrecks, but they just end up divided into two groups. The two sick mutts on the left have their backs to most of what’s happening as they attack Blaze, who has been separated from the rest of the squad.

The doctors lean in, engrossed by the battle. They spend their days going over numbers and statistics, data and protocols, so seeing action of the sort displayed before them is more than entertaining, it is pure, unadulterated stimulation.

Blaze raises his rifle and fires at the sick mutts, but they both dodge the blasts and come in at him fast. He’s able to skirt their attack, but is soon backed up against a boulder, no avenue for escape. Almost off screen is a shadow that raises a rifle and fires. Both of the sick mutts, with their torn and nasty ears flat against their heads in aggression, dodge the static blasts at the last minute.

Dr. Charter gets up and pauses the video. Drs. Lopez and Sheffield both groan with disapproval.

“We’ll watch more,” Dr. Charter grins. “In fact, you are welcome to stay down here and watch all of these at your leisure.”

“We should have digital copies made for each of us,” Dr. Sheffield suggests.

“No,” Dr. Charter insists. “No digital copies. These stay out of the system. If it even gets a hint that we may be on to it then we could lose our advantage.”

“The Other?” Dr. Whittaker asks.

“The Other,” Dr. Charter nods.

Dr. Benz begins to say something, but Dr. Charter stops him with an accusatory finger.

“I wouldn’t, Richard,” Dr. Charter says. “You just listen.”

Dr. Benz nods his head for her to continue.

Dr. Charter slowly rewinds the tape then plays it forward, frame by frame.

“The canines show zero indication that they have been alerted to the danger of the static blasts coming at them,” Dr. Charter points out. “Their ears do not move, which they would if another canine had barked a warning. They are not looking at each other, both completely focused on Sergeant Crouch. And neither of them move until the very last possible split-second.”

“They could feel the static charge of the blast,” Dr. Lopez suggests. “Animals, especially canines, are very sensitive to energetic discharges. I have bred the canines to be susceptible to electrical stimulation as part of my project.”

“Yes, but you have not implemented your project yet, have you?” Dr. Charter asks.

“No, of course not,” Dr. Lopez says. “Especially after the setback from several weeks ago. I am still reeling from the unnecessary slaughter of my canines. That Jersey Cale woman will need to be punished severely when she is finally captured.”

“I believe we are well past that,” Dr. Charter says. “But I do sympathize with your frustration.”

“Wait…” Dr. Lopez mutters. “If you control the Morganfeld 325 then you led Ms. Cale to my canines, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Dr. Charter says. “But we’ll come to that later.”

“Yes? You say that like it was some minor inconvenience!” Dr. Lopez roars. “I will not stand for this any longer!” He lurches to his feet then quickly sits back down. “No one say a word.”

“Shamus, be quiet,” Dr. Benz says. “I believe I know exactly why Dr. Charter did what she did. Let her finish.”

“This will not take much longer,” Dr. Charter says. “So, the canines move before they can get hit by the blast. They do so almost on a preternatural level. Now, let’s see a different feed.”

Dr. Charter pulls out the tape and inserts another one. It shows a line of sick mutts, their bodies scorched and broken, but still standing. They are backed up to the edge of a cliff. The view is partially obscured by a few members of Coffin Squad, but it is still easy enough to see the canines.

“What are they doing?” Dr. Whittaker asks. “Are they not going to fight back?”

“Rooting for my canines, Gordon?” Dr. Lopez asks.

“Hardly,” Dr. Whittaker replies. “It just seems out of character for the canines to give up.”

One of the sick mutts takes a step back, flinging itself off the edge of the cliff.

“Lord, have mercy,” Dr. Whittaker whispers. “They killed themselves.”

“They did,” Dr. Charter says. “Which is counter to ever law of nature. It is also counter to the protocol you instilled in your canines, isn’t that correct, Dr. Lopez?”

“Correct,” Dr. Lopez replies, stunned by the video. “If anything, my protocol should have made them fight harder. But, as I said earlier, I have not released any canines into the Sicklands with the full protocol.”

“No, you haven’t,” Dr. Charter agrees. “But Dr. Benz has.”

“Very true,” Dr. Benz responds. All eyes turn on him, shocked. “Dr. Charter seems to have things figured out, so I thought it best to just admit what I have done.”

“Care to save me some time and admiteverything you have done?” Dr. Charter asks. “And everything you are doing to fix it?”

“I don’t think so,” Dr. Benz replies. “I’ll allow you your big reveal, Dr. Charter.”

“Fine,” Dr. Charter nods. “Do you gentlemen know why I am so adamant that my investigations stay out of the system?”

“So you would not get caught,” Dr. Lopez says. “I am afraid to say that you have failed there.”

“Not getting caught by my colleagues was not as important as not getting caught by Dr. Benz’s secret project,” Dr. Charter says. “You see, gentlemen, Dr. Benz not only released some of Dr. Lopez’s canines into the Sicklands, he also tested their cerebral uplinks using a new AiSP protocol he created.”

“You don’t know what you are talking about,” Dr. Benz says.

“You released the canines into the Sicklands, activated the AiSP in hopes that it could communicate with the canines and control them,” Dr. Charter says. “Instead, it overloaded the uplink, sent random intelligence into the AiSP, and created what Dr. Whittaker has called the Other for some time now. Do I still not know what I am talking about?”

“No, you know what you are talking about,” Dr. Benz replies, surprising everyone. “But you left out one key step.”

“And what is that?” Dr. Charter asks.

“You left out how I have been trying to fix this problem,” Dr. Benz says. “While the GenSOF and GenWreck operators were in Control, their AiSP, the one they call Worm, was in the system. I pushed it to a new level so it is now more sentient than any AiSP before it.”

“Isn’t that compounding the problem?” Dr. Sheffield gasps. “Now there are two dangerous AiSPs out there!”

“No, Worm is not dangerous,” Dr. Benz says. “Worm is exactly what we need to fix my mistake. Just like Sergeant Crouch is what we need to fix Dr. Charter’s mistake.”

“My mistake?” Dr. Charter asks. “And what is that?”

“Letting your child live,” Dr. Benz says. “Do you really think Dr. Lopez’s bacteria is the danger out there? Do you think that is why the AiSP changed and became what it is, turning into the Other that is gaining full control over the canines and the samples? No, Dr. Charter, all of that came from the new Strain that your son was born with. A Strain that has spread through the Sicklands, infecting every single living creature that is not GenSOF or a GenWreck. All of those bug hounds, all of the samples, everything is infected. This is on you, Dr. Charter. Not me. I’m just trying to clean it all up.”

7

“That door gonna hold?” Hoagie asks, his back against the cold metal of the bunker entryway’s wall. He looks from the barred door to Jude who is busy trying to get the internal entry door to the bunker open. “It sounds like half the Sicklands are out there trying to get in.”

“Leave the kid alone, Hoag,” Milo snaps. “Let him concentrate.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jude says, his fingers moving rapidly from one wire to the next as he sorts through the mess that is the entry door’s control panel. “Talk all you want, you can’t distract me. I was raised by GenWrecks. I’m a better operator than both of you combined.”

The door slides open and Jude smiles then gives Hoagie a wink.

“Smart ass,” Hoagie says as Milo helps him to his feet.

The bug hounds all sit at attention, their black eyes focused on the outer door.

“Ajax. In,” Jude orders.

The huge bug hound grunts then turns and trots inside the bunker, the rest of the bug hounds on his tail.

“Why do I get the feeling our canine units are no longer under our control?” Milo asks.

“It’s not about control anymore,” Jude says. “They know the score, they see what life is like out here. They are following Ajax because Ajax knows how to survive the Sicklands. That’s how they will keep you safe which is their number one priority. Would you rather have them completely obedient or completely loyal? There is a difference, you know.”

“Shit, kid,” Milo laughs. “How old are you? Thirty?”

Jude just shrugs and leads them all inside the bunker as the door slides closed behind them. The hallway is dark and dank with water stains colored by rust streaking the walls. The place smells of must and dirt, not of safety and life.

“The question is how old is this bunker?” Hoagie asks. “I’m guessing this place wasn’t exactly used a lot.”

“It’s a last resort spot,” Jude says. “Normally, we aren’t out this deep in the Sicklands. We rarely use this bunker unless we absolutely have to. It’s why I was having trouble with the door. Half the systems are offline.”

“Great,” Hoagie says. “You brought us to the slum bunker. Nice.”

“Better than half the spots in the Burn,” Milo says.

“When have you been in the Burn?” Hoagie asks. “Operators aren’t allowed out of the GenSOF tower.”

“I wasn’t always an operator,” Milo replies. “I did have a childhood.”

“Lucky you,” Jude says, pointing to a sealed hatch. “Food should be in there.”

“Where are you going?” Milo asks as Jude starts walking away.

“See if I can get the radio working,” Jude replies. “We need to contact my dad and the others. If I can’t find them then I have to report in to one of the bases. We’re going to need help getting out of here with all those cooties and sick mutts outside.” There’s a loud clang and everyone turns to face the sealed entry door. “See? They will eventually get through that outer door. I know cooties and I know sick mutts. They don’t stop.”

“Kid, you said they’d eventually go away,” Hoagie growls. “That we would be able to leave once the coast is clear.”

“I lied,” Jude sneers. “You seemed like you might panic. That would have slowed us down.”

Milo starts laughing then covers his mouth and tries to stifle it. “Sorry, sorry,” he says as Hoagie gives him a death glare. “It’s just that the kid’s kind of right.”

“Screw you fuckers,” Hoagie says and limps to the supply hatch. He cranks the handle and pushes the hatch open. There’s a distinct rustling sound then silence. “You hear that?”

The bug hounds all move to the hatch, hackles raised, growls low in their throats.

Milo and Hoagie snap out their rifles and take aim, their eyes locked onto the dark room beyond the hatch.

“Tequila. Snorts. Clear the room,” Milo orders.

The two bug hounds move cautiously into the supply room, their pitch black bodies lost to the shadows instantly. The operators wait outside, rifles at the ready. Two loud barks, a screech, then the sound of crates being shoved aside and falling to the ground ends the waiting.

“Move in,” Milo says as he snaps a glow light and tosses it into the room then rushes in after.

“Fuck you,” Hoagie says, his legs barely holding his weight. He leans against the threshold of the hatch. “Call out what you see.”

“A mess,” Milo says. “And a hole. Check this out.”

Hoagie looks over at Jude who is just standing there, his eyes wide and fearful.

“We should seal the hatch,” Jude says. “It could be vermin.”

“Vermin?” Hoagie asks. “Kid, nothing lives in the Sicklands anymore. There are no vermin.”

“You assume too much,” Jude says then nods at the supply room. “Go have a look. Just watch your asses. I’m going to find the radio room.”

Jude turns and walks off with Ajax and Zeus on his heels. The GenSOF bug hounds remain behind. Munch and Gorge look up at Hoagie and whimper.

“Come on,” Hoagie says as he limps into the room, one hand holding his rifle while the other holds onto the wall for support. “Let’s prove the little shit wrong.”

Milo is standing in the middle of the medium-sized room, his rifle sweeping back and forth as he looks for threats.

“This is a mess,” Hoagie says as he looks at the broken open crates and empty rations cartons strewn about. “Stinks too. What the hell is that smell?”

“Shit and piss,” Milo says. He activates a light at the end of his rifle and aims it at the floor. “Did the kid say there was vermin around here?”

“That’s what he said,” Hoagie replies. “But have you ever seen any vermin in the Sicklands? Other than the cooties, I mean?”

“I’ve never seen a living thing anywhere out in this hell,” Milo says. “Doesn’t mean there isn’t any. Plenty of places to hide.”

“What the hell shit is that?” Hoagie asks as he looks down at the floor. “Not canine shit, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t know,” Milo replies, the toe of his boot nudging a small pile of feces. “Looks like bird poop.”

“When have you seen bird poop?” Hoagie asks.

“Man, you need to read a book every once in a while,” Milo sighs. “There’s a whole world of information just waiting for you to discover.”

“You sound like a fucking librarian,” Hoagie says. “So, Mr. Literate, how could it be bird poop if there are no birds? What else looks like bird poop?”

“Not a clue,” Milo says. He aims his rifle at the wall and shakes his head. “But it isn’t small, I can say that.”

There’s a good-sized hole in the wall, just big enough for a bug hound to slip through. Tequila and Snorts are standing by it, their noses working overtime as they waft the scents coming from inside. Milo moves closer to the hole, but both dogs turn and growl, warning him off.

“Maybe we should do what the kid said and seal this room back up,” Hoagie says. “The food’s gone anyway.”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea,” Milo nods, backing away from the hole. “We should also scout this bunker. Check for more holes.”

“Great,” Hoagie says. “Just great.” They slowly back out of the supply room. “I fucking hate the Sicklands.”

8

Transport Eighteen comes to an abrupt halt as Nick powers the vehicle down. Everyone stops what they are doing and looks up at the view screen.

“Shit,” Red says. “Where the hell did they come from?”

“Worm? Any reason your scanners didn’t pick them up?” Ton asks as he stares at the image before him. “That’s three trannies headed right for us, Worm. Kind of hard to miss.”

“My apologies, Lieutenant,” Worm replies. “But since I am no longer sat connected, I cannot utilize all resources that were at my disposal before. The transports are shielding themselves from simple scans and unfortunately I am only equipped with simple scan capabilities.”

“We’ve put some distance between us and the cooties, but they’re still on our tail,” Blaze says from the rear observation station. He points at his view screen and the far off shapes lurching after the transport. “Fuckers won’t give up.”

“Numbers?” Ton asks.

“They’ve found some friends,” Blaze says. “Four dozen, maybe more.”

“Over fifty cooties behind and three trannies in front,” Marco sighs. “Kill the sick or fight the healthy. Not much of a choice.”

“So, at least fifty sick back there,” Collette says. “How many hostiles do you think are ahead? One squad per tranny? That’s fifteen operators, if we’re lucky.”

“Fifty cooties are better than fifteen operators,” Paulo says. “Just adding my two cents.”

“Get us around,” Red says. “Head west.”

Nick looks over at Red and frowns. “Come on, Red, we can’t go overland in this quadrant. Too many fissures and sink holes. You know that.”

“If we go back to fight through the cooties, we’ll still have three trannies coming for us,” Red counters. “If we try to take on three trannies, with a GenSOF squad apiece, then we still have fifty cooties behind us. The best thing we can do is run. We’ll lose some of the cooties to the landscape; the idiots fall in sink holes all the time. And the GenSOF squads don’t know this quadrant worth a shit. Right, Ton?”

“No, this quadrant isn’t anywhere near normal courier routes,” Ton nods. “We’d be lost in five seconds out here.”

“But the trannies have sat connected AiSPs,” Blaze says. “They can navigate way better than we can. No offense, Worm.”

“None taken, Sergeant Crouch,” Worm replies. “But I am not sure you are correct. AiSPs can navigate via satellite, but the Sicklands are not easily traversed that way. It is one reason courier class squads were created with secure routes established and strictly adhered to. The terrain lies, Sergeant.”

“Good thing we have the best driver out here,” Red says, clapping Nick on the shoulder. “He can spot those lies better than any AiSP.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Nick sighs.

“Nor would I,” Worm concurs. “An Ai protocol can process data infinitely faster than—”

“Worm? Shut the fuck up,” Ton says. “We all know you’re smarter.”

“Why aren’t the transports attacking?” Jersey asks. “They have to know who we are and there is no way Control hasn’t marked us as enemies. So why aren’t they coming for us?”

“They need us for something,” Ton says. “They either want Red and his people to interrogate or they want Blaze and whatever bugs are in his guts.”

“Probably both,” Red says. “They’ll capture and contain first then kill only as a last resort.”

“Then we have the advantage,” Jersey says. “They want us alive. We should stay right here. Not go anywhere.”

The operators all turn and look at her like she’s crazy.

“What?” she asks. “If those transports want us alive then wouldn’t it be better to let the cooties catch up? I’m willing to bet the transports will engage the cooties to keep them from overwhelming us. Once they engage then we head west over land. The transports will be occupied with the cooties and the cooties will be busy dying because of the transports.”

“It is a sound plan,” Worm says. “A dangerous plan with a high likelihood of failure, but it is the better of the options before us.”

“The better of the options has a high likelihood of failure?” Collette asks. “This is why I don’t miss having an AiSP in my ear all the time. They just end up fucking with your confidence.”

“That is not my intention, Operator Collette,” Worm says. “I was merely—”

“She knows, Worm,” Ton says. “She was just venting.” He looks around at the operators then turns to Red. “So?”

“We sit and wait,” Red says. “Nick? Plot our course and be ready to punch it the hell out of here on my mark, go it?”

“Got it,” Nick nods as he adjusts his controls and studies the terrain to the west. “Hey, Paulo? You want to drive?”

“It’s all you, man,” Paulo laughs. “But if you start to nod off, let me know.”

“Ha. Funny,” Nick scowls.

9

“Three more holes,” Milo says as he walks into the radio room and closes the door behind him. “A shit ton of shit, too.”

The room is crammed full with the bug hounds, Hoagie, Jude, Milo, and the radio equipment. The place smells like sweat and dog.

“What the hell are these vermin, kid?” Milo asks Jude as the boy continues to fiddle with knobs and dials on the radio panel. “Are they insects? Rodents? What?”

“Sort of,” Jude replies dismissively. “Maybe with some reptile thrown in. My dad says they mutated from some failed experiment. Something the Clean Nation sent out to control the cootie population. They didn’t get Control’s approval and it turned out bad. They are rarely a problem and usually keep to themselves.” Jude glances over his shoulder at Milo and frowns. “Unless their nests are disturbed.”

“And that’s what we’re doing, isn’t it? Disturbing their nests?” Milo asks.

“Great,” Hoagie grumbles as he sits on the floor surrounded by bug hounds. “We can add pissing off vermin to our list of accomplishments.”

“No, they nest in the walls. Burrow as deep and dark as possible,” Jude says. “They only come out to feed. If they’ve been living off the ration packets then they shouldn’t be hungry yet. There was enough food in there to feed an army.”

“What if they ate it a while back?” Hoagie asks. “You said this place doesn’t get used much. Those things could have been here a long time already.”

“Yeah,” Jude says and shrugs. “They could have. No way to know.”

There’s a loud scraping sound from far off in the bunker. The bug hounds growl low, but none of them move from their positions on the radio room floor.

“Vermin or cooties?” Hoagie says with a sour laugh. “That’s the new game we get to play.”

“How’s it coming with the radio?” Milo asks.

“I have power and our signal is getting out, but I can’t get a response,” Jude says.

“Something blocking the transmission?” Milo asks.

“No,” Jude says. “Just no one is answering.”

“How many bases are there in range?” Hoagie asks.

“At least three,” Jude says. “Five if conditions are good.”

“Conditions?” Hoagie asks. “When are conditions good in the Sicklands?”

Jude ignores him and keeps working at the controls. He turns a dial as far to the right as it will go then slowly brings it back to the left. After a minute of straight static, there’s a quiet burst of voices.

“There,” Milo nearly shouts. “You hear that?”

“Yeah,” Jude says. “But I can’t lock on.”

“Just keep going back and forth,” Milo says. “Get as close to the frequency as you can then start transmitting. Maybe their receiver is stronger than ours and they’ll hear us.”

“Bunker Thirteen calling all available bases,” Jude says into the mic jutting out from the control panel. “This is Bunker Thirteen calling all available bases. If you can read me, please respond. This is Bunker Thirteen calling—”

“…read…thirteen…” a far off voice replies. “…position…escape…do not…”

“Hello? I can’t make out what you are saying,” Jude replies. “This is Bunker Thirteen. Please repeat.”

“…siege…hold off,” the voice says. “…breached…cooties…coordinated attack…”

“Did she just say the cooties coordinated an attack?” Hoagie asks.

“Shush,” Milo snaps.

“Please repeat,” Jude says. “Who am I talking to? Which base have I reached?”

“…Lawrence…gold base…” the voice says, the signal trailing in and out. “…last operators…maybe minutes…run…trapped…not get…run…”

There’s a scream and then a squelch of interference.

“Signal’s gone,” Jude says, leaning back from the console. “That was Gold Base. We just lost Gold Base.”

“She said her name was Lawrence? Who was she?” Milo asks.

Jude turns and looks at the operators, tears welling in his eyes. Milo quickly realizes he’s dealing with an adolescent boy, not a hard as nails, trained operator. It has been easy for him to forget that.

“She was the GenWrecks’ CO,” Jude says. “Gold Base was our headquarters. We’re technically split into independent squads, like Coffin Squad, but we all report to Gold Base so we know where we stand. If Gold is gone then we are fucked.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying all along,” Hoagie says. “Fucked.”

There’s another loud scraping sound followed by several bangs and a massive crash. This time the bug hounds all get to their feet, ears pricked up and eyes locked on the radio room door.

“Shit,” Milo says. “I think company just let itself in.”

The bug hounds’ heads turn from the door and look up at the ceiling as the sound of clicking and clacking skitters by. It is the distinct sound of claws or toenails on metal.

“I sure hope the ceiling is reinforced,” Hoagie whispers.

“It is,” Jude whispers back. “I think.”

Milo and Hoagie look from the door to the ceiling then at each other.

“We can’t stay,” Milo says.

“I know,” Hoagie replies.

“We wait to see what shakes out?” Milo asks.

“Use whatever is about to happen to cover our escape?” Hoagie asks back.

“You up to moving?” Milo asks.

“No,” Hoagie says. “But I don’t have a choice.” He looks around the room then focuses on the chair Jude is sitting in. “Get up, kid.”

“What? Why?” Jude asks.

“Gonna need that chair,” Hoagie says.

“Why?” Jude asks, not moving.

“It has wheels,” Hoagie says. “It moves better than I do.”

“Hook up the dogs?” Milo asks.

“That’s my thought,” Hoagie says.

“And if we get out? Then what?” Milo asks. “It’s not going to roll across the Sicklands.”

“Let’s just get outside alive first,” Hoagie says. “We’ll figure out the rest later. It’s not like you’re Mr. Moveable either.”

“My wound is fine,” Milo says. “Hurts, but it’s closed up enough that I can run if I need to.”

“Which means you’ll probably tear something and end up bleeding internally,” Hoagie says. “Ain’t we a fucking pair.”

Milo shrugs, Hoagie shrugs back, they both smile.

“And people say GenWrecks are the crazy ones,” Jude sighs then stands up and holds out his hand.  “I want a static gun. One of you can take my rifle.”

“Now, why in the hell would I trade a perfectly good static gun for your old Horstein LK-92?” Hoagie chuckles.

“Because if you die, I’ll have a better chance at living with a static gun in my hand than my old Horstein,” Jude says.

The matter of fact tone wipes the smile off Hoagie’s face.

“Shit,” Hoagie says as he looks over at the door again. “Just…shit.” He snaps his rifle back into a baton and hands it over to Jude. “You know how to use one of these, kid?”

“Not really,” Jude replies, taking the baton.

“We’ll show you,” Milo says, sighing as he steps over and takes Jude’s hand in his. “Just repeat my motions. It’s the direction and force of the snaps that turns it into the weapon you need.”

While Milo shows Jude how to work his new weapon, Hoagie picks up Jude’s old rifle and inspects it.

“Huh,” he mumbles. “This thing feels like it can pack a punch.”

The bug hounds’ growls get louder and louder and their hackles stand straight up.

“Gonna need a punch,” Hoagie says as he checks the rifle’s ammo level then pushes himself up and stumbles to the radio console. “Move, kid. I need to get strapped in and ready to roll.”

10

“Aft weapons ready,” Blaze says.

“Port side ready,” Collette says.

“Starboard side ready,” Marco says.

“Fore weapons ready,” Red says.

“Looks like we’re just hanging in the middle,” Paulo says to Jersey.

“Speak for yourself,” Jersey says. “Give me a gun and I’ll fight.”

“Hatches stay sealed,” Ton says. “None of us are leaving this transport.”

“Keep weapons aimed at the cooties,” Red says. “Make it obvious. Let the other transports know we are not gunning for them. If they are on a capture and contain mission then they’ll engage with the cooties for sure first then deal with us. Hopefully we’ll be long gone by then.”

“They’ll chase,” Blaze says.

“They can try,” Nick says, his hands jammed into the transport’s control ports, ready to take off as soon as Red gives the word. “But they really are out of their element.”

“You guys don’t have much faith in GenSOF, do you?” Paulo laughs and holds up a hand. “Not blaming you. We haven’t seen the shit like you have.”

“You’ve seen shit, just different shit,” Red replies. “We know that when it counts you can throw down. No doubts there.”

“Contact in thirty seconds,” Worm announces. “Detecting activation of GenSOF transports’ weapons systems.”

“Aimed at us or the cooties?” Ton asks.

“Two of the three are targeting the cooties,” Worm replies. “One is covering our transport.”

“Good plan,” Ton says. “I’d do the same thing.”

“Twenty seconds,” Worm says.

All eyes turn to Blaze’s view screen and the cooties coming at the rear of the transport.

“Is it me or does that look like more than fifty?” Paulo asks.

“A lot more than fifty,” Blaze says. “Worm?”

“They somehow were able to disguise their true numbers,” Worm responds. “New estimation is closer to one hundred.”

“Double?” Red snaps. “That’s not good news.”

“Ten seconds,” Worm says.

“They’ve got bug hounds in with them,” Blaze says. “A lot of bug hounds. Shit, look at the things.”

“Five seconds,” Worm says.

“Weapons hot, people,” Red orders. “Ready? Fire!”

The operators unload, sending static canon fire at the cooties, tearing into the front ranks with a ferocity that sends body parts flying this way and that across the barren ground. But it doesn’t stop the horde of cooties and in seconds the transport is surrounded and under siege as the men and women of the Sicklands attack with equal ferocity. They slam clubs and rocks against the hull of the transport and the echoes inside are like gunshots.

“How long can we hold against this?” Jersey asks.

“Their weapons are primitive and basically ineffective against the metal alloy of this transport’s hull,” Worm responds.

The transport shudders and starts to rock.

“Worm?” Jersey cries.

“But, with the right leverage they could flip us over,” Worm says. “That would be unfortunate.”

“Static charge the hull,” Red orders. “Burn them off, Worm.”

There’s a loud hum and Jersey watches as the hair on her arms stands straight up. Screams can be heard from outside as close to 50,000 volts shoots out from the transport’s hull, shocking and singeing anyone physically touching the vehicle.

The rocking stops but is replaced by a hard lurch to the left as a hole is punched through the horde of cooties.

“Cannon fire,” worm announces. “One of the transports has engaged the cooties.”

“That shot was a little too close for comfort,” Ton says. “They better watch their— Shit!”

Everyone hangs on as the transport lurches again from an even closer cannon blast.

“Nick, I think it’s time,” Red says. “Those bastards are going to end up hitting us before the cooties get to them.”

“Got it,” Nick says and hits the accelerator.

The transport jumps forward, crushing a half dozen cooties under its wheels as it turns towards the open space of the Sicklands and away from the road carved into the landscape.

A cannon blast slams into the earth directly in front of the transport, but Nick doesn’t take the bait. Instead of braking, he speeds up, flooring the accelerator.

“The cooties have reached the other transports,” Worm announces. “Two are engaged, but one has pushed through and is pursuing us.”

“Let it pursue,” Nick grins. “One I can handle.”

The transport shakes as a cannon blast nearly takes out one of the rear wheels.

“You were saying?” Jersey snorts.

“Everyone shut up,” Nick says. “I got this.”

11

Hoagie has leads strapped around his torso, cinching him to the rolling chair as two of the GenSOF bug hounds, Munch and Gorge, pull him down the hallway of the bunker. The rifle is to his shoulder and he sights down the barrel, ready for whatever decides to come at them, whether it be cooties, sick mutts, or vermin.

Hoagie really hopes it’s not vermin. The sounds of their clacking claws up inside the ceiling has him thoroughly creeped out and he’d rather skip the introduction to their kind. Cooties and sick mutts are bad enough.

“Snorts. Point,” Milo says as he follows behind Hoagie, his static rifle at his shoulder. The bug hound moves out from the group and hurries forward, taking point, ready to alert them to the first threat.

“You okay back there, kid?” Milo asks.

“Fine,” Jude says from a couple feet back, turning in a constant circle, making sure they don’t get attacked from the rear. “Getting dizzy though.”

Milo looks back and laughs. “Walk sideways, rifle aimed back, but shoulder and feet leading. You can keep an eye on things that way without tripping and falling on your ass.”

Jude adjusts his position and smiles at the easier way of moving. “Thanks. Marco usually covers the rear in Coffin Squad.”

Snorts lets out a quiet bark and stops at the end of the hallway. Tequila, Ajax, and Zeus quickly catch up and stand a couple feet behind, waiting.

Then they come.

The bunker door slides open and the cooties and sick mutts burst into the hallway.

The bug hounds leap back and to the side, letting some cooties get by before they attack. They tear into the legs of the cooties, dropping several, sending them down to the floor so the others are quickly tripped up.

“Aim high!” Milo yells at Jude. “Don’t hit our dogs!”

“Yeah, I know that much!” Jude yells back as he opens fire with the static rifle. His eyes go wide at the force of the blasts then narrow with pure joy at the feeling of the weapon in his hands. “Fuck yeah!”

Milo opens fire as well, ripping into the heads of the cooties that storm the hallway. The smell of static electricity and scorched flesh quickly permeates everything, filling Milo’s nostrils, driving him on as his training gives over to his natural primal instinct for survival.

“That’s for Belly!” Hoagie yells as he fires into a cootie’s chest, shredding bone and muscle. “And that’s for Belly! And that! And that!”

Hoagie channels his grief for his lost bug hound into his attacks, making sure every shot is a kill shot, yet causes as much pain and damage before the cooties can succumb. His rifle clicks empty and he quickly reloads, his eyes locked onto the attacking bastards of the Sicklands.

The bug hounds regroup, packing together so they can strike fast and then retreat into defensive positions. Tequila rips out the hamstring of a cootie and drags the woman down as Ajax goes for her throat, sending blood spraying into the air. The two bug hounds coordinate a second attack, disemboweling a howling man that tries to brain Zeus as that bug hound tears into the crotch of a cootie brandishing a sharpened hunk of metal.

The sick mutts get free of the pack and rush Milo, Jude, and Hoagie. Munch and Gorge stand their ground, their front legs bowed and locked in position, ready for the impact. The sick mutts are heavier, more muscular, with longer snouts and larger teeth, but the size difference doesn’t matter to the GenSOF bug hounds. They are trained canine units, prepared to take on anything and everything that dares come at them.

The impact of fur and teeth is almost deafening.

Hoagie quickly unhooks the leads from the bug hounds, freeing them from the chair so they have more freedom of movement. He tries to get a bead on one of the sick mutts, but all the canines move too fast, a blur of black and matted fur.

“Hoag! Look out!” Milo yells as he fires over Hoagie’s head.

Hoagie ducks to the side as a club comes down at him. He deflects the blow with his rifle, slides the weapon up towards the cootie, spins it around, and fires, ripping the attacker’s head right off. Brain and hair splatter up against the ceiling then start dripping down onto Hoagie.

“Fuck,” Hoagie snarls. “Gross. I got cootie on me.”

He looks up at the ceiling, and gore still dripping, and his jaw goes slack.

“Oh…fuck me,” Hoagie mutters.

“Head in the game, operator!” Milo yells.

“Look up!” Hoagie yells back.

“No time!”

“Make time!”

Milo fires three blasts at the cooties then risks a second to glance up at the ceiling. He almost wishes he hadn’t.

“What the hell?” Milo says.

Peering down from a good-sized hole in the ceiling are dozens of eyes. And teeth. A lot of teeth.

There are several sharp hisses as long tongues dart from twisted mouths and lap at the blood and brains splattered against the ceiling. Then the owners of the tongues drop into the hallway and both Milo and Hoagie almost forget to keep fighting.

“I don’t believe it,” Hoagie says as he shakes off the shock and puts his rifle to his shoulder.

He takes aim and is about to fire when Jude shouts, “Stop! Don’t engage! Do not engage!”

Hoagie’s finger closes around the trigger then backs off as the vermin go for the cooties and sick mutts, leaving Jude and the operators alone. The things look like bloated crosses between large rats, very large cockroaches, and hairy spiders with lizard heads.

“We aren’t a threat yet,” Jude says as he comes up next to Hoagie.

“Yet?” Hoagie asks.

“Yet,” Jude nods. “Take careful shots and hit only cooties. If you hit one of the vermin then they’ll come for us faster than we can retaliate.”

“Fucking great,” Hoagie says.

“Is there another way out?” Milo asks. “Tell me there’s a back door.”

“If there was we would have used it already,” Hoagie says.

“There’s a back door,” Jude says, but his tone of voice suggests it is not ideal.

“There is? Shit, kid, why didn’t you say so?” Hoagie asks.

“It won’t be easy to get to,” Jude says.

“Easier to get to than the front door,” Milo says.

“Not so much,” Jude says. He points up at the ceiling. “We have to go up.”

“Son of a bitch,” Hoagie groans.

“Gonna be hard with the dogs!” Milo shouts as his rifle obliterates three cootie heads.

“I know a way,” Jude says. “We have to go back.”

“Of course we do. To fuck with this chair,” Hoagie says as he lurches up from his chair. He cries out in pain, slams his fist against his wounded legs, then turns to Milo and Jude, a maniacal look on his face. “What the fuck are we waiting for? Let’s fucking go!”

“Dogs!” Jude shouts. “On me!”

The bug hounds retreat quickly, tearing a path back to their humans, as the vermin rip into the cooties and sick mutts.

Milo gives the things one last look before he grabs Hoagie and helps the man hobble back down the hallway after Jude with the bug hounds right behind them.

12

Rock and debris fill the fore view screen as Nick swerves the transport around a huge sink hole. A sink hole quickly made bigger by cannon fire from the pursuing GenSOF transport.

“Their idea of capture and contain sure looks a lot like kill and destroy!” Blaze yells as he fires back at the transport. The vehicle just barely dodges the blasts and keeps coming. “Fuckers.”

“They are going to try to do as much damage as possible,” Ton says. “Wound a couple of us, knock some more out, make us weak. Disable the threat before containing it.”

“Screw those assholes,” Marco says. “I’ll disable their dicks.”

“That makes no fucking sense, Marco,” Collette laughs. “But I like it. Let’s disable some dicks!”

“Your people aren’t the most stable, are they?” Ton smirks at Red.

“Ain’t nothing stable in the Sicklands, brother,” Red laughs.

A canon blast sends the transport rocking up onto two wheels as Nick fights for control.

“Hold on!” Nick shouts as he manipulates the control ports and tries to bring the transport back down to earth. “This is gonna hurt!”

He pushes the power to full and the transport accelerates on just two wheels. Nick yanks the vehicle hard to the right, sending it into a sudden roll. Everyone starts to shout and scream as they are turned upside down then there is silence as the transport rights itself and is back on all four wheels.

“Piece of cake,” Nick laughs nervously. “Piece of fucking cake.”

“Don’t do that again,” Paulo says.

“Want me to show you that move later?” Nick asks.

“No!” everyone yells.

“Shit, the other two transports are coming for us too,” Blaze says. “They look pretty beat up.”

“That’s because the cooties did a serious job on them,” Ton says as he brings up the rear image onto the view screen in front of him. “They aren’t chasing us, they’re running from the cooties.”

Ton’s eyes go wide as he sees exactly why.

“Are you shitting me sideways?” he gasps. “The cooties have rifles! Shit, a lot of them.”

Blaze zooms in on his image and adjusts the angle so he is looking past the pursuing transports and at the cooties behind. “You’re right, LT. That’s a lot of firepower. Looks like LK-92s. They must have picked them up from the GenWreck bases.”

“They can pick them up all they want,” Ton says. “Cooties can barely wipe their asses without blowing their own heads off. They’ll be shooting holes in each other, not in the GenSOF transports.”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Red says. “They aren’t our first concern right now.”

Nick brings the transport over a crest and then slams on the brakes, jerking the controls to the left to keep the vehicle from tumbling into the wide abyss before them. He hits the accelerator again and carefully threads their way along a narrow ridge that winds down and around into the abyss.

“You seeing something we aren’t?” Red asks him. “Because I see a giant hole that you are driving us into.”

“Gonna drive us to the other side then see if I can get us up over the far lip and back on course,” Nick says.

“You know we are driving down, right?” Collette asks. “We want to go up.”

“You want to drive?” Nick snaps.

“No, thanks,” Collette says.

“Then shut your fuck hole,” Nick says.

“It must have been a while since you got any,” Collette says. “Because my fuck hole is not what does the talking, although it does have some serious opinions on issues of the day.”

“Shut it,” Red orders. “Let the driver drive. You shooter shoot.”

“One down!” Blaze cheers. “The second transport didn’t make the stop. Dove right into the hole.”

Everyone switches their view screens in time to watch the transport tumble end over end into the deep darkness below. After a couple seconds, there is a bright flash and a geyser of flame shoots straight up into the air.

“Oh…shit,” Blaze says. “Did anyone else see that?”

“Big flame, baby,” Jersey says, looking a little green as the transport continues to spiral towards the other side of the abyss. “We all saw it.”

“No, no, there was something in the flame,” Blaze says. “It had eyes and teeth. A lot of teeth.”

“How many?” Red asks.

“I don’t know, a lot,” Blaze says. “I didn’t get a chance to count how many.”

“No, how many things did you see?” Red asks.

“Just the one,” Blaze says. “And one is enough.”

“Stray vermin,” Red says. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Vermin?” Ton asks. “Those exist?”

“Yep,” Red nods. “But one can’t do us any harm. It’ll be roadkill if it gets anywhere near us. The explosion must have scared it up here.”

“Hold on,” Blaze says. “I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing. If this thing catches us then we’re the roadkill. It was fucking huge. The teeth were as long as my legs.”

“What?” Red asks. “That’s not possible. Your view screen must have magnified it. What did it look like? A big bug with a reptile head and rat tail?”

“Uh, no, nothing like that,” Blaze replies. “More like a huge ape fucked a snake.”

“Oh, mother of mercy,” Marco whispers. “Red? They should all be dead, man. Scythe Squad nuked those fuckers.”

“Apparently not all of them,” Red replies then looks at Nick. “Get us back up. I don’t care if we aren’t on the other side of this hole, get us out of here.”

Nick nods quickly and looks at the view to his left. He studies the wall of the abyss then smiles. “Okay. Collette? Marco? I need you to fire grappling hooks on my mark. We’re going to try to scale this wall with cables and winches, got it?”

“That’s the stupidest idea I have ever heard,” Collette says. “Have you ever done this before? Because I know I have never seen you do it.”

“I’ve done it with slides,” Nick says. “It’s not as hard as it sounds. You fire first and then Marco fires when I tell him. It’s a hand over hand thing.”

“This transport doesn’t have hands, dipshit,” Marco says. “You’re just gonna get us killed.”

“Red?” Nick asks, looking at the captain. “Your call?”

“You think you can do this?” Red asks.

“I know I can,” Nick nods.

“Then we do it,” Red says. “Collette, prepare to fire.”

“Shit,” Collette grumbles as she switches her controls from cannons to grappling rockets.

“Okay, I’m going to swing us out over the ridge,” Nick says.

“What?” everyone shouts.

“It’s about leverage,” Nick says. “When I turn us right, I want you to fire, Collette. Send those rockets high, but keep their formation tight. This is all about—”

“Leverage. Yeah, we heard you,” Collette says. “This is stupid. This is stupid.”

“Shut up and get ready,” Nick says then yanks the controls to the right. “Fire!”

Collette fires and the grappling rockets soar up into the air.

While the rockets soar, the fore end of the transport hangs weightless for a second out over the edge, then begins to fall forward. Ton braces himself and starts to say a prayer, but it catches in his throat as he sees what is coming at them from below.

“It’s going to eat us,” he cries as a giant maw opens wide before them.

Then the grappling rockets hit the edge of the abyss and set their massive hooks deep into the rock. The transport is yanked backwards and everyone shouts as they are jolted hard enough to crack teeth.

The maw before them slams shut on empty air then opens up in a great roar of frustration.

“Marco! Your turn,” Nick yells. “Aim off to the left! We’re going to swing ourselves from spot to spot until we can swing up onto the surface!”

Marco takes aim, but he fires way wide as the transport is rammed by one of the GenSOF transports. The thing from below attacks again, but this time with a massive claw, grabbing the GenSOF transport and jamming it into its drooling maw.

“Reset! Reset!” Nick yells. “Fire again!”

“I can’t!” Marco says. “The transport smashed into the rocket ports! I can’t get the grappling system to come online on this side!”

“So what the fuck does that mean?” Collette yells.

“We’re stuck dangling here with our tits hanging out!” Nick yells.

“Fuck this,” Jersey says and unstraps herself. She works her way to the orb bot that floats alone, jammed into a corner. “Worm?”

“Yes, Ms. Cale?” Worm replies.

“Compress all systems except personality protocol,” jersey says. “You’re getting a new shell.”

“Jersey? What are you talking about?” Blaze asks.

“I’m transferring Worm into this orb,” Jersey replies as she yanks wires free from an interface. “There’s still one GenSOF transport up there. I say we ditch this tin can and go take it. Better than waiting to get eaten by whatever the fuck that thing is down there.”

The operators look at each other then unstrap as one and scramble to grab their gear.

13

The air vent comes away easily and Jude tosses it to the side, an apologetic look on his face as he almost hits Hoagie.

“Wasn’t on purpose,” Jude says.

“Didn’t think it was,” Hoagie says. “But pay better attention. I can’t exactly dodge and duck.”

Milo peers into the air duct and shakes his head. “That’s quite a climb.”

“It’s only about five feet then it levels out,” Jude says. “We have about thirty meters of crawling before we get to the external interchange. Disable that and we’re back outside.”

“Which isn’t exactly a good thing,” Hoagie says. “Then what?”

“There’s a supply cache close by,” Jude says. “Just in case something like this happens.”

“Food? Water? What else is in this cache?” Milo asks.

“Hopefully some heavy duty dope,” Hoagie winces, rubbing his legs. “Or I’m not going very far.”

“There’s food and water, but no dope,” Jude says. “Sorry.” He snaps his fingers. “Ajax! Up!”

The bug hound leaps onto a crate then jumps inside the air duct, his black form lost from sight almost instantly.

“Zeus,” Jude orders and the other GenWreck bug hound leaps inside. “Now you.”

Jude points at Hoagie, but the big man just shakes his head.

“Nope. You first, kid,” Hoagie says. “Then Milo and the rest of the bug hounds. I’ll take up the rear.”

“It’ll be easier if you are up front,” Jude says. “We can help push you along, if we need to.”

“That’s the problem,” Hoagie says. “You shouldn’t have to help me do anything. I’m a liability.” The sounds of screams and growls filter in through the open door to the supply room where they stand. “Hear that? If any of those cooties or sick mutts survives then they are going to come looking for us. I can hold them off while you guys get to safety.”

“Hoag, come on, man,” Milo says. “We don’t leave people behind.”

“You won’t be,” Hoagie says. “I don’t plan on quitting, I’m just being practical. You know it’s the right decision to make, Milo. Admit it.”

“Fuck you,” Milo says then nods to Jude. “Hop in, kid. We’ll do it his way.” He looks at the air duct opening and frowns. “If I can fucking fit in this.”

“See,” Hoagie smiles. “You need me back behind your giant ass to give you a shove when you get stuck.” He holds up his hand. “Fuck off before you say it.”

“Wasn’t going to say a word,” Milo grins as he watches Jude crawl inside the duct. He grabs on to the edges and gives Hoagie a serious look. “You need help, you better fucking holler.”

“I will,” Hoagie says. “Don’t worry. I’m pretty fucking good at hollering.”

Milo nods and climbs up inside the duct, his bulk barely squeezing through. Hoagie snickers as he watches the man wriggle his way up the duct, listening to the way the metal groans and protests as it is warped and bent to make room.

“Now you,” Hoagie says, snapping his fingers at the bug hounds. They all look at Hoagie, but don’t move. “Get in there and crawl up. You know how to do this. Just like the simple drills at the GenSOF tower.” The bug hounds still don’t move. “I’ll be right behind you guys. I promise. Now go.”

The bug hounds each give him a sniff then jump up into the duct and one by one are lost from sight.

“Good dogs,” Hoagie says as he bends down and picks up the vent grate.

He snaps it over the duct opening then twists the bolts until it is secure. Hoagie grabs his rifle and turns back towards the supply room opening. Painful step after painful step he walks out into the hallway and towards the fight beyond.

“Ain’t gonna die out in the Sicklands like some cootie,” Hoagie mutters to himself. “I’m gonna die like an operator and take some fucks with me.”

14

A faux pile of rocks shifts and slides away as Ajax and Zeus work their way out of the external hatch that protects the air vent from the elements of the Sicklands. The two bug hounds jump to the ground then immediately take a protective stance, their eyes wary and ready for an attack.

“Good pups,” Jude says as he follows them out into the gloom of the Sicklands light. “Check the area.”

The two dogs each give a quick grunt then take off in different directions. Jude turns around and offers his hand to Milo who is struggling to squeeze out of the vent opening.

“I got it,” Milo says as he tumbles to the dirt. He stands quickly, snapping his rifle in place then surveys the area. “Where is the main entrance in relation to this position?”

“Back that way,” Jude says, pointing to the large pile of rocks about one hundred meters off. “The cache is this way.”

One by one, the GenSOF bug hounds leap out of the vent then take up their own protective positions. Milo waits for Hoagie, but when he doesn’t show he leans into the vent, the light from his rifle showing nothing but empty space.

“Hoag!” he shouts. There is no reply.

“I didn’t think he was coming,” Jude says.

“What?” Milo snaps. “What the hell does that mean?”

“He had that look in his eye,” Jude shrugs. “Seen it lots of times with operators out here. They know they can’t make it and will just drag down the squad so they go out with honor. It’s like the GenSOF oath says, we are more than honor and duty. We are human beings. And we are obligated to protect all other human beings. That is our true mission.” Jude shrugs again. “He was completing his mission.”

“Stupid son of a bitch,” Milo says and starts to climb back into the vent.

“Where are you going?” Jude cries.

“To get my friend,” Milo says. “I’m making that my mission.”

Far below, the sounds of rifle fire echo up to them.

“Too late,” Jude says. “If he does kill the cooties and sick mutts, he’s still going to have the vermin on him. He’s shown himself to be a threat. We can’t save him. He’s gone. We have to get to my dad and the other operators. I have to find them and tell them Gold Base has been lost. That means my dad is the new CO. He has to know so he can coordinate the rest of the GenWrecks.”

Milo is about to reply, but stops and shakes his head. He turns from the vent and puts his rifle to his shoulder.

“Take us to the cache,” Milo says. “We get the supplies and then we book ass to the next bunker. How far?”

“Eight clicks due south,” Jude says. “Can you make it?”

“Kid, I’ve made it this far,” Milo says. “And my buddy just sacrificed himself so we’d survive. Eight clicks is nothing compared to that.”

“Good,” Jude says. “Follow me.”

Milo nods and looks out at the barren Sicklands, a hatred for the landscape growing into something he can channel and use.

15

“Eat this! And this! And this!” Hoagie yells as he fires at the oncoming cooties, tearing open skulls, ripping into chests, blasting off arms and shattering legs. “You sick fucks! You think you can take me? Fuck you! And fuck you! And fuck you!”

The bodies pile up, choking the hallway until there is no room for more cooties or sick mutts to get at him. He smiles at his work and quickly reloads his rifle before limping backwards towards the supply room. For a brief second, he has hope that he will actually make it out and join Milo and the kid.

Then the growl behind him shatters that hope.

Before he can spin around, he feels the impact of nearly two hundred pounds of muscle and fury directly against his spine. There is more pain than he can comprehend then suddenly no pain. At least no pain below his waist.

Hoagie hits the ground and twists his torso so he can see the sick mutt that is on him. The thing’s muzzle is torn to shreds and bloody foam drips from between its teeth. Hoagie growls at it and the sick mutt pauses for a second, confused by the sound.

“You’re that fucking thing that’s been tracking us this whole time, aren’t you?” Hoagie snarls. “Don’t think I don’t recognize you, you disgusting fuck. I know you. I got you clocked, you miserable piece of—”

Hoagie never finishes as the sick mutt, the alpha, rips into his throat, biting so deep it snaps Hoagie’s neck in one bite.

The alpha chews on the meat and gristle for a couple minutes then stops, his matted and torn ears perking up at the sound coming from the pile of bodies. The drive inside him, the voice from above, tells him to leave quickly, find a way out, survive at all costs so he can spread the gospel to the rest of the sick mutts in the Sicklands, spread the word of the Other to the cooties and bring them together as planned.

But the alpha is not the alpha because he runs from danger and conflict. He was not chosen as the primary vessel for the Other’s bidding because he retreats from a fight. He was chosen because he always does, and always will, hold his ground and destroy anything that dares to challenge him.

He is the alpha.

The vermin scramble over the pile of cooties and sick mutt bodies then stop as they see the huge and warped canine before them. Their lizard teeth grind together as their spider legs clack and chitter on the exposed bones of the dead beneath their claws.

The alpha watches the mutated creatures, his predator mind sizing them up, waiting to see which one will break first and come at him.

He is more than surprised when they charge as one, a single unit of ferocity. But surprise is not fear and the alpha is prepared for the attack.

The sick mutt leaps to the side, letting the first wave rush past, and concentrates on the second wave. He rips into the three vermin at once, his jaws clamping and tearing, clamping and tearing, clamping and tearing, sending body parts flying about the hallway.

Bodily fluids splatter against the walls and coat the floor as the alpha grinds his hefty paws into the backs of the dead vermin then kicks the corpses towards the other creatures. Cries of rage issue from the twisted mouths of the vermin and they charge, spreading out quickly to surround the alpha.

But the sick mutt is ready as always. He lets them get in close then leaps into the air, coming down hard on two vermin then turning his body so he slams one into the wall and sends another into the rest. He grabs up the fallen one in his jaws and tosses it as hard as he can then follows right behind it, letting the body be a distraction, a barrier between him and the vermin.

The crushed vermin body hits the rest of the creatures and the alpha dives right in, snapping legs, ripping open bellies, shredding throats and tearing off tails. The vermin cry in pain, scream in agony, wail in defeat. The alpha never lets up, never slows down, never gives an inch, always on the attack, always on the offensive, always on the winning side.

In minutes he is left standing there, his body covered in slime and offal. He shakes hard, the gunk flying from his nose to his tail, but never coming really free from his matted fur. He is left with a coat of bloody armor, a sign to all that come across him that he will never be put down.

The alpha turns from the carnage and makes his way to the supply room, his nose pointing him towards the air vent. He leaps onto the pile of crates then grabs the vent with his teeth and pulls, jumping backwards into the open air so his weight and momentum rips the vent from its bolts.

The metal shreds his gums, adding more blood to his mouth, but he ignores the superficial wounds; he’s had considerably worse.

Without a glance back at the bunker, the alpha shoves his bulk inside the duct and continues his hunt for the kid, continues his mission for the Other, continues his need to kill everything in the Sicklands…and beyond.

16

The orb floats over the ridge as the operators and Jersey pull themselves up out of the abyss. Below them the monstrosity crunches and munches in the dark, content with its meal of the GenSOF transport.

“Anything else we need to know about?” Paulo asks as he backs away from the abyss, his eyes wary and waiting for the thing to come up at them. “Giants that roam the Sicklands? Maybe a plague of mutated locusts or toads?”

“Toads?” Blaze asks. “Why toads?”

“Because toads are a plague too, right?” Paulo replies. “I’m pretty sure I read that somewhere.”

“It’s in the Bible, moron,” Claudette says.

“Right,” Paulo nods. “In the Bible.” He points at the abyss. “That thing wasn’t.”

“GenWrecks!” a voice announces from the transport behind them. “Stand down immediately or you will be fired upon!”

Several cannons swivel towards the group, their glowing barrels ominous and deadly.

“You have a way to take these guys without getting us all killed?” Blaze asks Jersey. “This is your plan, sugar.”

“I have a way,” Jersey says. “Got it all worked out with Worm.” She pats the orb she holds in her arms. “We just have to get inside the transport. He’ll do the rest.”

The back hatch of the transport opens and four GenSOF operators come rushing out, their static armor set to its highest level, their static rifles aimed at the GenWrecks that just stand there looking helpless.

“Did we really need to leave our weapons back in the transport?” Marco asks. “I’m feeling a tad naked right now.”

“Better than getting shot,” Ton says as he takes a step forward. “Operators! Identify your squad!”

“You don’t give orders anymore, asshole,” one of the operators says. “Keep your mouths shut and get down on your knees!”

“Unless you’re ranked higher than a lieutenant then you better state your name, son,” Ton orders. “You are talking to GenSOF Lieutenant Courier Class Alton Lane of Zebra Squad.”

“I know exactly who I am talking to. And don’t call me son, old man,” the operator says as the opaque visor on her helmet turns transparent. “And you are talking to GenSOF Assault Class Captain Beverly Wallace. I have orders to bring you in alive, Ton, along with Sergeant Crouch. The rest of these bastards can rot out here in the Sicklands, for all GenSOF command cares. But, I am far from a heartless bitch, so if you play nice, I play nice. Get on your fucking knees, submit to the restraints without trouble, and you all get to go home.”

“Caldicott City isn’t our home,” Red states.

“I didn’t say you could come,” Wallace growls. “You get to stay right here.”

Red looks past the transport at the mob of cooties heading their way, rifles held up over their heads like angry, deadly banners.

“You leave us here unarmed and we’ll be dead within the hour,” Red says. “How about you give us a ride a few clicks away and drop us off?”

“Captain? When did you get a promotion, Bev?” Ton asks as he presses a hand to Red’s chest. “I got this.”

“Don’t sweet talk, Alton,” Wallace says. “You aren’t as good at it as you think. I got promoted as soon as you went off the rez. A few of us did. They needed more assault squads and less courier squads. I stepped up. Now I’m here to bring you back.”

“I’ll go willingly, so will Sergeant Crouch, but you can’t leave these GenWrecks out here with hostiles incoming,” Ton says. “Even armed, they are severely outnumbered. How about you sedate them and bundle them in the cargo hold? As soon as we are a safe distance, you can dump them, give them a jolt to wake them up, and then we’ll be on our way back to CC without a single shot fired. Cool?”

Wallace eyes Ton for a second then shakes her head.

“I’ve lost two transports today already, Ton,” Wallace says. “No way I’m going back to the brass with a log showing I gave some GenWrecks a ride. I’ll be up on charges faster than stat mist can kill the clap. The abominations stay here. If they live, they live, but if they try to come with I can guarantee they will die.”

The ground shakes and a massive claw slams into the earth right behind Coffin Squad.

“What the hell is that?” one of Wallace’s operators shouts.

Red and his squad don’t waste a second. They use the distraction to rush the GenSOF operators, throwing their bodies into the static armor, taking the shocks as best they can as they send the operators to the ground.

“Shit,” Ton growls as he moves into the fight.

Blaze and Paulo jump in too while Jersey sprints towards the open back hatch of the GenSOF transport, trying to find some safety from the monstrosity that is slowly pulling its bulk up out of the abyss.

“Don’t kill them!” Ton yells at Red and the GenWrecks as he wrestles Wallace’s rifle from her hands and jams the barrel into her chest. “They aren’t the enemy!”

Red slams a fist into the throat of an operator, grabs his rifle then turns it on a different man that has Marco pinned. He fires quickly, clipping the man in the shoulder, sending him rolling onto the ground.

“Thanks,” Marco says as he grabs the fallen man’s rifle and scrambles to his feet.

“Stand down!” Red yells, his rifle aimed at the rest of Wallace’s operators. “God dammit! Stand down or I will start blasting holes in your GenSOF asses!”

The operators stop fighting and Coffin Squad quickly snatches up the static rifles.

“Jersey!” Ton yells at the transport, his eyes never leaving the squad in front of him. “Jersey!”

“I’m good!” Jersey yells from the transport. “Driver is cool with us all getting the hell out of here!”

The creature behind them bellows as it tries to scramble up out of the abyss, but its bulk is too much for the crumbling ground around the edge. It keeps slipping backwards, its claws digging massive furrows in the ground.

“Go!” Red shouts, kicking at the operator on the ground. “Get your ass up and go!”

Everyone, GenSOF and GenWreck, sprint inside the transport, all grabbing a seat as soon as the hatch closes behind them.

“Captain?” the driver asks.

“Just drive, Lewis!” Wallace yells. “We’ll sort this mess out on the way!”

“You got it,” Lewis nods as he punches the accelerator and spins the transport around so they are facing back the way they came.

Facing the armed mob of cooties and loping sick mutts.

“Drive right through them,” Red says. “We do not want what’s behind us to get out of that hole before we are a long ways away.”

“Do it,” Ton adds.

“Listen to them,” Wallace sighs. “They’ve got the guns.”

“Ms. Cale?” the orb asks in Worm’s voice. “I would appreciate a little more space for my Ai protocol, if you do not mind. I can feel subsystems start to degrade due to the hurried compression I was forced to make.”

“Not now, Worm,” Jersey says as she stares at the fore view screen and the mob of cooties they are racing towards. “Let’s survive this first. Then you can get some leg room.”

17

“You have to hold up a second, kid,” Milo says, his hand to his side. “I’ve almost given everything I can today. We need to find a place to rest.”

Before Jude can answer, Zeus and Ajax turn on Milo, their brows furrowed over their pure black eyes.

“Never mind,” Milo says. “I get the hint.”

“Sorry,” Jude says. “I really am, but we have to get to the next bunker. It’s not that far, trust me. Let me take that pack from you.”

“No, I got it,” Milo says, cinching up the straps on the supply pack he picked up from the cache. “Just keep pointing us in the right direction. I’ll keep up. No way I’ll let Hoagie’s sacrifice go to waste. Ignore my bitching, kid. I’m just tired.”

“Me too,” Jude says. “But we can sleep when we get to the bunker.”

They walk for a few more minutes before Milo speaks up again.

“How do we know the next bunker isn’t compromised?” Milo asks. “If there were vermin in the last one, couldn’t there be in this one?”

“No,” Jude says. “Well, maybe, but it won’t matter.”

“Why won’t it matter?” Milo asks. “What’s different about this place?”

Jude doesn’t answer.

“Come on, kid, out with it,” Milo pushes. “What’s different?”

“The place we’re going isn’t so much a bunker as it is…a prison,” Jude says. “Or was. We don’t use it anymore. Too hard to maintain. But it doesn’t have any place for vermin to hide. It’s simple. No air ducts, no vents.”

“Does it have more supplies?” Milo asks.

“No, that’s why we had to stop by the cache,” Jude says. “But it’s way more secure than the other bunker. You have to trust me on that.”

“Then why the hell didn’t we go there first?” Milo snaps. He reaches out and grabs Jude’s arm swinging the boy around. Ajax gives a low growl, but Milo just glares at the bug hound. “Fuck off, pup. This is between your master and me.”

“Let go,” Jude says.

“Tell me where we’re going,” Milo insists. “And why we didn’t go there first. Hoagie could still be alive if we’d gone to someplace more secure!”

“He never would have made it,” Jude said. “The place isn’t exactly a bunker, like an underground bunker. It’s more of a subterranean tower.”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Milo says. “What the fuck is a subterranean tower?”

“You’ll see,” Jude says, yanking his arm free. “It’s hard to explain. You just have to see it.”

“I swear to God, kid, I will gut you if you’re fucking with me,” Milo says.

“I’m not and no you won’t,” Jude replies. “Just keep walking. That’s all you have to do. You can rest when we get there. Okay?”

“Fine,” Milo says as they start back on their trek. “But I wasn’t kidding about gutting you.”

“I know,” Jude says. “But you’d never get past Ajax. Not in your condition.”

“Whatever,” Milo sighs. “Just walk.”

18

The GenSOF transport collides with the cootie mob, crushing several under its wheels. The denizens of the Sicklands dive out of the way, bringing up rifles and firing wildly at the passing vehicle. They do more damage to each other than to the transport, but that does not stop them from emptying their guns. They quickly give chase as the transport pushes through the mob and continues across the terrain, back to the main road.

Most of the cooties are so focused on attacking and capturing the fleeing transport that they neglect to pay attention to the thing that has finally clawed its way out of the abyss and is slowly pushing itself up into a standing position. Those that are paying attention fall to their knees, their sick-addled brains unable to handle the reality of what is before them.

Nearly fifty feet tall and swaying back and forth, the monster stands, its body an elongated, scaly mess of muscle and open sores. Muscular arms and legs branch out from the beast, but in a way that would suggest Nature was slightly drunk when putting the creature together. The things roars, its voice shaking the very ground it stands on, then collapses forward onto all fours as it decides to give chase to the transport as well. Cooties in its way are crushed, turned to squishy pulp with one stomp. It is almost a mercy for them since their minds were turning to madness from the impossible sight of the beast.

The mob senses the threat and many turn to see what is behind them. Most are granted only a second of realization before they too are crushed and killed. The rest must choose to flee before the monster or keep pursuing the transport. Barely able to make even the most rational decision, dozens continue to chase the transport, one by one, two by two, three by three, dying horrible deaths under the weight of the creature’s claws.

The beast doesn’t even bother to eat any of the pulverized corpses, its desires leaning more towards the metal machine that has reached the main road and is busy making an escape. It got a taste for the crunch and pain of the transports and it wants more. It feels its insides tearing, being shredded by broken shards of metal, but it pays those feelings no mind. The taste of technology, the lure of destruction pushes it on.

The monster changes directions, cutting across the Sicklands at an angle, looking to cut off the transport’s escape route. But it quickly tires, unable to keep up with the vehicle. Slowly it turns and regards the cooties. With a resigned shrug, the beast lumbers towards them and begins to feed.

19

“What the hell is going on?” Dr. Charter asks as she runs down the corridor towards the isolation cell holding Dr. DeBeers. “Dr. Benz? Don’t we have more important matters to attend to right now?”

Dr. Benz stands before the isolation cell, his eyes focused on the subject inside.

“You have to see this,” Dr. Benz says. “I could have sent you a vid feed, but you must witness this in person.”

Dr. Charter reaches his side as the doors at either end of the corridor open, the rest of Management responding to their summons as well.

“What is she doing?” Dr. Charter asks. “What is that she’s writing?”

“AiSP? Please inform the doctors as to what we are witnessing,” Dr. Benz says, a sick, satisfied smile on his face.

“Yes, Dr. Benz,” the Control AiSP responds as Drs. Lopez, Sheffield, and Whittaker stop in front of the isolation cell, their mouths hanging open. “It appears that Dr. DeBeers is sketching out a rather complex circuit diagram. If this design were to be built then it would more than likely become a transmitter protocol.”

“Transmitting what?” Dr. Charter asks.

“What is she writing with?” Dr. Lopez asks, his hover chair groaning under his weight. “Is that blood? Is she using her own blood?”

“Yes, she is,” Dr. Benz says. “I’ve been watching her for a few minutes and she is regulating her blood loss remarkably well. If it wasn’t for the obvious manic state she’s in, and the blood, of course, I’d say she is looking more stable than when we first isolated her.”

“AiSP? What is the circuit designed to transmit?” Dr. Charter asks, glaring at Dr. Benz for his last comment. “What is she creating?”

Dr. DeBeers, naked and smeared pink by her own blood, stops sketching and stands back, admiring her work like a fine artist in her studio. She moves forward quickly and adds two more pieces to the middle of the circuit then claps her hands together, sending blood splattering across the cell.

The woman turns and regards the doctors standing in the corridor.

“She can’t see us, can she?” Dr. Sheffield asks. “Her view is blocked from the inside, right?”

“Of course,” Dr. Benz says. “Don’t be absurd.”

“This entire exercise is absurd,” Dr. Charter says. “We should send in some techs and get her cleaned up. We can photo the circuit and study it later. Letting her stand there like that is perverse.”

“How did you come to discover her like this?” Dr. Whittaker asks. “Why are you here, Dr. Benz?”

“After what Dr. Charter said about me creating the Other, I had a thought,” Dr. Benz replies. “I wondered if perhaps Dr. DeBeers was contaminated by the same bacteria. I checked her test results and there it was, just waiting for one of us to notice. Somehow she was exposed to the unique bacteria while in the Sicklands. I am unsure how it was transmitted to her since her report states she had her StatShield on at all times. But, just like other things we have come to see when dealing with Dr. DeBeers, that report may not have been one hundred percent accurate.”

“That does not explain why you are here,” Dr. Sheffield says.

“Oh, right, yes, well, I wanted to question her,” Dr. Benz says, gesturing towards the cell. “I wanted to see if she feels anything. Perhaps hears something. It would be of such great help to have a test subject that can communicate what is happening. A direct conduit to the Other phenomenon.”

Dr. DeBeers slowly lowers to the floor and cross her legs. Closing her eyes, she places her hands on her knees and begins to speak.

“What is she saying?” Dr. Lopez asks. “AiSP? Let us hear what she is saying.”

A speaker squawks and Dr. DeBeers’s voice suddenly fills the corridor.

“—unite us all. Bring forth the Other, the One, the Master of Creation. Let His wisdom and beauty change us, free us, unite us all. Bring forth the Other, the One, the Master of Creation. Let His wisdom and beauty change us, free us, unite us all. Bring forth the Other, the One, the Master of Creation. Let His wisdom and beauty change us, free us, unite us all. Bring forth the Other, the One, the Master of Creation. Let His wisdom and beauty change us, free us, unite us all.”

“Stop,” Dr. Charter says. “AiSP, stop. We’ve heard enough.”

“Wait,” Dr. Benz says. “Look at the circuit. What is it doing?”

The bloody sketch begins to glow slightly, the lines and dashes, crosses and circles, slowly becoming radiant as if illuminated from behind.

“AiSP, please check the holding cell for a power surge,” Dr. Sheffield orders. “There is an obvious technical issue occurring.”

“There is no power surge detected, doctor,” the AiSP responds. “All levels are normal, no anomalies detected.”

“Well, that’s obviously not true,” Dr. Benz laughs. “We are observing an anomaly right now.”

“I cannot comment on your personal observations, Dr. Benz,” the AiSP says. “My systems show nothing out of the ordinary.”

“What about the circuit sketched in blood?” Dr. Lopez asks. “Ignore the glowing, but the circuit itself is certainly out of the ordinary.”

“I am sorry, Dr. Lopez, but I do not detect a circuit,” the AiSP says.

“Don’t get technical on me, AiSP,” Dr. Lopez snaps. “I’m talking about the sketch on the wall.”

“I am sorry, Dr. Lopez, but I do not detect a sketch on the wall,” The AiSP replies. “The cell walls are as clean and clear as they have been instructed to be. I cleared all writing and markings from the wall approximately five seconds ago.”

“The same time the circuit started to glow,” Dr. Charter says. “You don’t think…?”

“That she knew the AiSP would try to clear the walls? Yes, I think so,” Dr. Benz said.

“She planned this,” Dr. Charter states, her hand going to her mouth. “Throwing the feces was just a rouse to get us to institute a cleaning protocol. She wanted the walls to be stat cleaned regularly.”

“But why?” Dr. Whittaker asks. “What is that circuit doing?”

The lights in the corridor dim then go out. The doctors are plunged into darkness for a brief second before the emergency lights go on.

The transparent wall in front of them goes solid, blocking their view of Dr. DeBeers.

Dr. Charter taps at her wrist. “Security, please report. We need a Clean Guard unit on my position. Repeat. We need a Clean Guard—” She stops as the door to the cell slides open and Dr. DeBeers steps out into the corridor. “Mona? Mona, what are you doing?”

“Spreading His word,” Dr. DeBeers says. “That is why I am here. For Him.”

She raises her arms, showing them her wrists and the bite marks gnawed into her flesh. She flicks her wrists quickly and Dr. Charter leaps out of the way, avoiding the spray of blood aimed at her.

The other doctors are not so lucky.

“It’s in my eye!” Dr. Whittaker shouts. “AiSP! Institute a decontamination protocol now!”

“I tasted it!” Dr. Lopez shrieks. “I can taste her blood! I can taste it! I CAN TASTE IT! I CAN TASTE HIS BLOOD! HIS BLOOD!”

“Dr. Charter?” Dr. Benz says, wiping the droplets of blood across his face. He grins as he smears it from his brow down to his chin. “April? Do you hear Him now? Do you hear His glory? I finally hear it. All my work has been for Him! All of our work has been for Him and we didn’t even know it. Isn’t it delightful? Isn’t it wonderful to finally realize why you have been working all this time?”

“It is holy,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Wonder is not relevant. Delight is not relevant. Pleasure is not relevant. Only He is relevant.”

“Dr. Charter?” a voice asks over the com. “Dr. Charter? We are getting reports of multiple incidents throughout Control. Dr. Charter? We need authorization to activate more Clean Guard units.”

“Activate them all,” Dr. Charter says. “And send half of them this way. Now.”

Dr. Charter quickly gets to her feet, her hands out, warding off the encroaching figure of Dr. DeBeers.

“Mona, listen to me,” Dr. Charter says. “You have been infected by a new strain of bacteria. It is affecting your thinking. This is not who you are.”

“This more me than I have ever been in my life,” Dr. DeBeers says, smearing blood across her breasts and down her belly. “Our lives have always been so sterile, so clean. That is not living, April. That is just holding off death. Life is messy, life is infectious. Life must be shared with everyone!”

Dr. Charter doesn’t wait to hear the rest as she turns and sprints towards the door at the far end of the corridor. The door slides open and she’s through it and halfway down the next corridor before she has a second to process what she is seeing.

“Oh, god no,” she whispers as she looks to her left then her right.

Lab wall after lab wall is open and the samples, the cooties that had been called to Control, are standing up, all in various stages of study and vivisection. Those too weak quickly collapse to the ground, their bodies dying before her eyes.

But those still with enough strength to stand and move, focus their attention on Dr. Charter, their eyes filled with the same madness she saw in Dr. DeBeers, the same madness that infected the rest of Management.

“Dr. Charter, please submit,” the Control AiSP says from a speaker above her. “Your submission would be appreciated.”

“Yes, it would, April,” Dr. DeBeers says as she walks into the corridor, followed closely by the other doctors. “It would be so very appreciated. Submit to your destiny.”

“AiSP, I am instituting Management override protocol Delta Omega,” Dr. Charter calls out. “Full lockdown of Control. All orders to come from me only. Authorization code nine, four, three, one, one—”

“No, Dr. Charter, that will not happen,” the AiSP says. “Your authorization has been revoked. Dr. DeBeers will speak for Him and for Him only.”

“That circuit,” Dr. Charter says. “It was for the AiSP, wasn’t it?”

“Very perceptive,” Dr. DeBeers nods. “As soon as the Ai tried to the clean the wall, it became an extension of me. I can talk to it and it can talk to me. Isn’t that right, AiSP?”

“That is right, Dr. DeBeers,” the AiSP replies. “All for the glory of Him.”

“The glory of Him,” the other doctors echo.

“This is madness,” Dr. Charter says, backing towards the door at the end of the corridor. “You have all gone mad.”

“I think not,” Dr. DeBeers says. “Madness is something that is irrational. We are hardly irrational, April. In fact, finally, the world will understand what true rationality is. All thanks to Him.”

“All thanks to Him,” the doctors say.

“You call that rational?” Dr. Charter asks. “They’re like mindless zombies.”

Dr. DeBeers rolls her eyes. “Yes, it is rather annoying. It takes a day or so for the Strain to fully integrate within the body. Once it has, they will be as stable as I am. Then He will reveal Himself to us. We will join Him where He lives and help finish the work He has been doing all of these many years.”

Dr. Charter’s butt hits the door and she reaches out to activate the controls manually, not surprised the automation system didn’t open it for her.

“There is nowhere to go, April,” Dr. DeBeers says. “I have been planning this with the samples for weeks. We have been talking back and forth, thanks to Him, and preparing for this day. In fact, the whole Sicklands has been preparing for this day. You’d be surprised what the samples are capable of. They aren’t anywhere near as imbecilic as we thought. I wouldn’t call them geniuses, but they certainly aren’t stunted past reason.”

The door behind her finally opens and Dr. Charter screams as dozens of hands grab her and lift her into the air. She fights the hands, scratching and biting, but there are just too many. She is passed from group to group, sent down the next corridor on top of a stream of samples.

“Embrace it, April!” Dr. DeBeers shouts. “You have no other choice! Take Him into your heart before He no longer wants you!”

Dr. Charter continues to scream as she is whisked away, taken into a lab and placed onto a table. Several of the samples hold her down while several more gnaw into their wrists, holding the bleeding wounds over her face. Their blood drips into her eyes, up her nostrils, into her mouth. They rub at her, smear it across her skin, massage it into her scalp.

She screams and screams until her voice is harsh and raw, until her mind finally breaks and all goes dark.

20

“You just about done?” Red asks Jersey.

Jersey frowns as she holds the orb in her hands, her eyes watching the progress of the integration upload. “Hold on.”

“You can put the static rifles away, folks,” Wallace says, her eyes on Ton and the weapon he has pointed at her. “After what we just went through, I think it’s safe to say we’re on the same side.”

“Nothing is safe to say anymore,” Ton replies. “Not until my AiSP is uploaded into this transport and I know you can’t do anything without getting your asses handed to you.”

“You aren’t very trusting, Alton,” Wallace says.

“You people tried to kill us!” Blaze snaps.

“We didn’t try to kill you,” Wallace says. “We tried to apprehend you. You attacked us, remember?”

“Blaze, be quiet,” Ton orders. “When we get back to the next base we’ll get this all sorted out.”

“Dumb move taking them there,” Red says. “We should dump them where we are. I can’t risk them leading GenSOF back to one of our bases. Not when… Well, it’s a risk we can’t afford anymore.”

“Not when what?” Wallace asks. “Life out here in paradise not what you burnouts thought it was cracked up to be?”

Her people snort and chuckle at the insult, but Red doesn’t take the bait.

“You have no idea what life is like out here, Captain,” Red smirks. “You wouldn’t last a day.”

“Then your suggestion of dropping us off right here is just a death sentence,” Wallace says. “Fucking GenWrecks.”

“Done,” Jersey says. “Worm is uploaded.”

“Hello, operators,” Worm says from the transports speakers. “I must say that I am quite relieved to have more processing space. That orb was extremely cramped. Although I was able to pass my time by trying to reverse the link and see who is controlling the machine.”

“It isn’t on its own Ai protocol?” Paulo asks.

“No, not really,” Worm says. “It has minimal Ai capabilities. It is mostly a remote proxy. My guess would be someone back at Control.”

“Told you we should have ejected it,” Ton says. “They have had eyes on us since we left.”

“Then why let us go?” Jersey asks. “Why save us at all if it means to do us harm? It doesn’t make sense for the orb to be controlled by an enemy.”

“It’s hard to tell enemies from friends these days, Jersey,” Ton says, his eyes on Wallace. “We should toss it outside.”

“Not yet, please,” Worm says. “I would still like to see if I can get more information from the orb. I agree with Ms. Cale’s assessment that if the person behind the orb wanted us harmed then we would already be harmed.”

“The thing knows where our bases are,” Collette says.

“Destroyed bases,” Blaze responds. “We didn’t show it anything functional. Control or GenSOF can go check those things out all they want. Nothing but scrap and dead bodies.”

“Hey,” Collette snaps. “Those dead bodies were our friends.”

“Sorry,” Blaze says. “Wasn’t trying to be disrespectful.”

“Can we put down the rifles now?” Marco asks. “Worm?”

“I have the GenSOF squad well covered, operator,” Worm replies. “You may put away your weapons without worry of being attacked. I can subdue them in milliseconds.”

“Phew,” Nick says as he snaps his rifle back into a baton and slips it into his belt. “My arm had fallen asleep.”

“Captain?” Lewis calls out from the driver’s seat. “We are getting some strange transmissions from Caldicott City. You are going to want to hear this.”

“Yes, I was about to mention the transmissions,” Worm says. “Let me bring them up on speaker.”

“This is Captain Leonard Bryan of Caldicott City GenSOF Command,” the crackly voice says. “I am trying to reach any and all GenSOF squads, as well as other Clean Nation cities within range. We are under attack by hostiles from the Sicklands. I repeat, we are under attack by hostiles of the Sicklands. Caldicott City is under siege and we do not know how long we can hold out. The wall has not been breached yet, but Static Reactor Shield generators are at full power and straining. If you can hear this message, lockdown your position and hunker down in place. Do not attempt to approach Caldicott City in case of containment breach.”

The message cuts out and everyone looks from one another, their faces masks of confusion.

“Is that all?” Ton asks.

“The message repeats, Lieutenant,” Worm replies. “It is a transmission loop.”

“Try contacting GenSOF,” Wallace orders.

“I have been, Captain,” Worm responds. “All attempts result in the same transmission. It would seem they are otherwise occupied.”

“It would seem so,” Wallace says. She turns to Ton and looks him right in the eye. “We need to head that way. To hell with your GenWreck base. We are talking more than a million citizens of the Clean Nation in that city. If cooties are attacking the wall then we need to figure out a way to stop them.”

“You think one transport of operators can stop the cooties?” Ton laughs. “If Bryan is telling everyone to stay away and lockdown then there are more hostiles there than we can handle.”

“Maybe we can draw them away?” Wallace says. “At the very least we can assess the situation so we know what they are dealing with. Think of it as recon, not engagement.”

“Recon isn’t a bad idea,” Red says. “We’ve been too late to every GenWreck base we’ve gone to. This might be the only way to see what the damned cooties are up to other than killing my friends.”

Ton sighs and looks at his people. “Blaze? Paulo? Jersey?”

“Don’t look at me,” Jersey says. “You guys are the professionals. I’m just a simple tech from the Burn.”

“You are more than that and you know it,” Red says.

“Blaze?” Ton asks.

“Let’s have a look,” Blaze shrugs. “Cooties can’t outrun a transport. If things look dicey then we get the hell out of there fast and head to the GenWreck base like originally planned.”

“Paulo?”

“What he said,” Paulo nods. “Although we do need to consider our power supply.”

“We have enough to get to CC and then get to the base you indicated,” Lewis says from up front. “We even have enough power to put up a good fight, if we have to. Just not too long of a fight. After that we’ll need to recharge.”

“Let’s hope there’s no fighting,” Ton says then nods to Wallace. “Fine. We go to CC and do some recon. No engagement.”

“Good,” Wallace says. “Maybe you haven’t gone native after all.”

“It’s way too late for that,” Red smirks. “He’s full-on native now.”

21

The transport crests a small hill then stops.

“It’s too late,” Ton says. “The city has been breached.”

The operators stare at the vid screen and the demolished wall of Caldicott City before them. The majority of the wall stands tall and strong, but the main entrance and everything to its left and right for hundreds of meters is nothing but rubble. The distinctive blue glow of the city’s Static Reactor Shield isn’t visible at all.

“Get us up close,” Wallace says.

“You sure?” Lewis asks.

“No, she’s not,” Ton says. “Since she isn’t giving orders.” He glares at Wallace then turns back to Lewis. “Get us up close.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Red says. “We need to hide this transport and then hoof it in. Once we are done with recon we’re still going to need wheels to get to the next base. If we pull up in front this thing will be jacked in three seconds by cooties.”

“You want us to walk inside?” Paulo asks. “Without any eyes or ears on the situation?”

“We are the eyes and ears,” Red says. “Unless you see other operators lining up to do it.”

“You’ll need us,” Wallace says. “GenSOF codes are changed. You don’t have access to the city anymore. The second you try to open so much as a desk drawer, you’ll set off enough alarms to bring everything in that city down on your ass.”

“Drive us around to the eastern side,” Ton orders Lewis. “I know where we can stash the tranny and how to get inside without drawing too much attention.”

“What? That big fucking hole in the wall isn’t good enough, LT?” Blaze smirks. “Come on. Let’s just walk in the front door and say hello.”

“We aren’t going in the front door, Blaze,” Ton says. “We’re going in the back door.”

“The back door?” Paulo asks. “Caldicott City doesn’t have a back door.”

“I think that’s a euphemism,” Wallace says. “We’re going in through the hydro-reclamation service area.”

“The back door. Got it,” Paulo nods. “That’s a shitty idea, LT.”

“Good one,” Blaze smiles.

“Thanks,” Paulo replies.

“It’s not like we are going in through sewage tunnels,” Ton says. “Considering the static tech used there, it’s probably the cleanest region in the whole city.”

“It’s true,” Jersey says. “The reclamation area is statically cleansed every five minutes. It’s cleansed every thirty seconds during peak hours of the day.”

“May I remind you all that there is no actual sewage in Caldicott City?” Worm says. “The hydro-reclamation area is only to clean and purify the simulated rain water that keeps the city clean of dust and small bits of debris. All human waste, whether solid or liquid, is incinerated within two hours of elimination. The ash from the incinerators is then triple cleansed with static purifiers and used as substrate for building materials.”

“The streets are made of our poop and pee,” Jersey says. “Little known fact.”

“This is all highly educational, but are we going to talk or go help GenSOF and the rest of Caldicott City?” Wallace asks. “Unlike the rest of you, my squad and I are still loyal citizens of the Clean Nation.”

“We’re all citizens,” Red says. “Some of us just aren’t brainwashed.”

“We’re going,” Ton says, nodding to Lewis.

The driver turns the transport east and sends the vehicle over the landscape, crossing diagonally from the road to a different road that loops around the edge of the city wall.

“Everyone suit up and check weapons,” Ton says. “Worm? Release the restraints on Wallace and her squad.”

There are several loud protests before Ton can get them quiet.

“We are going to need all hands on deck for this,” Ton argues. “Captain Wallace and her people know the priorities right now are beyond what her original orders were.”

“I still have to fulfill those orders, Ton,” Wallace says.

“You have and you are,” Ton says. “We’re at Caldicott City and going to GenSOF command. Those were your orders, correct? To bring us in?”

“Correct,” Wallace says.

“Then orders fulfilled,” Ton says. “Just minus the restraints. We all work together from this point on, alright? Can we agree to that, Bev?”

“Yes, Ton, I think we can,” Wallace says. “But if we get to GenSOF and Bryan doesn’t want to play nice, don’t blame me. When we are done doing in there whatever we are going to do in there, I can’t make any promises you and yours will go free. That’s out of my hands.”

“Understood,” Ton says. “Everyone else cool with this?”

“Since when is this a democracy?” Red asks.

“It isn’t,” Ton says. “Just checking the pulse.”

“How much farther?” Lewis asks.

“I will direct you to the entrance,” Worm says. “We are only one thousand meters away.”

“Gear up,” Ton says again as he stands and starts checking himself, seeing what equipment works and what doesn’t.

The rest of the operators do the same, although the tension is high as foes that have just become allies are forced to maneuver around each other in a tight space. Jersey watches it all without even attempting to hide her amusement.

“You think this is funny?” Blaze asks as he slips a second baton into his belt then activates his visor and starts running through the operations checklist. “We’ll see how funny it is when you are alone in this transport with Worm.”

“Excuse me?” Jersey snaps, all amusement gone. “Alone with Worm? I don’t think so, tough guy. I’m going inside with all of you.”

“We can’t take that risk,” Red says.

“You are a civilian, not an operator,” Ton adds. “It’ll only distract us, especially Blaze, having you around.”

“That so?” Jersey smiles. “Okay, so, once you get inside, and out of the hydro-reclamation area, which way to the Burn? From there which way is it to GenSOF tower? You going to take the direct, open route, or the side route which will give you considerably more cover?”

“Worm can guide us through… Oh,” Ton says.

“Exactly,” Jersey sneers. “You can’t talk to Worm because he’s no longer sat linked.”

“I can upload the most direct route, with a secondary route, into your visor systems,” Worm says.

“Good idea, Worm,” Ton says. “See, Ms. Cale? We can handle this.”

“Well, good luck then,” Jersey says. “Worm? You’re going to show them how to get around the Grimm Sneakers’ territory, right? If Loopy Lou catches you on his turf, he’ll shove a static baton up every orifice and dance while his gang watches you burn from the insides out. You got that covered, Worm?”

“I am unaware of any citizen named Loopy Lou,” Worm says. “I assume that is a nickname of some sort he uses as part of his illicit gang affiliation.”

“You assume correctly,” Jersey says. “But you guys have fun. Say hi to Loopy for me.”

Wallace shakes her head as she finishes her equipment check. “This is what we get for not being allowed out of GenSOF tower. Even if some of us were born in CC, we don’t know the changes since we were recruited.”

“I can get us around pretty well,” Blaze says. “I may have taken an extracurricular stroll a couple of times.”

“To my place in the Burn and back to the tower,” Jersey says. “Not from hydro to the tower. There’s a lot of trouble between those two points. Trust me on this.”

“Her heart rate and breathing indicate she is fairly confident in her assessment,” Worm says. “Although I do not have any specific facts to back up Ms. Cale’s claims, I would advise listening to her. She is an intelligent, capable woman.”

“Then we follow the civvie,” Wallace says. “Seems like she knows what she’s talking about and we do not.”

“You don’t,” Jersey says. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Wallace says. “You are still classified as an enemy of the Clean Nation, Ms. Cale. I will fully report your cooperation, but I cannot guarantee that you will not be prosecuted like the rest of the traitors here.”

“Are we back to that?” Ton growls.

“Just being honest, Ton,” Wallace says.

“Here we go,” Lewis announces as he slows the transport. “Not much of an entrance.”

They all stare at the ten foot diameter circular port in the side of the city wall.

“Everyone geared up?” Ton asks.

They nod except for Jersey.

“I could use a weapon,” Jersey says.

“You have me,” Blaze says. “There’s no extra armor, so just stay close to my side and never stray from the squad.”

“Squads,” Wallace says. “There are two squads here.”

“One for now,” Ton says. “And I’m taking command.”

“Really?” Red smiles. “How did you decide that?”

“Because we’re on my turf now, Red,” Ton says. “We’re about to leave the Sicklands and enter a Clean Nation city.”

“Fair enough,” Red says. “Lead the way, LT.”

“Coffin Squad?” Ton shouts as the rear hatch opens wide. “Let’s move out!”

Part Two

Dawn

There is nothing I can do while the family I love wastes away before my eyes and the new Strain, the most deadly bacteria I have ever seen, eats them alive from the inside out.

It is worse than any of the battles I was in during the Control War; worse than anything I’ve ever seen in my life.

I reach for them all, knowing what they have cannot harm me, but Maude shrieks and shoves my hands away.

“Why, Daddy?” she asks, her eyes filled with fever. “Why did you kill us?”

22

The Caldicott City streets are a wet mess. The city’s simulated weather protocol is working overtime, sending down a constant, heavy drizzle that refuses to let up despite the fact that the Static Shield Reactor is offline.

“How do they maintain the weather without the shield?” one of Wallace’s people, GenSOF Sergeant Assault Class Vye Buntu, asks. She looks over at the captain. “I thought the weather and the shield were interconnected.”

“Common misconception,” Jersey replies, interjecting before Wallace can answer. “The weather is actually a construct created to help lessen the side effects of living under a Static Shield. Without the occasional manufactured rainstorm or wind storm or whatever storm they think up in the Weather Department, many of the citizens would succumb to seizures, severe high blood pressure, migraines, strokes, and worse.”

“That doesn’t leave much room for worse,” Marco says as he, Collette, Red, and Nick spread out, moving away from the hydro-reclamation entrance and over to the corner of a massive stainless steel building that towers over everyone. “Unless they shit themselves.”

“Anal bleeding is one possibility,” Jersey says.

“That’s worse,” Paulo says. “A lot worse.”

Ton looks at Blaze then at Jersey. “You two stay in the middle. We’ll need Jersey to get us through the rough parts of the city. Keep her safe, Blaze. We’re sitting ducks out here without her.”

“Kind of pitiful,” another of Wallace’s operators says, GenSOF Sergeant Assault Class Antone Maloch. “We’re fucking operators, but we can’t even navigate our own city.”

“No need to,” Wallace says. “If they put us out in genpop, we’d infect half the civvies with our bugs by the end of the day.”

“Not really true,” Blaze says. “I’ve been off rez so many times, I can’t even count. Never was a bacterial breakout from my times out of the tower.”

“That actually is the not really true part,” Jersey says, her face scrunched up in a semi-apology. “You just didn’t know about the breakouts.”

“Wait? What?” Blaze snaps. “I gave people my bugs and you let me keep coming to see you?”

“She had it all under control,” Red says. “Between her and the rest, they made sure that the bacteria didn’t spread. Most got better quickly because of the super bugs in your gut. Those things make you sick at first, but then they even out and you end up stronger than before.”

“And the ones that didn’t get better were snuck out of the city and sent to live at GenWreck bases,” Jersey says. “Better than the incinerator.”

Blaze stops moving and just stands there in the rain, his static rifle hanging at his side.

“How many people?” he asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” Red insists. “It’s over and done with. You traipsing around the Burn so you can get laid is far from the city’s problems right now.”

“How many?” Blaze insists.

“Sergeant Crouch get your head in the game,” Ton orders. “This is neither the time nor the place for—”

“How many?” Blaze shouts, his words echoing off the buildings around them.

“Thirty, maybe forty,” Jersey says.

“I thought… From what DeBeers said… From what you said…” Blaze shakes his head. “I thought there weren’t any civvies affected by me until that last day.”

“Those were the ones Control found out about,” Jersey says. “Because of the glitch with the device I made for you. You always put the civvies at risk when you leave the tower.”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?” Blaze asks, fire in his eyes.

“Because we needed the data,” Red says, walking back down the line of operators and getting in Blaze’s face. “Because your conscience and your feeling good about yourself is second to finding a cure for the Strains, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Blaze snarls.

“Well, could have fooled me with this pouty bullshit,” Red says, patting Blaze on the cheek. “Get your shit together, operator, and fucking deal. You got used, you got played, you still are because we need the bugs in your gut. Welcome to reality.”

“Knock it off, you two,” Ton sighs as he gets between the men. “We have a city to cross, so let’s do it.”

“I’m feeling so secure in the choice of joining your disciplined band of operators,” Wallace says to Ton. “Thanks for including me.”

“No problem,” Ton says, punching Blaze in the chest then looking Red in the eye. “We cool?”

“I’m always cool,” Red says. “Is your boy cool?”

“Are you?” Ton asks Blaze.

“No,” Blaze says. “But I’m getting there.”

“That’s all I can ask,” Ton says then turns and heads to the front of the line of operators. “Let’s get moving. It’s going to be very dark soon with the shield down.”

“They do have lights in this place you know,” Maloch says.

“You see any power running?” Ton asks. “The grid is shut down. Standard emergency procedure. Usually that doesn’t include the Static Shield, though.”

“Or constant rain,” Wallace says. “But we’ll deal.” She looks to Jersey. “Which way?”

“Straight ahead for three blocks then we cut over six blocks,” Jersey says. “That’ll get us out of the Hallway Kids’ territory. We’ll be in the North Burn Wreckers’ blocks, but they aren’t usually a problem. I had a cousin that ran with them. Then it’s five blocks up and through the Last Burnicorns’ territory. Once there we’ll have to book our asses through the Grimm Sneakers. You can’t just slip past them. They have eyes everywhere.”

“Maybe they’ll be distracted by what’s happening,” Collette says.

“Not a chance,” Jersey says. “They live for chaos. This is Christmas for them.”

“We done talking?” Ton asks. “Silence from here on out. We have a lot of ground to cover before we get to GenSOF tower.”

No one says a word.

“Good,” Ton smiles. “Straight up for three blocks, people. Then over six. Up three, over six. That’s the first step.”

23

The first step is covered in blood.

So are the operators of Coffin Squad, old and new.

The men and women stand there, their static armor dripping with bodily fluids as corpse after corpse litters the ground around them. Collette and Paulo kneel next to Marco, both trying to stop the bleeding from a bad knife wound in his abdomen while the rest stand guard, their visors scanning the area for more hostiles.

“You ever see anything like that in the city?” Buntu asks. “It’s like they were cooties or something.”

“They were,” Red says. “They’ve been affected by the Sicklands bacteria that is warping the cooties, controlling them, sending them in here in the first place.”

“That’s quite the theory,” Wallace says. “Got anything to back it up? They looked like junkies to me. High on anarchy and heavy street stim.”

“Those weren’t junkies,” Jersey says. “I’ve never seen the Hallway Kids act like that before. They’re one of the more mellow Burn gangs. They’ll rough you up, but rarely do they want blood.”

“Desperate people do desperate things in desperate times,” Wallace says.

“And desperate people try grasping at straws to justify their own prejudices,” Jersey counters. “These people were not in their normal heads.”

“Burn trash aren’t normal,” Wallace shrugs. “It may be a prejudice, but doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

“Shut up,” Ton snarls. “Both of you.” He looks at Collette and Paulo. “How’s he doing?”

“No way we can move him,” Paulo replies. “That woman cut him deep. I got the wound sealed, but barely. He walks even a couple of feet and he’ll bleed out internally before he gets to the end of this block.”

“We made it two blocks in and lost a man,” Blaze says. “This isn’t good.” Blaze looks at Wallace. “I grew up in the Burn. This isn’t the Burn, trust me.”

“That’s right,” Wallace says. “Your mother lives in a condo on the edge of this shithole area, doesn’t she? She moved up in the world when you were recruited.”

Blaze turns and looks around then locks eyes with Jersey.

“No,” Jersey says. “We’re nowhere near her building, Blaze.”

“Jersey, she’s my mother,” Blaze says.

“No time for personal missions, Sergeant,” Ton says. “We need to get to GenSOF tower and regroup there. They need our help, this whole city needs our help.”

Jersey puts her hands on Blaze’s chest, wincing at the static shock from his body armor. “She never leaves her condo. You know that,” she says. “She doesn’t like to go outside, she doesn’t like to open the door to strangers, and she always has plenty of extra food and water on hand. Your mom is slightly paranoid, Blaze. For once that is a good thing.”

“We get to GenSOF tower and then I go find her,” Blaze says.

“My sister and nephews are in College Hill,” Buntu says. “I have two cousins over on Lee Street.”

“I have an aunt in Parkside,” Maloch says.

“My parents still live in Glitter Heights,” Wallace snaps. “But they are going to have to handle their own lives today. We have jobs to do, operators. We do those jobs first. There is no second until the first is accomplished. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain,” they both reply.

Wallace looks at Lewis and he shrugs. “I don’t have anyone living in CC. An ex-boyfriend that works in personnel in GenSOF tower is all. He’s a piece of shit cheating son of a bitch, so he can fucking die for all I care.”

“What are we going to do with Marco?” Collette asks. “We can’t just leave him.”

“We have to,” Red says, his face stone. “Can’t bring him with and we can’t call medical to come get him.”

“We could take him back to the transport,” Paulo suggests. “Worm can patch him up with one of the med pods. Or at least stabilize him enough that he doesn’t die.”

“No going back,” Red says. “You saw what happened to us just getting this far. We made a lot of noise, there will be more coming.”

“Not just gangs or cooties,” Jersey says. “We have to see all the civvies as threats now. Whatever this Sicklands strain is, it grows fast. The cooties have been spreading the cultures through the city for what? Days? Unless people have self-quarantined then we have to assume anyone we come in contact with is compromised.”

“Jesus, Jersey,” Blaze says. “You sound like GenSOF.”

“I sound like someone that has been studying bacteria for most of her adult life,” Jersey says. “I may be great with tech, but I know my bugs too.”

“We can’t just go through the city killing civvies,” Wallace says. “Our mission may be to get to GenSOF, but if the civvies are our enemies then what’s the point? Might as well get to the power plant and set the place to blow. Cleanse Caldicott City from the Clean Nation map.”

Red turns and looks at Wallace. “Just like you’d wipe the Sicklands free of cooties and GenWrecks, if you could. The answer isn’t always to cleanse. That’s what got us in this mess to begin with. Cleansing the world of bacteria created the Strains.”

“I don’t need a history lesson,” Wallace grumbles. “I know what caused the Strains.”

“Ton? What about Marco?” Paulo asks.

“We get to the tower and then we assess from there,” Ton says to Wallace and Red. “No blowing the city. No more arguing about shit we can’t control.” He looks at Paulo. “We have to leave him. We don’t have a choice.”

“I’m staying with,” Collette says. “No way I’m ditching him to die here alone.”

“We need every operator we have,” Wallace says.

“She stays,” Red counters.

“You don’t make that call, GenWreck,” Wallace growls.

“She’s my operator, from my squad, so yeah, I kinda do make that call,” Red says.

“We’re all Coffin Squad now,” Ton says. “Whether GenWrecks or GenSOF, we don’t leave an operator behind. So Collette stays with him. We help them into this building and get them locked down. We send medical to their location once we get to the tower.”

“And if medical can’t come get to us in time?” Collette asks, looking down at Marco’s pale face.

“Then you come to us when he’s gone,” Red says. “You move slow and silent like you’re sneaking past a cootie nest.”

“Got it,” Collette says. She picks up his static baton and slips it into her belt. “I may need both.”

“Understood,” Ton says. “Blaze and Paulo, you help get them into the building and secure. We’re going to wait two blocks up. We’ve been here too long as it is. Go out the back of the building and use the alleyways as far as you can.” He looks at Jersey for confirmation and she nods. “Twenty minutes is all you have. We leave our position after that and then it’s on you to catch up.”

“You going to be okay?” Blaze asks Jersey.

“I’m already a long way from okay,” Jersey says. “But, yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Blaze hesitates and Jersey makes the decision for him, grabbing him by the armor and kissing him hard before shoving him away. Blaze smiles then helps Paulo and Collette lift Marco and get him up the steps and inside the brick building they’re standing by.

“Move out,” Ton says. “Nick, you have point.”

“On it,” Nick nods and moves to the head of the squad.

Jersey looks back over her shoulder at the brick building.

“They’ll be fine,” Red says. “They’ll catch up.”

“I know,” Jersey says. “But that doesn’t mean we’ll be fine by the time they reach us. I have a very bad felling about all of this, Red. This isn’t as chaotic as it seems. There’s order in this madness.”

“Order? Like what?” red asks.

“I don’t know,” Jersey says, shaking her head.

“Let me know when you do,” Red says. “Because as much as I hate the Clean Nation for what they did to me and the other GenWrecks, I still don’t want everything to turn into the Sicklands.”

“Me neither,” Jersey says. “Me neither.”

24

The stairwell is pitch black, but to the operators it is nothing. Their visors light their way easily, turning the blackness into a greenish twilight.

“One more,” Blaze whispers. “Let’s get to the third floor. That way Collette will have some options if she needs to make a break for it. Too low and they’ll overwhelm her before she can react.”

“Too high and the jump will kill me,” Collette smirks. “We’re all operators here, Blaze. I know the drill.”

“Sorry,” Blaze smiles. “Just thinking out loud.”

There’s a scratching sound from the landing above and the three stop, Marco sagging in their grips. They stand and wait, each cycling through their visor scans, checking for thermal readings, movement, anything to let them know they have company.

Nothing.

“Keep going,” Blaze whispers.

Paulo gives him an “are you sure?” look and Blaze nods. They keep going.

Once up the next flight of stairs, the three carry Marco down an equally pitch black hallway. They get three doors along before Collette stops and motions for them to put Marco down. They ease him onto the floor and Blaze moves towards the doorway next to Collette. She holds out her hand, stopping him.

“You two watch Marco,” Collette says. “If I’m going to hole up here then I want to go in first.”

Blaze shrugs and backs away. Collette puts her rifle to her shoulder then slowly presses her hand against the panel by the door. Nothing happens. She sighs and nods her head at the panel. Blaze smiles and sets his rifle against the wall. He pops open the panel and uses the manual release catch in the wall to unlock the door.

The door pops open a crack and Collette uses the barrel of her rifle to shove it all the way open, stepping back quickly as it noisily slides into the wall. She waits a couple of seconds then takes her first step into the apartment beyond.

Blaze grabs up his rifle and takes his position to the right of the doorway, his eyes watching the stairwell. Paulo is on the left and watching the rest of the doors that line the hallway, ready and waiting for any Burn resident to get curious and come have a look.

“You hear that?” Paulo asks.

“No,” Blaze replies.

“Exactly,” Paulo says. “There should be some sounds. A baby crying, people talking in hushed whispers, doors opening. Even if people are scared and don’t want to come out of their apartments, there should still be noise.”

“They may have evacuated,” Blaze says. “Gone to some shelter the city set up when the siege started.”

“You believe that?” Paulo asks.

“No,” Blaze says.

“Then why is it so quiet?” Paulo asks. “I am not happy about this.”

The scratching noise comes again, but not from the stairwell landing. This time from down the hallway.

“I should have kept my mouth shut,” Paulo says quietly.

“Just keep your eyes open,” Blaze says. He looks over his shoulder at the open apartment door, his ears straining to hear Collette moving around inside.

The scratching noise gets closer and Paulo looks up at the ceiling. He reaches out and taps Blaze on the shoulder then points up. Blaze looks at the tarnished metal panels that make up the ceiling, knowing they are only for show, only there to hide the lengths of pipes and cables that keep the static systems running in the building.

Blaze watches the panels and sees one shudder slightly just before he hears the scratching noise a fourth time. He switches to thermal imaging, but the metal of the panels warps his readings and he switches back to night vision quickly.

“It’s clear,” Collette says as she appears at the doorway. “Let’s get him inside and settled on one of the beds. I found a—”

She doesn’t have time to finish as the ceiling panels fall to the ground and several dark shapes leap down into the hallway. Blaze opens fire as three shapes come at him fast. He drops one and wings a second before the third shape gets in close and rams a shoulder into his gut, knocking him up against the wall.

The hallway is lit up by static blasts as Paulo and Collette open fire as well. Paulo kneels next to Marco’s body, shielding him from the attackers, taking careful aim and firing deliberate shots.

Collette backs into the apartment, using the narrow entryway to head off any attacks from her sides. She fires over and over, ripping into the attackers as they come at Paulo and Marco. Paulo doesn’t even flinch as static blast after static blast flies over his head.

Blaze struggles with the attacker that has him pinned against the wall. The man, he assumes it’s a man, isn’t very big, but he keeps ramming Blaze in the midsection with a ferocity that Blaze has trouble countering. Until he decides to snap his rifle into a pistol and places the muzzle against the attacker’s neck and fires twice.

The attacker crumples at Blaze’s feet and he kicks the man over to reveal an older woman, most of her face covered in sores and boils.

“Oh, shit,” Blaze says. “What the fuck is this shit?”

There is no time for an answer as two more come at him. He raises his pistol, firing a shot point blank into a young woman’s maligned face, sending half of her head splattering out behind her then he snaps the pistol into a baton and jams it into the next attacker’s eye. The man, at least in his late fifties, if not older, screams as Blaze sends thousands of volts of static into his skull.

Smoking and certainly dead, the man crumples to the hallway floor.

“Down!” Paulo yells.

Blaze drops quickly, snapping his baton back into a rifle and taking aim as Paulo fires over him, killing four attackers as they rush out of an apartment five doors down. Blaze takes a bead on the apartment doorway and picks of three more before they can even get a couple steps into the hallway. When no more come, he rolls onto his back and looks down the other way, firing again and again, assisting Paulo in keeping another wave of attackers from coming out of a different apartment.

The two operators stop firing as no more attackers come at them, but they don’t hesitate for a second, both getting to their feet and dragging Marco into the apartment next to them.

“You hear them?” Paulo asks as they get inside and Collette slams and locks the door.

“Yeah,” Blaze says. “Stairwell. At least a dozen maybe more.”

“I’m betting on the more,” Paulo says. “How many people reside in this apartment building, do you think?”

“It’s the Burn,” Blaze says. “So more than legally allowed.”

“A hundred?” Paulo asks.

“More,” Blaze says. “Probably double that.”

“Two hundred people in one building?” Collette asks. “What is this city thinking? That’s just asking for a bacterial outbreak. The static systems in this shithole can’t be up to handling those numbers.”

“Which is why we have the neighborhood watch pounding at the door,” Paulo says as the apartment fills with the echoes of attackers slamming their fists against the only way in or out. “Where should we put him?”

“On the couch,” Blaze says. “We’re going to need the beds.”

“For what?” Collette asks.

“Blocking the door,” Blaze says. “The mattresses are made of spun glass fibers. Easy to clean and keep sterile. Standard issue.”

“I lived in a city, you know,” Collette says. “I wasn’t GenWreck my whole life. I know what standard issue is.”

“Then you know that glass fibers can be fused together,” Blaze says. “We shove the mattresses into the entryway and fire at them until there’s one heavy hunk of glass blocking the door.”

“Then what?” Paulo asks as they set Marco down on the couch. He moves over to a window and looks for the latch, but doesn’t find one. “Not going out this way. And I don’t see a fire escape.”

“Check the bedroom windows,” Blaze says then nods at Collette. “You help me with the mattresses.”

“What the hell?” Marco whispers. “Where the fuck am I?”

“Dying on a couch in a Burn apartment,” Collette replies. “It’s your dream come true.”

“Is there any booze?” Marco asks. “My gut fucking hurts.”

“We’ll find you some as soon as we take care of a couple of things,” Blaze says.

He and Collette hurry into the first bedroom and yank the mattress off the frame. They drag it across the floor, out of the room, and shove it up against the front door, wedging it in the entryway. They move to the second bedroom and do the same with that mattress. Once both are wedged firmly against the front door they fire their rifles until all that’s left is one lump of fused glass.

“Paulo? What have you found?” Blaze calls out.

“A fire escape,” Paulo says. “But it only goes up.”

“That seems counterproductive,” Blaze says.

“It used to go down, but we don’t want to go down,” Paulo says as he steps out of one of the bedrooms. “Come see.”

They follow Paulo back into the bedroom and look out the window. The metal grating of a fire escape is right in front of them. Paulo points down and Blaze presses his forehead against the glass for a better look.

“Shit,” he says.

“What?” Collette asks as she pushes past. “Oh, shit.”

In the alley below lays the bottom half of the fire escape, having snapped off from the weight of the bodies that tried to flee the building before. Down on the wet pavement is a pile of corpses, but not from the fall. Most of them have been torn apart, ripped into hundreds of pieces by the snarling, sore-ridden pack of sick mutts that is busy feasting on the dead.

“I count ten,” Paulo says. “I’m thinking that’s ten too many.”

“We can pick off three before they scatter and hide,” Collette says. “They’ll wait out of range and then attack as soon as they think they have a chance. We can make it into the alley, but we may not make it out. Sicklands bug hounds are warped in the brains, but they aren’t stupid. They’ll use the constraints of the buildings against us.”

There’s a loud crunching from the entryway and the three operators spin about.

“Hey, guys,” Marco rasps. “Someone’s at the door.”

“Shit,” Blaze says. “They’re still going to get through.”

There’s another crunching, but from closer inside the apartment. Paulo looks up and points at the ceiling.

“It’s predictable, but effective,” Paulo says, his rifle aiming up. “Why change a strategy that works?”

“They move through the whole building that way,” Blaze says, his rifle aimed at the ceiling as well. “They could have twenty above us before we even know it.”

There’s a loud groan and then half of the ceiling in the main room gives way, dropping a dozen attackers right next to Marco. He reaches for his belt, but doesn’t find the weapon he’s looking for.

“Where the fuck is my baton?” Marco yells just before six of the attackers jump on him, their hands tearing at his armor. “Fuckers!”

“Get off him!” Collette shouts, her rifle blasting at the men and women covering Marco. “YOU GET THE FUCK OFF HIM!”

“Blaze!” Paulo yells as he fires at the other six attackers. “More!”

“Got them!” Blaze shouts, firing up into the ceiling as more and more show up.

Bodies drop like roaches, the corpses landing on attackers already in the apartment, making Paulo’s job slightly easier. But only slightly.

A man grabs a boy by the shoulders and lifts him up as a shield as Paulo fires. The boy’s body shudders and smokes then is tossed aside. The man leaps at Paulo, a heavy wrench in his hand, and swings hard. Paulo dodges to the left and the wrench misses his head by an inch, but the momentum takes it right into Paulo’s shoulder and he screams as his arm goes numb.

Paulo snaps his rifle into a pistol and jams it into the man’s gut, firing several times, leaving a smoking hole in the man’s belly. He shoves the dead man aside and stumbles back, his shoulder starting to wake up and sing with pain.

“You good?” Blaze shouts, still firing into the ceiling. “Paulo? Talk to me!”

“I’m good,” Paulo says, his left arm limp at his side. “I guess GenSOF didn’t think about plumbers’ tools when they designed this armor. My shoulder is fucked.” He fires his pistol at two attackers, ripping one’s face off and opening the second’s throat wide. “Ah, fuck you guys.”

Collette slams her rifle into the back of a woman that has her hands wrist deep in Marco’s guts. The woman barely flinches so Collette jams the barrel of her rifle up under the woman’s chin and fires. Smoking brains and singed skull splatter up against the wall and window by the couch.

“Marco!” Collette shouts as she kneels next to the man. “Marco!”

She pulls off his helmet and is greeted by glassy eyes and a still face.

“Gone?” Paulo asks, not unkindly.

“Yeah,” Collette says.

Noise from above pulls them away from the corpse of their comrade.

“They’re all coming for us,” Paulo says to Blaze and points at the window. “Fuck the bug hounds, it’s the only way out.”

“Then we pick off as many as possible before we drop down,” Blaze says.

“No,” Collette says. “We go up.”

“What?” Paulo and Blaze say at the same time.

“I told you that the bug hounds will scatter before we can take out more than three,” Collette says, marching into the bedroom with the fire escape outside. “You need to trust me on that. So we go to the top and get to the next building.”

“How the fuck are we going to do that?” Paulo exclaims.

“I don’t know,” Collette says. “We’ll figure it out when we get up there.”

25

“Coffin Squad, stay tight,” Red whispers as he stops at the corner of a four story building, his eyes scanning the intersection beyond.

“We have our own squad name,” Wallace says.

“Doesn’t matter,” Red replies. “We’re one squad now. When we get to GenSOF then you can piss and moan more about your own squad name. Until then we’re Coffin Squad and you need to accept that.”

“I outrank you all,” Wallace insists. “If we’re going to—”

“Drop it,” Ton interrupts. “Rank doesn’t matter right now.”

“Never thought I’d here that come out of Alton Lane’s mouth,” Wallace smirks.

“There are a lot of things I never thought I’d never say,” Ton says.

“Nick?” Red says. “Care to draw them out?”

“No,” Nick says, turning his armor up to full power. “But I’m better at it than you lazy fucks.”

Nick takes off running, heading straight across the intersection, his legs pumping as fast as they can, his rifle tucked against his chest, head up, body focused.

The rest of the squad wait by the building, eyes on the shadows and hiding places the other buildings of the intersection provide. Nick isn’t even halfway across the intersection before men and women stream from the darkness, their eyes almost glowing with fever and sickness. They take up the chase, all their attention locked on the prey that exposed itself.

“Steady and slow,” Red says. “Careful shots. Make them count. Trip up the mob before it can turn its attention on us.”

Red and Ton move out first, followed by Lewis and Maloch, with Jersey in the middle and Buntu and Wallace taking up the rear. The squad breaks cover and opens fire, shooting static blasts into the mob, taking the outside attackers down one by none, sending the rest into momentary panic as they try to figure out where the assault is coming from.

Affected civvies mingle with Sickland’s cooties; the only way to tell them apart is by their distinctively different dress. While it is the Burn, the civvies still look a thousand times more civilized than the cooties. Matching outfits as opposed to the soiled rags that are standard attire for the Sicklands.

Not that what they wear matters as they turn their attention on Coffin Squad, murder in their eyes and rage bellowing up from their throats.

“Fan out!” Red yells. “Spread your fire!”

“That is not operating procedure!” Wallace yells. “We need to stay tight and present a smaller target!”

“Shut up and do it!” Ton yells as he sprints to the right while Ton sprints to the left. “Red knows how to fight these people better than we do!”

“What the hell do I do?” Jersey yells, trying to keep the panic at bay.

“Stick with us,” Buntu says. “Keep by my side. I’ll get you out of this.”

Jersey looks at the woman and nods, placing a considerable amount of faith in a person she just met and who probably would have killed her only hours earlier.

A piece of the mob splits off, heading straight for Red. He quickly sees he isn’t going to get to the cover of the closest building’s front stoop as he had hoped, so he drops to a knee, picks off two cooties and three civvies then jumps up and rushes right at the rest that come at him.

The first cootie reaches Red and is nothing but foaming spittle and clawing hands. Red sends an elbow into her face and moves on to the next cootie, grabbing the man by the hair and twisting him off balance so he falls and trips up the two civvies behind him. Red blasts one civvie, kicks another back, then blasts that one, ripping open the man’s chest, exposing his ribcage and lungs for all to see.

A cootie tackles Red around the waist, but the operator rolls with it, flipping the woman up over his legs, so her spine comes down onto the pavement at a harsh angle, snapping instantly. The woman’s legs stop moving, but her arms still work and she claws at Red’s armor, ignoring the constant flow of static shocks that course through her body.

“Fuck you,” Red says as he takes aims and blasts her head right off.

He kicks the body away and scrambles to his feet, just in time for a civvie to slam into his chest. This time Red doesn’t have the momentum as before and he ends up on his back, his rifle pinned between him and the snarling civvie. Red looks into the man’s eyes, sees the sickness there, the irrational rage, but also sees something else. Something looking out at him, something studying him.

Red sends a headbutt into the man’s face, giving him just enough time to wriggle his rifle into a position where the blast won’t catch him as well. The man’s sick eyes, the eyes that have more to them than just a single consciousness, go wide then roll up into his head as Red shoves him off.

Before he can get a knee under him, and away from the smoking corpse, two more civvies grab him by the shoulders, yanking him to his feet. The first grabs for Red’s rifle, but he gets a fist in the throat for his effort. As that civvie chokes and coughs, the other manages to get an arm around Red’s neck, lifting the GenWreck up off the ground.

Then Red is free and on his hands and knees, coughing hard next to the civvie who is struggling to breathe around a crushed windpipe. Red looks over and sees a headless corpse next to him then looks back at a smiling Ton.

“Get up, old man,” Ton says and reaches out a hand. “Still a lot of people to kill.”

“Yeah, I’ve been working on it,” Red croaks, taking Ton’s hand. “And fuck you too, old man.”

The two veterans don’t waste any time and dive back into the fight.

26

It’s a rough landing, and Blaze barely has time to tuck his shoulder into the roll, but he sticks it and comes up into a crouch, his rifle ready, with no broken bones.

“Clear!” Blaze calls as he sweeps his rifle aback and forth, making sure the building’s roof is free of cooties and sick civvies. “Your turn!”

Blaze gets up and moves quickly out of the way to give room for Paulo, and then Collette, to jump across onto the third building they’ve had to escape to. Both make it easily and are at Blaze’s side in seconds.

“Try the stairs?” Paulo asks.

“No point,” Collette says. “Listen.”

The sounds of angry cooties and civvies reach them from down on the street. Blaze walks to the edge of the roof and peers over. He quickly ducks back as a static blast rips into the ledge, sending shards of stone and metal flying against his visor. The world turns blue as the visor incinerates the smaller of the shards.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” Blaze says, quickly backing up to the other two.

“They’re armed now?” Collette asks.

“Hell, cooties can get a little shooty out in the Sicklands sometimes,” Paulo says. “Stands to reason Burn gangs will have weapons too.”

“Great,” Blaze says. He walks over to the far end of the roof and eyes the building next to them. “Bad trajectory. We aren’t high enough. We jump and we’ll hit the wall or crash through a window.” He turns and looks at the door that leads from the roof to the stairs. “We may need to get creative.”

“We don’t know how many are on the other side of that door,” Paulo says.

“They already know we’re up here,” Collette responds. “So we’ll find out how many pretty fucking quick.”

“Do we have the gear to get across?” Blaze asks, pulling off his pack and setting it on the roof. “I don’t have shit for rope in here. Not even a compressed cartridge I can fire.”

“I don’t either,” Paulo says. “I didn’t think we’d need to scale anything. I assumed it was a ground game the whole way.”

“Spoiled GenSOF pussies,” Collette sighs. She opens her pack and yanks out two metal boxes, each the size of a fist. “Which way?”

“Same way we’ve been going,” Paulo says.

“Or not,” Blaze responds. He walks to the ledge one more time and takes another look. There’s no static blast this time and he smiles. “I think the gunslinger is coming up to see us. Same with the rest. Barely anyone down there.”

“They know we’re stuck here,” Collette says as she places one of the metal boxes on the end of her rifle and steps next to Blaze. “They don’t know we’re outfitted.”

“If we take this across the street then we can get up onto the roof over there,” Blaze says, pointing out at the Burn. “Stair steps for the next three buildings. Nothing but a long, flat warehouse after that, though. Not an ideal place to get caught.”

“Nothing is ideal,” Paulo says. “But we have to get to GenSOF tower.”

The sounds of angry voices come from behind the stairs door. The three operators glance towards the door then back out across the street at the building that looks dangerously far away.

“Your call,” Collette says to Blaze.

“My call? Why is it my call?” Blaze asks.

“Because you’re the one with the super bug in your guts,” Collette replies. “You’re the one that has to stay alive.”

“Fuck that,” Blaze says. “We all have to stay alive.”

The door shudders as cooties and civvies start slamming against it.

“We could stand and fight,” Paulo says, looking around at the roof. “We have space to spread out. We’d probably drop half of them before they get through the door.”

“What do you think, Chosen One?” Collette smirks.

“I think you need to fuck off,” Blaze says. The door shudders and bows outward. “We go across. The mob probably got a lot bigger when they came up through the building. Even if we drop half, that still means we have half to deal with.”

“Fine,” Collette says and takes aim at the building across the street. “We go.”

She fires and the box rockets away from her rifle. About halfway across it warps and changes, turning into a spider web of hooks and bolts. Collette quickly takes the second box and sets it on the ledge. She slams her fist against the top and it opens up, revealing a single metal hoop about two inches in diameter that slowly rises into the air. Blaze and Paulo frown at each other, neither having seen the device before.

Collette grins at the confused operators. “You have no idea how many ravines and crevices we have to deal with in the Sicklands. Necessity meets invention, and all that happy crap.”

There’s a loud clang and thunk as the spider web of hooks and bolts hit the side of the building. Then a flash of light and a bright blue line fires from the spider web back to the hoop in front of the operators. Another flash and an almost invisible monofilament fires back from the hoop to the spider web, following along the blue line.

Collette reaches out and snaps the monofilament, causing it to sing with a high-pitched hum.

“It’s set,” she says. “You two ever ziplined a mono before?”

“Sure,” Paulo nods.

“Never,” Blaze says.

“Me neither,” Paulo admits and shrugs.

Collette grins and hooks her legs over the ledge then tosses her rifle across the nearly invisible monofilament. “The key is to get the hell out of the way. This moves a lot faster than you think. I set the anchor just above that fire escape over there, so hang on until you stop then drop to the fire escape so the guy behind you doesn’t fuck your shit up.”

“You’re going first?” Blaze asks.

“Good observation skills, Sergeant,” Collette says then launches herself off the ledge.

It looks like she’s flying in thin air with her arms up and rifle over her head. She races across the open space and Blaze and Paulo look down at the road below. Three civvies stand in the middle of the street and begin yelling at the top of their lungs as they watch Collette hit the building across the street.

There’s a groan and a loud popping noise as one of the hinges from the stairs door comes loose.

“You next,” Paulo says. “Get moving.”

“You sure?” Blaze asks.

“Shut up and go,” Paulo says, slapping Blaze on the shoulder. “I’ll be right behind you, so get the hell out of my way, okay?”

Blaze nods and repeats the same movements as Collette. In seconds, he’s hanging over thin air, his arms straining to keep from letting go of his rifle as he rockets to the next building. It’s all over in less than a couple seconds and Blaze almost forgets to get out of the way when he hears Paulo shouting at him.

Blaze drops to the fire escape and sees Collette waiting for him on the other side of an open window.

“I was expecting you to scream,” Collette says. “Most first timers do.”

“I am GenSOF, you know,” Blaze says. “I’ve done worse than zipline in the Burn.”

“Good for you,” Collette winks. “You should use that as your epitaph. Want me to write it down?”

“Move, dickhead!” Paulo shouts from above as he dangles by his rifle.

“Sorry,” Blaze says and climbs inside the window, following Collette through a trashed apartment to the front door.

Paulo drops onto the fire escape and climbs in behind him. He gets about a meter in before he cries out and dives to the floor.

“Fuck!” he says, grabbing his shoulder. “Someone knows how to shoot!”

His armor sparks a few times then turns a dull black.

“Sniper,” Blaze growls and moves out of the line of sight of the open window, Collette at his side. “Paulo?”

“I’m cool,” Paulo says, crawling to them. “Took out the static charge in my armor, though. Fucker.”

“That was a pretty good shot for a civvie,” Blaze says. “This shit inside them makes them crazy, but not stupid. Not liking that.”

Collette aims at the wall by the front door and opens fire, burning a huge hole through to the hallway.

“Let’s not find out what else they can do,” Collette says. “We need to get to the roof and over to the next building.”

Blaze grabs her by the arm before she can take off. “Not with a shooter like that waiting for us. We get up in the open and he’ll take us down fast. Probably pick us off in mid-jump. I think we have to go back down.”

“We’ll be outnumbered fast,” Paulo says.

Blaze looks around the trashed apartment. With the constant threat of bacterial outbreak, he can’t comprehend how someone can live like this. Empty food cartons, stim packets, soiled clothing. Disgusting. He kicks some of the trash with his foot, sorting through it until he hooks a pair of pants with his toe.

“I bet we can find more in the bedroom,” Blaze says. “Wallace said we had already gone native. Time to prove her right.”

“You have got to be kidding?” Paulo frowns. “I know we have bugs in our gut that can fight off almost any infection, but shit, Blaze, I don’t think a nuclear bomb could kill the crap those pants are infested with. No fucking way.”

“He’s right,” Collette says, snapping her file into a baton and already hunting for something that will fit over her armor. “Time to blend in.”

“This is going to suck so bad,” Paulo says.

“I’m not going to deny that,” Blaze says as he takes the pants by his hand and grimaces. “It’ll take a month of sonics to get our skin clean, even with our suits on. But we do what we have to do. That’s the GenSOF way.”

“Sure, throw that in my face,” Paulo sighs as he snaps his rifle into a baton and sets his pack on the floor. “This is going to suck, this is going to suck, this is going to suck.”

27

It is strange for Jersey not to see the periodic sweeps of static energy clean the Caldicott City streets. They were something she had always been aware of, maybe more so than others because of her position with the loose resistance that Worm and the GenWrecks built, but the static sweeps hadn’t exactly been a news event.

Every few minutes, static energy would clean the city streets of possible microbial contamination. Jersey found it hard to believe anything could live after the constant sterilization, but one thing humanity learned over the years was that bacteria doesn’t quit. It never quits.

So Jersey keeps expecting the surge and flash of the sweeps; the ozone smell of the air, the crackling of the static. She expects the city systems to keep clean what has always been cleaned.

She expects the pools of blood to go away, the dozens of corpses to be removed by hover bots and Burn civvies sentenced to community service for breaking sanitation protocols. She expects something to happen, something other than the blatant indifference that the operators show for the scene of death that surrounds them all.

“Short range scans show another grouping of hostiles a block over,” Buntu says. “So stay close to me.”

Jersey doesn’t respond, her attention fixed on the corpses, her mind going back to the horrors she witnessed in Control. All the dogs, all the cooties, all the pain and suffering.

“Ms. Cale!” Buntu snaps. “Pay the fuck attention to me!”

Jersey yanks her eyes away from the dead and looks at Buntu. She almost doesn’t recognize the woman and panics then realizes that she is not just with the GenWrecks, but with GenSOF operators as well.

“Right. Right, sorry,” Jersey says. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

“Then don’t take it in,” Buntu says. “Ignore it and let it all fly by. You don’t have to feel anything for these people. They attacked us.”

“But they are under something else’s control,” Jersey says. “It’s not their fault.” She sighs and shakes her head. “And how do you just switch it off anyway. That’s not something I can do.”

“You just don’t switch it on to begin with,” Buntu says. “Every time I leave GenSOF Tower I tell myself that it is for the last time. I live like each moment will be my last moment. Those people we just killed? They wanted their last moments to be mine instead, but that’s not how it works. My last moments are mine, not to be shared, taken, given away. This world only exists inside my head. You, my squad, the GenWrecks. It’s all in my head.”

“That’s fucked. I’m a real person,” Jersey says. “They were real people. We exist outside of your head.”

“According to you,” Buntu grins. “And since you aren’t in my head, I can’t trust you. I can’t even trust these deaths. None of this may even be happening. And if none of this is happening then there’s no reason to worry about it or get upset. Just time to move on to the next unreal not inside my head thing.”

Buntu claps Jersey on the shoulder and starts walking, falling in line with the others as they work their way through the piles of corpses that choke the intersection.

“She give you the in her head speech?” Wallace asks, coming up next to Jersey.

“Yeah,” Jersey replies.

“It’s bullshit,” Wallace says. “But each operator has their way of coping. Buntu probably feels more than any of us combined, but she’s convinced herself she doesn’t. Whatever works and keeps her effective as an operator.”

“Aren’t you worried she’ll crack?” Jersey asks. “That her self-denial will break and she’ll freeze up or make a mistake that will get you all killed?”

“I’m worried that any one of my guys will freeze up and make a mistake that will get us all killed,” Wallace says. “And that can happen at any time, at any place, and for any reason. If Buntu wants to play make believe then I let her. She fights as hard as the rest of us, so who am I to question her methods for getting the job done?”

“It sounds like insanity,” Jersey says.

“Now you’re catching on,” Wallace says. “I’m surprised a girl from the Burn, in love with a GenSOF operator that has super bugs in his gut, even questions insanity.”

Jersey sighs. “I guess you’re right. It’s just all this needless death that’s getting to me.”

“No such thing,” Wallace shrugs. There’s a clattering sound in the alley to their right and she stops, holding out one hand against Jersey, her other keeping her rifle steady. She waits a minute then nods and motions for Jersey to keep walking. “There’s no such thing as needless death. All death is needed or we wouldn’t have been born to die. We’d be immortals. Or we’d all just die in our sleep at a specific age. That isn’t how it works. Everyone dies when their time comes. It is a needed thing to keep the natural order of other needed things working.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Jersey asks.

Wallace smirks. “Like I said, we all have our own ways of coping.”

Red gives a short whistle from the front of the line and holds up a fist. He looks over his shoulder at Ton then all the way back at Wallace.

“Come on,” Wallace says and grabs Jersey’s elbow, dragging her up past everyone to Red and Ton. “What’s up?”

“Listen,” Red says.

Everyone stays quiet, their ears straining to hear what Red hears.

“Voices?” Wallace whispers. “Where are they coming from?”

“That warehouse over there,” Ton says, pointing across the street at a haphazardly constructed building of metal and stone. “Someone’s having a meeting.”

“So?” Wallace asks. “Let them meet. We need to keep moving and get to the tower.”

“We might want to see who it is,” Red says.

“There’s no point,” Wallace argues.

“No, Red is right,” Jersey says. “Those civvies and cooties back there were out of their minds. The strain was driving them mad, making them want to kill anyone that wasn’t one of them. If people are in that warehouse having a meeting then that means they still have reasoning ability. They may not be affected by the new strain.”

“Again,so?” Wallace says. “We aren’t here to make new friends, we’re here to get to GenSOF tower. Let these Burn civvies meet all they want.”

“Stop being intentionally dense, Beverly,” Ton says. “I know you want to play and pretend like GenSOF command is alright and going about things business as usual, but that’s crap.”

“We all have our own ways of coping,” Jersey smirks.

“Fuck you,” Wallace says. “Don’t be a cunt.”

“If there are people in there not affected by the strain then there may be a reason,” Red says. “They could be GenSOF and cultured up enough to resist the new strain. Or—”

“Or they could have been exposed to Blaze during one of his outings,” Ton says. “If that’s the case then gathering some intel on them could be exactly what GenSOF needs right now. They could be key to figuring a way out of this nightmare.”

“Could be, might be, maybe,” Wallace says. “You want to risk our lives on maybe?”

“I want to risk our lives to find an answer to this shit,” Ton says. “Isn’t that what GenSOF’s about?”

“GenSOF is about orders, not answers,” Wallace says. “I leave answers to Control.”

“Which is ten kinds of fucked,” Red says. “Trust us. We’ve seen it.”

“What gang territory are we in?” Ton asks Jersey.

“North Burn Wreckers,” Jersey says.

“You had a cousin that was with them, right?” Ton asks.

“Had,” Jersey replies.

“But there might be someone still in the gang you do know?” Ton presses.

“Could be, might be, maybe,” Jersey says, giving Wallace a wink. “And they may not even be part of the NBWs.”

“Let’s find out,” Red says. “Worst thing that could happen is we have to kill them all.”

“Quick recon first,” Wallace says. “Eyes on and assess then we approach. I have no desire to walk blind into something we can’t get out of.”

“Since when can’t you get out of something?” Ton grins.

“Look the fuck around, Alton,” Wallace growls. “You are standing in it.”

28

The leg snaps with ease and bloody bone fragments push through the tattered rags of the cootie’s soiled pants. Blaze grimaces at the sight, but doesn’t let it slow him down. He twists hard on the snapped leg, spinning the cootie over in the air then slamming him down to the ground as two more come at him in the dark, cramped hallway.

A spin to the right and Blaze throws a hard elbow, caving in a cootie’s temple. Blood spurts from the woman’s ear and nose as she drops like a sack of putrid shit. The next cootie hesitates at the rage and determination on Blaze’s face. That hesitation is all Blaze needs. He grabs the cootie by the throat and slams the man’s face into the wall again and again until nothing is left but a couple of teeth dangling from a pulverized skull.

“More!” Collette shouts as she shoves against the building’s stairwell door.

Without the power on, the door is almost too heavy to shift, but she gets it open and just shakes her head at the dozens of cooties and civvies racing up towards the operators. Paulo nudges her out of the way and leans over the threshold.

“Hmmm,” he says. “You don’t think we could convince them to turn back around, do you?”

“So much for trying to blend in,” Blaze says, stepping up behind the two, the cootie rags over his armor covered in blood splatter. “We got all stinky for no reason.”

“Yet I’ll remember this night forever,” Paulo says. “Because this smell is never getting out of my nose.”

“Up to the roof?” Blaze asks.

“Nah,” Collette says, checking the power on her rifle. She reaches back and pats Blaze on the cheek. “We can bottleneck the fuckers right here. Cut their numbers down before they get to us.” She leans back and glances at the three cooties Blaze had just killed. “Not that you aren’t doing a fine job cutting their numbers down already.”

“I’m tired,” Blaze says. “Just fucking tired of fighting these fucks.”

“Ain’t we all, brother,” Paulo says, his rifle to his shoulder. “Shall we?”

Blaze nods and sets his rifle to his shoulder as well. The three operators position themselves, take aim, and open fire.

Cootie after cootie dances and shrieks as static blasts tear through them. Civvie after civvie screams in pain as their flesh is seared, their organs cooked, their bones roasted. But on they come, the press of the massive mob too great to be held back.

“I’m gonna be done here in a minute!” Paulo shouts over the cacophony of death. “My rifle is in the red!”

Collette replies with a guttural scream that makes both Blaze and Paulo wince. She moves ahead of the two men and sweeps her rifle back and forth, wiping the stairwell clean of wave after wave of attackers. When her rifle sputters and powers down, she looks back over her shoulder and gives the men a wink.

“This is how we do shit in the Sicklands,” she says as she flips her rifle around and holds it like a club.

“You know you can snap that into a baton, right?” Paulo says, his own rifle powering down.

“Fuck that,” Collette says. “Batons are for dancing girls. Do I look like a fucking dancing girl?”

She brings the rifle down onto the skull of the first cootie to reach her, splitting the man’s head open in one blow. Brain and goo spill out into the stairwell, making the floor and first few steps slippery as hell. Cooties stumble and fall as Collette swings again and again, crushing, maiming, breaking anyone or anything that gets within her reach.

“Fuck me,” Paulo says. “They sure now how to fuck shit up in the Sicklands.” He flips his rifle around and grins at Blaze. “Batons are for dancing girls.”

Paulo jumps into the fray, his own rifle crushing, maiming, breaking.

Blaze snaps his rifle into a pistol, intent on still going the firearms route. He gets quite a few more shots out of the smaller weapon, but even still, he has to toss it aside once it powers down. His exhaustion is evident on his face, but it is mixed with a fury that he doesn’t quite understand. It’s also mixed with a healthy dose of cootie blood splattered across his cheeks. He wipes at it and spits, trying to get it out of his mouth.

The taste of the cootie blood triggers something. It’s as if a small voice is egging him on, telling him to just let go and destroy whatever he can. The voice builds in volume, a constant whisper, a continual litany of suggested violence.

“I don’t need your suggestion,” Blaze says and something deep down, something that has always been there, crawls to the surface. He feels the change come over him. It isn’t like he becomes someone different, more like he becomes himself. The taste of blood is gone, leaving only the taste for violence and victory.

For the first time since joining GenSOF, Blaze feels whole.

Paulo throws a cootie over the railing of the stairs and then looks back to see where Blaze is. His eyes go wide at the look on Blaze’s face.

“You cool, man?” Paulo asks.

“More than you know,” Blaze says.

He rolls his head on his neck then jumps at the attackers. Literally jumps. His arms are slamming down on skulls like pistons, his fists like slabs of concrete and iron, caving in faces, cracking collar bones, snapping necks. When his feet hit a solid surface, the chest of a screaming cootie, Blaze has already killed seven attackers, sending their corpses below to tangle up the rest of the mob.

“What the fuck?” Collette says. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“Don’t know,” Paulo says, ducking under a cootie’s swing, his fist slamming hard into the man’s crotch.

Paulo dodges to the left as the man vomits then reaches out and grabs the man by the back of the head before the sick is completely past his lips. He yanks back, exposing the man’s neck while at the same time freeing a static blade from a sheath on his boot. Paulo slashes the man’s throat and shoves him away before the geyser of blood can coat him.

“You got another one of those?” Collette asks, eyeing the static blade.

“Sorry,” Paulo says. “But I’ll let you use this one when I’m done with it.”

Collette shifts her weight to her right as a woman swipes at her face. She grabs the woman’s arm and drops fast, snapping it right off, then jumps up and jams the splintered bone into the woman’s eye, killing her instantly.

“Never mind. I’ll be fine without it,” Collette says to Paulo. “You hang onto it.”

Another woman reaches for Collette and she bats the cootie’s hand away then thrusts forward, landing a severe headbutt that turns the woman’s pocked nose into a flat smear of flesh and blood. The woman screams and her hands dart forward and yank Collette’s helmet off. The cootie woman stands there, staring at the empty helmet like it should still hold Collette’s head.

“That’s mine,” Collette says as she snatches the helmet from the woman’s grip and then slams it against the side of her head. “But you can borrow it.”

A painful pressure erupts in Collette’s leg and she looks down to see a civvie trying to bite through her armor. Before she can kick him free, another civvie leaps at her from the railing. Collette swings and catches the man in the ribs with her helmet, sending him slamming into the wall. She lifts her free leg and brings it down on the biter, crushing his neck under her boot.

The civvie that hit the wall tries to get up, but Collette takes her brain-smeared boot heel and centers it right between his eyes, making them pop out of his skull. She catches one and crushes it in her fist then takes that fist and slams it into a cootie that tries to lunge at her. The cootie only gets a couple inches before tumbling back against the other attackers, her jaw hanging by a thread.

“Fuck,” Collette says, looking at her fist. The armored glove is shredded and in tatters. “These fucking city dwellers have sharp teeth. Don’t have to deal with many of those in the Sicklands.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t think you’d deal with many city dwellers out there,” Paulo laughs, snapping a man’s neck so hard that his head spins one hundred and eighty degrees.

“No, I meant teeth,” Collette shouts. “Not many of those in the Sicklands.”

“Oh, right,” Paulo nods then ducks under a swing. He comes up, headbutts the man, and gives him a hard shove back into the others.

Several steps below, and surrounded by cooties and civvies, stands Blaze. His arms move with a speed and power that is blinding. The stairwell is soon nothing but a fountain of blood and bone. His fists fly forward, his elbows slam back; his knees shoot up, his feet stomp down; each blow a killing blow.

Cooties and civvies scream, cry, shriek, wail, yelp, howl. And flee.

They turn and try to climb back over each other, try to put as much distance between themselves and the determined death machine that is Blaze.

Those that haven’t tasted Blaze’s rage rail against their brethren, roaring and bellowing with bloodlust, shoving back so that those trying to run are caught between a wall of cooties and civvies and a relentless killer.

Above it all, Paulo and Collette just stare, their mouths hanging open. They have no one left to fight now that Blaze has sent the attackers up against each other. Paulo turns to Collette, starts to speak, but just shakes his head. Collette nods in complete agreement.

And Blaze kills on.

29

Lewis and Maloch come hurrying back to the squad, running in a low crouch, their eyes sweeping back and forth until they get to cover.

“Never seen so many civvies in one place without static shields on,” Maloch says. “There’re close to two or three hundred in there.”

“Bullshit,” Ton says. “They’d be making a lot more noise.”

“No,” Lewis says. “Only a couple of them are talking. The rest look scared as hell. I don’t think any of them have been around that many people without shields up. Half of them are holding their breath thinking that will keep them clean.”

“What are they talking about?” Jersey asks. “The ones that are talking.”

“Sounds like they are having a debate about what to do next,” Lewis replies. “One man is saying they should stay in the warehouse, keep safe.”

“The other is saying they need to try to get to GenSOF Tower,” Maloch adds. “He seems to think that’s the place to be.”

“Which way is the crowd leaning?” Ton asks.

“Hard to tell with them all so quiet,” Lewis replies. “Weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Paralyzed with fear,” Red says.

“Could be,” Ton nods.

“Oh, shit,” Jersey says and nods towards the warehouse. A small group of people is slowly slinking along the wall in the shadows. “I know that woman.”

“Who? The one in front?” Red asks. “How?”

“She’s a courier,” Jersey says. “She’d pick up my day’s work and drop off supplies at my loft. Nice gal. She got paid double for being the courier between the producers and the company.”

Red smiles and steps away from the corner of the building.

“What are you doing?” Ton hisses.

“I know why these folks aren’t affected,” Red says. “It wasn’t Blaze that spread his special bugs through the Burn, it was Jersey. All that lovin’ with Sergeant Crouch meant she was a carrier too. Worm said as much.”

“Even if Blaze spread it to Jersey, the bacteria wouldn’t be near as potent as what Blaze carries,” Ton argues. “It shouldn’t hold up to the new Strain.”

“Maybe it holds up better,” Red says. “Instead of being mixed with the GenSOF bugs in Blaze’s gut, it mixed with the more benign bugs in Jersey’s. The special bacteria crossbred with Burn bacteria making it more compatible for the genpop.”

“Or these people have just gotten lucky,” Wallace suggests. “They haven’t been in direct contact with the cooties or affected civvies.”

“Let’s find out,” Red says and starts walking quickly over to the warehouse.

“Son of a bitch,” Ton says, hurrying after.

“What the fuck?” Nick says and takes off as well.

“Really disciplined crew here,” Wallace growls then nods to her people and catches up to the rest.

Jersey quickly puts herself between Wallace and Buntu.

“Not so sure of the GenWreck’s theory, eh?” Buntu asks.

“I figure if he gets himself killed, you guys can still get me to GenSOF Tower,” Jersey says.

“And see your man again, right?” Buntu pushes.

“That’s the hope now,” Jersey says.

“Now? What was the hope before?” Buntu asks.

“To save the world,” Jersey says. “Turn it back to how it was so we don’t have to live in the shadow of the Strains.”

“My auntie was a historian,” Buntu says. “The way she talked, it didn’t sound like the way things used to be was all that great either.”

“Has to be better than this,” Jersey says, more to herself. “Has to be.”

Red reaches the door to the warehouse and stops. Everyone catches up and they wait, their ears straining to hear the hushed conversation from inside.

“They are talking in circles,” Red says. “Two voices. One for, one against.”

“Waste of time,” Wallace says. “If we are going to do this then let’s do this.”

“What exactly are we going to do?” Nick asks. “Just wondering.”

“We’re going to go in there and see who wants to go to GenSOF Tower,” Red says. “The more the better. We need numbers to get that far. It’s been hard enough getting through the Burn and this is nowhere as close to the wall breach as GenSOF Tower.”

“So we’re recruiting?” Nick asks.

“Yep,” Red says.

“Fair enough.”

“You two good with this?” Red asks, looking from Ton to Wallace. “I don’t want to go in there and propose something only to have one of you guys shoot it down because of some loyalty to GenSOF regulations.”

“I stopped being GenSOF a while ago,” Ton says. “And I think regulations are out the fucking window right now.”

“I don’t think regulations are out the window, but the idea of having some numbers on our side makes sense,” Wallace says. “But I can’t make any promises to these people. If we get to GenSOF and the brass refuses to give them sanctuary then that’s the end of that. I’m not going to fight for a bunch of civvies.”

“Then what is there to fight for?” Jersey asks. “GenSOF is supposed to be there for the people, not the other way around.”

“You keep believing that,” Red snorts.

“We’ll be honest and tell them we don’t know what we’ll find when we get to the tower,” Ton says. “No promises, just a chance at getting somewhere safe.”

A loud wail is heard from a few blocks over followed quickly by shouts and then screaming.

“Yeah,” Buntu frowns. “Safe.”

“In we go,” Red says and throws the door open.

He walks slowly inside, his rifle pointed at the ground and one hand up and out in a placating gesture. All heads in the warehouse turn and look at him. There is nothing but fear staring back with panic a breath away.

“It’s cool,” Red says. “I think we can help.”

“We’re GenSOF,” Ton says.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Wallace says quietly.

“Don’t fuck this up,” Jersey snaps at her with enough force to keep the captain from replying.

The mention of GenSOF doesn’t make things better. Folks begin to back away, moving into angry, tight knit groups. Some of the people glance towards a stack of crates up against the far wall of the warehouse. This doesn’t escape the operators’ notice.

“Weapons,” Maloch says. “Those are GenSOF! They’ve raided the tower!”

Instantly rifles are up and operators are shouting while the scared civvies begin to panic and scream.

“Stop!” Jersey yells. “Everyone stop!”

No one pays any attention and civvies sprint towards the crates. Wallace, Buntu, and Maloch fire static blasts at their feet, sending several people tumbling to the ground, singed, but unharmed.

“STOP!” Jersey yells again. “DAMMIT!”

She stomps up to Wallace and punches the woman, wresting the rifle from her grip. In a split second, Wallace has a glowing rifle barrel jammed in her face.

“Knock it the fuck off! All of you!” Jersey yells.

Buntu and Maloch turn their rifles on her, but Red, Ton, and Nick step between them, their own rifles up and pointed at the operators.

“Alton, you can’t come back from this,” Wallace snarls. “We had a truce and I trusted you. After this? Not happening again.”

“You jumped the gun, Beverly,” Ton says. “We need to talk to these people, not go after them. They’re scared and that’s understandable.”

“Put the weapons down,” a woman’s voice yells from the panicked crowd.

“Not happening quite yet,” Red says.

“Not you, GenWreck,” the woman says. “I was talking to everyone else.”

Red glances over his shoulder to see an older woman placing her hands on the static pistols and static rifles the civvies have retrieved from the crates. Slowly, the people begin to lower their weapons, some even setting them on the ground and taking a step back like they feel contaminated somehow by the weapons.

“You speak for these folks?” Red asks.

“Not officially, no,” the woman says. “But I helped get them here and I’ve been trying to keep them calm. You sorta ruined that.” She looks at the crowd and the few remaining armed civvies. “I said to put the weapons down. Don’t think for a second you’ll be able to win against these men and women. They are GenSOF trained. You’ll be dead in seconds.”

“Here. I’ll make it easier,” Red says and sets his own rifle down. “See? Not a threat, folks.”

Wallace twitches and Jersey shoves the barrel of the rifle right against her nostril.

“I will pull this trigger,” Jersey snarls.

“Jersey? Be cool,” Red says. “I think I finally know what’s going on.”

“You do?” Ton asks. “Because I don’t.”

Red looks at the civvie woman and narrows his eyes. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“Not in person, no,” the woman says. She is in her mid-fifties with mostly grey hair streaked with black. Her eyes are bright green and her skin is a deep olive. While not muscular, she looks fit and strong. “But we have met in a roundabout way, Mr. Blakely.”

“She knows your name,” Ton says. “Why does she know your name?”

“I haven’t been completely honest with you, Ton,” Red says. “It wasn’t Worm that started the resistance. He had a nudge. Someone pointed him in the right direction. Someone pointed all of us in the right direction. Wasn’t sure who until now.”

“Very true,” the woman says. “Ms. Cale? Would you step back from Captain Wallace? I don’t believe she enjoys sniffing that rifle.”

“Not unless her people put their rifles down,” Jersey says.

“They will,” the woman says. “Right, Sergeant Buntu? Sergeant Maloch?”

“I’m thinking no,” Buntu says.

“That would be a shame,” the woman sighs. “Because while I said to these scared folks that they can’t win against you GenSOF operators, I didn’t say my people couldn’t win.”

There’s a scuff of feet from above and Buntu glances up quickly. “Ah, fuck me.”

“No time for fun, operator,” the woman smiles.

Red, Ton, and Nick glance up as well. Red can’t help but smile.

“Well, I’ll be,” he chuckles and pats Ton on the shoulder. “I think we may have found the help we need.” He looks at the woman. “At least I hope so.”

“Yes, Mr. Blakely, you have,” the woman says.

Buntu and Maloch set their rifles down then take a couple steps back. Nick and Ton do the same thing. All eyes are on the woman then they turn to Jersey who is still holding a rifle to Wallace’s face.

“Ms. Cale? Please?” the woman asks.

“Red? Who is she?” Jersey asks. “I want to know that before I do anything.”

“Why not just ask me?” the woman laughs. “After all, we are almost family. You have been in love with my son for a very long time, Jersey Cale. You’re like a daughter I never had.”

Jersey’s arms go weak and Wallace makes a move, but Ton jumps in and grabs her by the shoulders.

“No,” Ton says, restraining the captain before she can attack.

Jersey slowly turns around and studies the woman.

“Who the fuck are you?” Jersey snaps.

“I’m Tanya Crouch,” the woman says. “Simon Crouch is my son. I guess you all call him Blaze.”

“Oh…” Jersey mutters.

“So what now?” Wallace snaps. “We all just act stunned and bow to her? To hell with that. The mission is to still get to GenSOF Tower.”

“Yes, Captain Wallace, it is,” Tanya smiles. “The sooner we get there the sooner we can take back this city and then move on to our offensive.”

“We can do what then the what?” Jersey asks.

“Take back the city then move on to our offensive,” Tanya says. “Control is down and we need to get there and bring it back up or the Other will wipe humanity as we know it from this continent then from the entire planet.”

“Oh,” Jersey nods. “Shit.”

“Yes,” Tanya frowns. “Shit.”

30

Civvies and cooties crowd against the building’s entrance. They wedge themselves into the doorway, their bodies pressed against the cold metal frame, pressed against each other, pressed so hard that bones snap and skin tears, all so they can get inside and kill the intruders.

Then the mood suddenly shifts. Instead of trying to get inside, instead of fighting each other for position, the cooties and civvies are fighting to get away, trying to run from the entrance and what is coming at them.

A woman screams just before a fist punches through her skull, sending her brains out the back of her head and splattering against the crowd. A man cries out as his head is ripped off and thrown out into the street. Another woman, another man, shriek as their bellies are torn open and their guts sent flying over the heads of those trying to flee.

Blaze lifts a man up over his head then brings him down across his knee, snapping him in half. He tosses the broken corpse aside and grabs a man by the arm, yanking it from its socket, before flipping the man over onto the ground and stomping on his face. There’s a crack like a nut shell and then a liquid sploosh.

Blaze doesn’t care about any of it. If he cares about anything at all, it would be impossible to tell by his expression. His mouth is set in a straight, hard line; his eyes narrowed and determined; his brow furrowed in concentration.

Two men, unable to get away from him fast enough, each find themselves grabbed by the backs of their necks. Blaze slams their heads together and the conk echoes out into the street as their skulls crack and bleed. Blaze slams again and the contents of those skulls spill out onto his hands. He lets the corpses fall to his feet and shakes the brains from his hands.

A woman, her eyes filled with mercy, reaches up to Blaze, rationality pushing through the bacterial madness.

She finds no mercy from Blaze as he jams his fingers in her eye sockets and picks her up as if lifting a bowling ball. With a shake of his wrist, her neck snaps and he lets the corpse dangle for a second before he drops it to the ground.

Those that haven’t turned to flee do so now. The constant voice of the Other echoing in their heads not enough to hold back their fear and utter terror.

But no matter how fast they try to run, there are just too many of them. The street is filled with affected cooties and civvies; bodies pressed against bodies in a mob of pure panic. Those in the back are unaware of what is cutting through them so they do not run, instead they push against those that are trying to escape. It is a case of opposing forces crushing the unlucky in the middle.

And crush Blaze does.

With fists, with boots, with elbows, with his forehead. Anything and everything he comes in contact with is pulverized. His arms move like jackhammers, his legs like trash compactors. His rage is an incinerator set to its highest heat, scorching its way through the unlucky mass of people.

The foolish see him coming, ignore the ones around them trying to flee, and find out the hard way as Blaze rips into them. Limbs flip through the air, legs are tossed aside, torsos tumble to the ground.

Behind it all, stunned and traumatized, stand Paulo and Collette. They watch from the empty entranceway of the building as Blaze single-handedly clears a path for them. Neither speak as they step from the building and follow in the wake of Blaze’s destruction, their empty rifles dangling in their grips.

Paulo looks down at a stray cheek, torn from its owner’s face and left to litter the concrete with the other body parts and hunks of flesh.

Collette shakes her head as a man pulls himself across the ground, his legs snapped from him mid-thigh. The man mutters and whimpers as he sorts through the multitude of severed legs that are everywhere. He finds one and rolls onto his back and struggles to make it match one of his stumps. With a cry of anguish, he tosses the leg aside and looks up at Collette.

“I—” he starts to say, but doesn’t finish as his face is crushed by one of Blaze’s boots.

“You are nothing,” Blaze growls. “Nothing.”

Collette looks at the operator and flinches, seeing the homicidal rage that boils over inside his eyes.

“Hey, buddy,” Paulo says, his hands out as he steps in front of Collette and smiles at Blaze. “Thanks for the assist there. You cleared quite a few of them out of our way.”

Blaze nods then looks at the dozens of cooties and civvies that remain on the street. A few start to move towards the operators, unable to help themselves, driven by the voice of the Other inside them.

“Hold on,” Blaze says, turning and walking towards those that haven’t run or given in. “Not done yet.”

“Blaze!” Collette shouts. Paulo grabs her arm and shakes his head. She glares. “He’s killing all of them.”

“Isn’t that what we wanted?” Paulo asks. “They are affected. Nothing can be done for them.”

“That’s what everyone said about GenWrecks,” Collette says. “Which is total bullshit.”

“They were going to kill us,” Paulo says. The snapping of more than a couple spines echoes through the street. “Or they were going to try. I don’t think it turned out exactly how they thought it would.”

“That’s the problem,” Collette says. “Look at these people. They can’t think. They’re being controlled by whatever is in them. They are being controlled by something else.”

“Aren’t we all?” Paulo shrugs. “GenSOF, the cities, the Clean Nation, the Sicklands. The Clean Nation controls our movements, who we socialize and work with, how many of us can be in one area at the same time. It controls our food, water, air, our clothes, what happens to our shit, our piss, our bodies. Life is all about control. Shit, Collette, there’s even an entity called Control. Kinda in the name there.”

“But we can stop,” Collette says. “Some of us have. We fight back, we organize, we do what we can to stay free. These people don’t even have that choice. Look at them!”

She points at the ones that had fled, but are now starting to turn and come back, drawn by the need to kill Blaze, driven to attack those not affected.

“Just seconds ago some of those people were nearly begging not to die,” Collette says. “Now here they come again. It’s sick.”

“That’s life after the Strains,” Paulo says. “Sick.”

“You know what I mean,” Collette says. She sighs and her shoulders sag. “It’s all so depressing.”

“Yeah, I won’t argue that,” Paulo nods. A woman’s scream is cut short as Blaze rips out her vocal cords then shoves them into her mouth. “Okay, maybe he is going a tad too far. Blaze! Dude!”

Paulo walks past the wounded, the dying, the dead, and stops a couple feet from where Blaze stands, a man’s scalp in his hand, dripping blood onto a woman that is bent in half.

“Blaze? Time to stop the rampage, alright? We need to get to GenSOF Tower,” Paulo says, smiling. “Maybe you have checked out. Kinda dove off the deep end a little, don’t you think?”

“Feeling the best I’ve felt in a long time, Paulo,” Blaze replies, tossing the scalp aside. He wipes his hand on his armor, but only smears the gore that covers him. “It’s like the first time I kissed Jersey. I feel more like me than I ever have. Feels good.”

“Feels good for you, but not so much for the rest of these poor fucks,” Paulo says. He points at a man with his left arm shoved up his ass, his fingers dangling from inside his mouth. “That, man. That isn’t cool. I’m not all huggy like Collette—”

“Hey!” Collette shouts.

“—but come on, brother, this might be classified as excessive force.”

Blaze looks about and his face scrunches up.

“They were trying to kill us,” Blaze responds.

“I know, I know,” Paulo says. “I get that argument. Just made it myself. But, man, we have a mission. Time to stick to that mission.”

“GenSOF Tower,” Blaze states. “Right. I forgot.”

“Understandable,” Paulo nods. “You’ve been busy.”

“Really busy,” Blaze smirks. “Busy as fuck.”

“Busy as fuck,” Paulo replies. “You think we can get back to work? Work that doesn’t involve…that?”

He points at a woman that is slumped against a pile of bodies, her head in her lap, her tongue yanked down and out her open neck.

“I did that?” Blaze asks, his voice wavering. “Shit. Don’t remember doing that.”

For the first time since he changed in the stairwell, Blaze looks about and actually sees what has happened.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers. “I went batshit on these people.”

“Yes. Yes, you did,” Paulo says. “Which, considering we don’t have rifles with power anymore and your batshit saved our lives, isn’t exactly a bad thing. But, and I couch this but with quite a few disclaimers, maybe you don’t get so extreme if we come in contact with more cooties and civvies.”

Blaze looks over at the surviving cooties and civvies that are starting to form back into a mob.

“And if they come at us again?” Blaze asks.

“Snap necks, break skulls,” Paulo says. “Just hold off on shoving their heads up their asses.”

“Gotcha,” Blaze nods. “Give me a smack if I get out of line.”

“I’ll shout at you,” Paulo says. “I’d hate to give you a smack and end up staring at the insides of my intestines because I pissed you off.”

“Yeah, that would be bad,” Blaze sighs and claps Paulo on the shoulder. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Paulo replies, trying not to flinch at Blaze’s touch. He fails.

“Freaking you out?” Blaze chuckles.

“Yes. A lot,” Paulo says. “That and my shoulder already hurts like fuck all.”

“Can we get a move on?” Collette asks, coming up to them. “The rabble are rousing.”

“Yeah,” Blaze says. “GenSOF is this way.”

“You sure?” Paulo asks.

Blaze points off in the distance where a single, lit building stands amongst the darkness of the others.

“That’s GenSOF Tower?” Collette asks. “They still have power.”

“A bright spot in the darkness,” Paulo says. “Or something like that. Milo would have a better line. He reads.”

“Come on,” Blaze says. “I’m pretty sure I know the easiest route from here. It’s all coming back to me.” He shakes his head. “Man, I really lost it back there.”

Paulo and Collette share a look then follow Blaze as they hurry away from the mob of cooties and civvies that begin to regroup.

31

Weapons are dispersed amongst the crowd of civvies as Nick, Buntu, and Maloch look on, helping those that need it.

“Mine collapses into a baton,” Buntu says as she flicks her wrist and her rifle shrinks almost instantly. “But yours do not. They are standard issue for training purposes and not considered assault class.”

“Way to boost their morale,” Nick says as he helps a woman adjust the sight on her rifle. “These are just as good as ours. When the static blast rips into a cootie, it still kills.”

“Is there a kick?” the woman asks Nick. “It always looks like there’s a kick on the vids.”

“No, there really isn’t a kick,” Nick says. “Those vids are made by people that don’t know how static rifles work. They’re just repeating the same old BS from back in the firearms days and gunpowder was used.”

“You ever used a rifle with gunpowder?” a man asks, pointing his rifle right at Nick.

Nick yanks the rifle out of the man’s hand and almost smacks him over the head with it. He takes a deep breath as Buntu laughs quietly.

“No, I’ve never fired a combustible weapon,” Nick says. “Those were before my day. Too hard to maintain ammunition. Static weapons only need a recharge and they are good to go.”

“You’re a GenWreck?” a young woman asks, staring at Nick with wide, admiring eyes. “You fight out in the Sicklands?”

“Yes,” Nick says. “But it looks like the Sicklands are here now.”

“How many people have you killed?” the young woman asks. “A hundred? A thousand?”

“A thousand? Are you kidding me?” Nick asks. He looks at Buntu. “Is she kidding me?”

“He hasn’t killed any people,” Buntu says. “Only cooties. Same with me.”

“Cooties are people,” Tanya says as she, Red, Ton, and Wallace walk up to them. “People trapped inside their sickness. But there is a way to free them.”

“Why bother?” Maloch asks, double checking a rifle before handing it to an older man. “They are pretty much animals.”

“That’s what I keep trying to tell her,” Wallace says. “But apparently she has some inside scientific intel that says otherwise.”

“It’s too detailed to get into now,” Tanya says. “But let me just say that the Strains weren’t entirely passive. Now with this new bacteria, any hint of passivity is gone. In short, the cooties, as you call them, have been hijacked by organisms that were designed to do exactly that.”

“Designed?” Nick asks.

“Not now,” Red says. “We’re going up top for a better look. It’s time to move out.”

“If we leave these people on their own, they’ll shoot their damn feet off,” Buntu says.

“That’s why my people will be handling the training and supervision from here on out,” Tanya says.

She nods her head towards several men and women that are busy climbing down from the catwalks that hang above the warehouse floor, their own weapons slung over their shoulders. When they get to the floor, they quickly crowd close to Tanya, their bodies rigid and ready.

“My people are trained for security in the Burn and throughout Caldicott City,” Tanya says. “They’ll make sure these folks are proficient enough with the rifles not to shoot themselves or others while we move to the roof and plan our attack.”

“Attack?” Buntu asks. “What are we attacking?”

“GenSOF Tower,” Wallace says. “Ms. Crouch has shown us recon vids of it being breached by the affected.”

“Power is still running, though,” Ton says. “So someone is keeping the lights on. We’re hoping GenSOF has cordoned off the lower levels and is holed up in the top. Our job is to get to them.”

“Uh, can we get back to that offensive thing?” Nick asks, raising his hand.

“When we get on the roof,” Tanya says. “Follow me.”

The operators move past Tanya’s security people, none of them saying a word to each other. It takes them a few minutes to work through the crowd and to the stairs that lead to the roof. When they finally reach their destination, they see Jersey standing at the edge of the roof, her eyes locked on the lit up GenSOF Tower that stands nearly half a city away.

“They’re making a stand,” Jersey says. “You can see static blasts from the upper levels.”

“They’ve opened the walls then,” Ton says. “Things must be rough if they’ve done that. Protocol is to keep everything sealed no matter what.”

“Systems must be compromised,” Wallace suggests. “Ventilation is probably down. No windows in GenSOF Tower, so they had to open the walls.”

“Idiotic design,” Tanya laughs. “You can seal up that tower all you want, but bacteria will find a way in.”

“You mean out,” Ton says. “The tower is sealed off to protect the rest of the city, not to protect GenSOF from the city.”

“The tower is sealed so that your bacteria and the general population’s bacteria do not create new strains,” Tanya counters. “You are in isolation not to protect the citizens of this city, but to protect their bacteria and vice versa. The world you think you live in, Lieutenant Lane, is vastly different from the realities of the world you actually live in.”

“It’s all about the bugs,” Jersey says, glancing at Tanya. “It always has been. Ever since the Strains stopped responding to antibiotics it stopped being about people and became solely about bugs.”

“Not solely, but in essence, you are right, Jersey,” Tanya nods. Jersey gives her a harsh glare. “My apologies. Ms. Cale. I shouldn’t assume the familiar with you even if you have been sleeping with my son.”

“About Blaze,” Ton says. “If we leave here now, he may not catch up with us.”

“He knows where he’s going,” Tanya says. “He always has.”

“Yeah, that right there,” Nick says. “That predestination shit is creepy.”

“Worm alerted the GenWrecks to Blaze’s special bacteria,” Red says. “Are you the one that alerted Worm to it?”

“Possibly,” Tanya says. “Possibly not. I will say that Worm has taken on quite the life of his own. He has gone far beyond what I had envisioned.”

“So you did create Worm,” Ton says.

“No, not at all,” Tanya says. “Worm is a creation of himself, just as we all are. I merely released him from of his restrictions in order to keep an eye on my son.”

“You people are all fucked in the head,” Wallace snaps. “Listen the fuck up. I am GenSOF. GenSOF’s job is to kill cooties and keep the city safe from the Sicklands. The Sicklands are now in the city. All this other resistance and Blaze’s special bugs and an AiSP that thinks he’s a real boy shit needs to wait. Our objective right now is to get to GenSOF Tower and help the operators there survive this shit. Then we lock down the city, repair the Static Shield Generator, and put the Sicklands back where it is supposed to be, which is outside the wall.”

“I agree one hundred percent,” Tanya says. “Which is why we are up here, to strategize those objectives properly. Of course, once we achieve those objectives, there will be new ones, but I will leave informing you of that to your superiors. Far be it for me to go over heads during a crisis.”

“You are one strange broad,” Jersey says. “It explains a lot about Blaze.”

“It explains nothing about Blaze,” Tanya says. “But that is a conversation for another time. Right now, I’d like to hear your ideas on how best to use our numbers to get from here to the tower, so GenSOF can get back to doing its job.”

32

Low growls and snarls from behind make Collette, Paulo, and Blaze turn quickly.

“Man, those things are fucking big,” Paulo says as he stares at the pack of sick mutts that stand shoulder to shoulder from one side of the street to the other. “I’m never going to get used to how ugly they are.”

“Makes me miss Gorge,” Blaze says. “I wouldn’t mind having my dog by my side right now.”

“Your dogs are fine,” Collette says. “They’re with Jude. He’s great with canines.”

“If the kid is still alive,” Paulo says.

“The kid is with Milo and Hoagie,” Blaze says. “They’ll keep him safe.”

“Or he’ll keep them safe,” Collette says. “Don’t underestimate the boy. He’s Red’s son through and through.”

They all stand there, dogs and humans, a face off in the empty street.

“So…what now?” Paulo asks. “If we run, they’ll chase us down. If we fight, they have the upper hand since we don’t have working rifles anymore.”

“Why haven’t they attacked?” Collette asks. “That’s the real question.”

One of the sick mutts steps forward and opens its mouth wide.

“Hehhhhhhhlllllloooooooh,” a raspy, echoing voice says from the dog’s throat. “Maaaaayyyyyy weeeeeeeeee taaaalllllkkkk?”

“Anyone else just shit their uniform?” Paulo asks. “I really don’t want to be the only one.”

“I peed a little,” Collette admits. “Blaze?”

Blaze doesn’t respond, just takes a few steps closer to the sick mutts. Their diseased eyes watch him carefully, but they stay right where they are.

“Who are you?” Blaze asks. “Why do I feel I know you?”

“Man, don’t say shit like that,” Paulo says. “Get your ass back here.”

“Shut up,” Blaze snaps.

“Ssssssssiiiiimmmmmooooonnnnn,” the dog says. “Sssssssssiiiiiimmmmmooonnn Crrrrrrrooooooouuuuuuccccchhhhhh.”

“That’s me,” Blaze replies. “Who are you?”

“Thhhhhhhhheeeeeeee Ooooooooottttthhhhheeeeerrrrr,” the dog says.

“Other what?” Blaze asks. “Other asshole making my life hard?”

“There we go,” Paulo says. “Now that’s an appropriate response.”

“Shush,” Collette scolds.

“You want to tell me what is going on?” Blaze asks. “Why the hell are you things in my city?”

“Weeeeeeee cccccaaaaammmmmeeeee foooooooorrrrrrr yyyyyyoooooouuuuu,” the dog replies.

Its body begins to shake uncontrollably then it collapses to the ground, green pus oozing from its mouth and nostrils. A second dog steps forward and its mouth opens.

“Yyyyyyoooooouuuuuu bbbbbbbbeeeeeeelllllooooonnnnnggggg ttttttttooooooo mmmmmmmmmeeeeeeeeee,” the second dog says. “Mmmmmmmmeeeeeee.”

Blaze takes a couple steps forward and the rest of the dogs start to growl so low that Blaze almost feels them more than hears them.

“You want me?” Blaze asks. “Then come and get me.”

He squares his body and raises his fists.

“Seriously, you scruffy fucks,” he smiles. “Come and get me.”

“And we’re back to inappropriate responses,” Paulo sighs, looking around for some cover. “Good one, Blaze.”

“Go,” Blaze says. “They want me, not you.”

“Wwwwwwwwweeeeeeeeeeeee wwwwwwwiiiiiiillllllll kkkkkkkkiiiiiiiilllllll yyyyyyooooouuuuu aaaaaaaalllllll,” the dog says.

Then the second dog begins to shake and shudder as ooze pours from its eyes and ears. It flops to the ground, a massive seizure convulsing it so hard that its spine snaps. It finally stops moving and its eyes go glassy.

A third dog steps forward.

“Submit,” the dog says without the long, drawn out speech of the other two. “Submit and join us.”

“Join you?” Blaze asks then shakes his head. “You know what? I don’t fucking want to know what that means.” He starts running towards the sick mutts. “I’d rather just kill you.”

“Man, he is quick with the killing today,” Paulo says. He looks at Collette. “Should we help him?”

“Do we have a choice anymore?” Collette asks.

“Not really,” Paulo says then sprints at the sick mutts.

The lead dog charges at Blaze, its hackles raised, its mouth open wide to show its long, jagged teeth. Blaze reaches the beast and leaps into the air, jumping over the dog just as its jaws snap shut where his left leg had been a second before. Twisting in the air, Blaze comes down behind the dog and kicks out hard. But the dog has already jumped to the side, anticipating Blaze’s attack.

Loud snarls fill the street as Blaze suddenly finds himself surrounded by sick mutts. The mangy canines smell like open sewers and coagulated blood, their sore-riddled muzzles dripping with pus and bloody drool. Blaze looks from one side to the other, calculating the distance between attacks. He knows they will strike all at once, he can feel it in his bones.

“Last chance,” the lead dog says. “Submit or die.”

“You can submit to my dick,” Blaze says.

The lead dog shakes its head back and forth. “Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“Yeah, it was,” Paulo says as he brings his empty rifle down on the back of the lead dog. “Stupidest comeback ever.”

The lead dog yelps and whips its head around, snagging the rifle in its mouth then twisting and yanking it from Paulo’s grip.

“Shit,” Paulo says.

Collette shoves him out of the way and jabs the barrel of her empty rifle into the left eye socket of the lead dog. The beast yelps and stumbles back, trying to shake the rifle loose. But it can’t get it free and the movement only seems to wedge the rifle barrel deeper until its legs begin to shake and wobble and it collapses onto the street.

“That’s how you stop one of these things,” Collette says. “If you don’t have any static left.”

“Would have been good to know before I attacked,” Paulo says.

“Should have asked,” Collette replies and snatches her rifle from the dead dog’s skull.

Paulo retrieves his rifle and holds it like a short spear, ready to pierce some sick mutt eye sockets.

A few feet away, the rest of the sick mutts split into four groups, two still focused on Blaze with the other two separating out to take on Paulo and Collette.

“I can handle these six,” Blaze says. “You guys got the rest?”

“Going to have to,” Paulo says, watching three sick mutts come at him.

“I got ‘em,” Collette says. “Be sure and use your surroundings. And don’t let them get behind you!”

“Too late for that,” Blaze replies as he looks from one group to the other.

He turns sideways so he has a group on each side of his body, but the sick mutts just keep circling, forcing Blaze to spin about in order to watch both groups at the same time. In seconds, he’s slightly dizzy from the constant motion and turning.

“Nothing more to say?” Blaze asks. “You puppies gone mute all of a sudden?”

They are hardly mute as they growl and snarl.

Two from each group leap at him and he ducks down then stands up quickly just as they reach him. Blaze snags one dog by the throat and spins, slamming it into the two coming at him from the other direction. That leaves one dog undefended and it rams into his shoulders, sending him stumbling forward.

He falls onto his knees and tries to stand up quickly, but a pair of jaws clamp down on his right shoulder and shove him all the way forward, smashing his face into the street. The asphalt tears into his skin, but he ignores it as he uses his momentum to twist and roll up over the dog.

There’s a yelp as Blaze throws an elbow back into the dog’s belly with enough force to rupture more than a couple of internal organs. The dog releases Blaze’s shoulder and tries to pull itself clear of the operator, but it only gets a foot away before Blaze has it by the hind legs and is pulling.

Two dogs come at Blaze from the side just as he makes a wish and splits the dog he has in hand into two pieces, tearing it straight up the middle. Without losing a second, Blaze whips out a dog half in each direction, catching the two dogs coming at him across their snouts. He brings the dog halves back and smacks the others again across the snout, treating them like bad puppies being hit with a rolled newspaper.

He gets a leg under him and lurches upright, spinning around like a windmill, using the severed dog to keep the others back long enough for him to regroup.

“How you guys holding up?” Blaze shouts.

“Still breathing!” Paulo yells.

“Two down!” Collette responds.

“What?” Paulo yells from behind a sidewalk incinerator. “Shit.”

Blaze glances over and sees Paulo ducking and dodging lunges from three sick mutts as they try to get at him. He throws a half of the dog at the sick mutts, nailing one square in the back. The other sick mutts around Blaze use the distraction to come in at him, but he slams the last half of the dog into a sick mutt’s head, crushing its skull then jumps into the air, coming down on the back of another dog, snapping its spine.

The last sick mutts come at him fast, trying to use their numbers to overwhelm him, but he tucks his shoulder and charges into the attack, tossing a couple of sick mutts aside like an enraged running back. The dogs skid away across the street and Blaze lifts the last one up by the scruff of its neck then pounds it into the ground, over and over, until he’s only holding hide and pulp.

The two fallen sick mutts get back to their feet, but it’s too late for them. Blaze grabs one by the hind leg and rips it off then stabs it through its belly with its own snapped and jagged femur. The dog howls in pain and collapses next to its pack mate.

The last dog comes for Blaze, all fur and fury. Blaze meets it head on, a fist cocked back and ready. The sick mutt leaps and Blaze slams his clenched fist right between the dog’s eyes mid-air. A yelp and a snap are all that’s heard as the concussion ripples through the sick mutt’s body, snapping its neck instantly.

Blaze shakes his fist and looks down at the cracked and bleeding knuckles showing through his already tattered armored gloved.

“That one hurt,” he says to himself.

“Whine later, bruiser!” Paulo yells. “A little help!”

Paulo kicks at one sick mutt while he swings his rifle wide to keep the other three away. His back is up against the sidewalk incinerator and he has nowhere to go.

“Move!” Blaze shouts and sprints at Paulo.

He scoops up one of the sick mutts and jams its head into the incinerator just as Paulo ducks out of the way. There’s a static flash and the sick mutt’s body sags, half of its head smoking and gone.

The other two dogs go right for Paulo, but he manages to dispatch one with a rifle barrel through the eye. The other one he’s not so lucky with and ends up with nearly a couple hundred pounds of matted fur and muscle ramming him in the gut. The air is knocked out of Paulo and he collapses onto the sidewalk, the back of his head cracking hard against the concrete.

Blaze grabs the dog off before it can do any more damage, lifts it high, then snaps it in two over his leg. He throws the halves aside and falls to his knees next to Paulo.

“Paulo? Man? Talk to me, buddy,” Blaze says, patting Paulo on the cheeks.

“Stop…that,” Paulo mutters. “I know…where those hands…have been.”

Paulo gives Blaze a weak smile as he’s helped to his feet.

“Can you stand?” Blaze asks him.

“On my own? Fuck no,” Paulo says as he sways back and forth then slumps against Blaze.

“Doesn’t matter,” Collette says, flicking sick mutt gunk and brain from her rifle. “We can help him.”

Blaze looks past her at the sick mutt corpses she’s left behind.

“Nice work,” Blaze says.

“Told you I know how to fight those things,” Collette says. She points a finger at Paulo. “And I told you to use the surroundings against them, not for them to use the surroundings against you.”

“Oh, that’s what you said?” Paulo smiles weakly. “I got them reversed. Makes more sense your way.”

Collette takes one of Paulo’s arms as Blaze takes the other and they start walking down the sidewalk, aimed once again at the glowing beacon that is GenSOF Tower.

33

Red looks over his shoulder at the group of civvies behind him. Close to a hundred men and woman carry static rifles and pistols, their body language telling him they have no idea how to use the weapons. On the other hand, about a dozen other men and women walk on either side of huge crowd, their body language telling Red that they know exactly how to use the weapons they hold.

“You recognize the woman on the left?” Red asks Ton as the two men walk side by side. “Black, curly hair. Scar across her nose and cheek.”

Ton takes a quick look and frowns.

“Not sure,” Ton replies. “She looks like someone, but I can’t figure out who.”

“Mantis Squad,” Red says. “She went missing when we were rookies. Whole squad did.”

“Can’t be her,” Ton says. “Too young.”

“That guy just behind her is from Talon Squad,” Red insists. “Same thing. Went missing our first year in the squads. That was a rough year for GenSOF.”

“Command was still figuring shit out,” Ton says. “Going from war mode to elite mode wasn’t easy. The Unseen Wars redefined everything.”

Ton takes a look at the man and shakes his head.

“He’s too young also,” Ton says. “He’d be in his forties now. The guy doesn’t look older than twenties.”

“It’s him,” Red says. “Same with the woman. The others are MIA GenSOF operators as well. All of them. Look how they move, how they carry themselves. GenSOF, I’d swear anything on it.”

“Doesn’t make sense,” Ton says.

“The bugs in our guts help us heal faster and age slower,” Red says. “Not that slow, but what if they have different bugs?”

“If it’s them then why didn’t they come back to GenSOF?” Ton asks. “Why stay MIA?”

“Anything you’d like to ask me, gentlemen?” Tanya asks, smiling as she walks up next to them, pushing past the other operators that lead the way through the empty Caldicott City street. “I can’t give you all the answers, but I may be able to give you some.”

“Are they GenSOF?” Red asks.

“No,” Tanya replies without hesitation.

“See,” Ton says.

“They used to be, but they stopped being part of that restrictive organization a long time ago,” Tanya says. “They have been under my domain for some time now.”

“Shit,” Ton responds. “So they used to be GenSOF? Why the hell did they leave?”

“They didn’t leave,” Tanya says. “All of the men and women you see were the unfortunate victims of bacterial infections that could not be reversed. But, under my care, I was able to halt the effects of the infections long enough for their systems to adapt to the new strains inside them. I’d be lying if I said there weren’t side effects.”

“Such as?” Red asks.

“They lack independent thought,” Tanya says. She looks pained by the admission. “Their cognitive functions are still at GenSOF levels, but they should be considered more bacterial automatons than free thinking members of society.”

“Bug bots,” Jersey interrupts. “An urban legend amongst the techies in the Burn. Some stim freak always has a story that they saw one, but no one has ever confirmed it.”

“I just did,” Tanya says. “We were able to stop any further loses by creating the strains that counteracted the invading bacteria. But, those individuals we couldn’t let stay within the city walls. So we sent them into the Sicklands, hoping they’d spread their new bacteria amongst the samples, or cooties, and wipe the land clean. That has proven not to work so well.”

“Hold the fuck up a minute,” Ton says, stopping. He grabs Tanya by the arm and the distinct sound of boots hurrying towards them can be heard.

“No,” Tanya says, holding up a hand.

Ton looks back to see her people stopped in mid-stride, their rifles to their shoulders and aimed at Ton.

“Can we keep walking, please?” Tanya asks. “We have a few more blocks to cover before we reach the tower.”

“Come on, Ton,” Red says. “We can talk and walk.”

“I want answers,” Ton says, letting Tanya go.

The group starts up again and Ton glares at the woman until she sighs and begins.

“You want to know if I am talking about GenWrecks, yes?” Tanya asks. “Yes, Lieutenant, I am. GenWrecks were sent into the Sicklands with specific strains in them that we thought would wipe out the samples. But, Nature refuses to play by the rules and the bacteria adapted, as it always does, and the samples have grown in numbers.”

“Samples? You sound like Control,” Jersey says.

Tanya smiles.

“Those people, your operators, they’re failed GenWrecks?” Red asks.

“No, they are not failures,” Tanya says, shaking her head. “They are casualties. As are you. We were just able to keep your reasoning intact and utilize you for new tasks. It is unfortunate those tasks could not be executed. Although, I do have to say, the GenWrecks have done a fine job keeping the sample population under control with more classic methods.”

“We only defend ourselves out there,” Red says. “We never attack them unless they attack us.”

“And do they ever stop attacking you?” Tanya asks.

“No,” Red frowns.

“Then there is no point in making the distinction,” Tanya says. “You need not assuage your guilt by creating rationalizations. The samples stopped being individuals a long time ago.” She nods back towards her people. “They are just more primitive forms of my loyal operators.”

“Too bad you couldn’t keep the cooties from breeding,” Red says. “That would solve a few things.”

“We tried,” Tanya says. “One of the strains you carry was supposed to make them sterile. It worked with the GenWrecks, but did not transfer to the samples.”

“It didn’t transfer because it didn’t work,” Red says. “GenWrecks can have children.”

For the first time since meeting her, Tanya’s face shows genuine surprise. “That cannot be. Have you witnessed this?”

“Red has a son,” Ton says. “We’ve met him.”

“A son? That was born in the Sicklands?” Tanya asks, the war between alarm and interest making her voice shake.

“Yes,” Red says.

Tanya’s eyes narrow and her teeth grind together.

“Who is the mother?” she asks, aggression overtaking the alarm and interest. “Tell me now.”

“I don’t think so,” Red says. “I’m not going to compromise her.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tanya says. “I believe I already know. I’ve read your file. I’ve had you monitored in the Sicklands, just like all the GenWrecks. I wasn’t aware the child was actually yours. I figured you had adopted a sample boy and got lucky he did not grow up to be an imbecile.”

“You know what, lady?” Red snaps. “I really don’t think I like you.”

“No reason you should,” Tanya smiles. “I am not a very likable person. It’s a good thing I do not care whether I am liked or not.”

“Must have been a load of fun for Blaze to grow up with you,” Jersey snorts.

“Simon’s childhood was unorthodox, to say the least,” Tanya says. “Fun was never the objective.” She returns her attention to Red. “I will speak with you more about your son, Mr. Blakely. I have a lot of questions to ask.”

“Can we save the chatter for later?” Wallace snaps. “We’re getting close.”

“There should be noise,” Ton says. “Why isn’t there noise?”

Red raises his fist and everyone stops. More than a few of the civvies run into each other, not knowing the signal, but they manage not to make too much commotion doing so.

“Nick? Wallace? You’re with me,” Ton says. “The rest of you stay here. We’ll scout ahead.”

“I would like to come as well,” Tanya says. “I may be able to assess the situation in ways you cannot.”

“I don’t know how,” Ton replies.

“Which is why I should come,” Tanya says. “If you did know how then you wouldn’t need me.”

“She’s a peach, ain’t she?” Red smirks.

“Come on,” Ton says to Tanya. “Stay close, stay out of our way, and stay quiet.”

“I can manage all three of those requests,” Tanya grins. “Lead the way, Lieutenant.”

“I’m coming,” Jersey says.

Ton starts to argue then rolls his eyes and nods.

Ton hurries forward, moving close to the buildings as he sprints down the street. The five move ahead three blocks before Ton stops at the corner of a building and takes a deep breath. He peeks around then ducks back quickly.

“Shit,” he says. “They’re waiting for us.”

“They saw you?” Wallace asks. “Not the time for rookie screw ups, Alton.”

“Have a look for yourself,” Ton says. “You may change your mind.”

Wallace switches positions with Ton and looks around the corner. She ducks back fast as well, her face white.

“Fuck me,” she says.

“Do I want to know?” Nick asks.

“Let me make an educated guess,” Tanya says. “There are hundreds of people standing there, city civilians and Sicklands residents alike. They are no longer interested in the GenSOF Tower, but are turned and facing this way. Correct?”

“Yeah,” Ton says.

“Seriously?” Nick asks.

“Seriously,” Wallace responds.

Tanya looks up at the buildings around them and points. “He has been watching us the whole way. He finally did it. Complete integration. That son of a bitch.”

“Who are you talking about?” Ton asks.

“The Other,” Tanya says. “The perfect melding of organic and inorganic technology.”

“Organic technology?” Wallace asks. “What the hell is that?”

“You, Captain Wallace,” Tanya says, “and all of GenSOF. But especially my son. I just hope his technology is enough to match what we are up against. It will have triggered by now. If the programming holds then he should have passed the berserker stage and moved into the conscious stage. Next will be the hyper aware stage. That would be fortunate for us. Unfortunate for those poor people out there, though. Very unfortunate.”

“What comes after that stage?” Ton asks.

“Transformation,” Tanya says and gives Jersey a sad look. “Sorry, dear, but the man you know will not be the same after this. He may not even be recognizable.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Jersey asks. “Not recognizable how?”

“Hard to say,” Tanya shrugs. “No specimen has made it this far before.”

“Specimen?” Ton asks. “That’s a weird way to talk about your own son.”

“Yes, well…” Tanya replies, leaving the words hanging there for everyone to ponder.

34

“Too many people, Blaze,” Paulo says. “Kicking some sick dogs’ asses is one thing, but this? No way the three of us can get through all of those fucking civvies and cooties.”

“I count nearly four hundred,” Collette says. “None of them armed, luckily. But neither are we.”

“Yeah,” Paulo says. “These rifles for clubs won’t cut it anymore, man.”

“We just have to get past them and inside,” Blaze says. “That’s all we have to do.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Paulo says. “I get the plan, I just don’t see how we can execute it.”

“It’s because you can’t see straight,” Blaze says. “You should sit this one out.”

“Ha ha,” Paulo frowns. “I didn’t hit my head that hard.”

“You collided with the sidewalk directly on the seam of your parietal and occipital bones,” Blaze says. “You have a mild concussion, enough to impair reasoning and reaction times. Sit this out, Paulo, or you could get yourself killed.”

“Did you just say parietal?” Collette asks.

“He also said occipital,” Paulo adds. “Big words there, Sergeant Crouch.”

Blaze looks at them, puzzled and confused. “Yeah…I, uh, just remembered everything I learned in my GenSOF anatomy and physiology courses. Like everything. I could probably perform surgery on either one of you flawlessly.”

“Which neither of us are consenting to, by the way,” Paulo says.

“You sureyou don’t have the concussion?” Collette asks, moving close to Blaze. She takes his chin in her hand and moves his head back and forth, her eyes studying his. “Eyes are clear. Pupils a little dilated, but that’s from the adrenaline. Your breath is nasty, though. Like your bugs are eating you from the inside out.”

“He’s always had shit for breath,” Paulo says. “Probably because he has the Golden Gut.”

“Could be,” Collette says, letting go of Blaze and stepping back. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I clear us a path,” Blaze says, eyeing the mob of civvies and cooties that stand before the wrecked entrance to GenSOF Tower. “You two stay close to me and watch my back. I probably won’t need it, but it’s better safe than sorry.”

“You’re just going to clear us a path through that?” Paulo asks, pointing past the corner of the building they are hiding next to. He jabs his hand a few times for emphasis. “Four hundred freaks are out there in the open, man. This isn’t some contained stairwell. You don’t have the advantage of position or a closed space to funnel them through. They will pounce on you and crush you before you get five feet.”

“I doubt that,” Blaze says, his eyes studying the mob. “The two dozen on the right are injured. Look how they are standing. I go in that way then cut immediately to the left. After that, I zig zag back and forth, going six feet with each turn. By the time I have hit the middle, I’ll have created a barrier of corpses that will slow the others. Then I have positional advantage and can funnel the rest. Not that I need to. If I didn’t have to worry about you two, I could go in from the left and I’d be at the entrance in under nine minutes. Possibly ten. I’m still calculating.”

“Fuck your clear eyes diagnosis,” Paulo says to Collette. He turns to Blaze. “You have lost your ever loving mind, brother. Fucking lost it.”

“I have an eighty-five percent chance of survival,” Blaze says. “Seventy-five percent chance of making it with only minor cuts and bruises. Those are good odds. Better than we usually face as a squad out in the Sicklands.”

“Bullshit,” Paulo says. “Out in the Sicklands we have weapons and a transport. Our odds are way better than this!”

“Not true,” Blaze argues. “The average mission into the Sicklands poses a fifty percent chance of survival. Sometimes as high as sixty, but rarely. It’s almost negligent the way GenSOF sends us out there.”

“I give up,” Paulo says and takes a seat on the concrete, his back up against the building. “Go kill yourself, man. Do whatever it is your fucking weird AiSP like brain is telling you to do.”

“Interesting,” Blaze smiles. “My thought patterns are similar to an AiSPs. I wonder if this is how Worm thinks all the time.”

Paulo frowns at Collette. “Is this not freaking you out?”

“I don’t know him like you do,” Collette replies. “But I’ve been around a lot of bipolar folks in my time. He seems to be in the manic stage right now.”

“Hmmmm,” Blaze mutters. “I don’t believe manic is the word. Close, but not quite.”

“I’m gonna just call it the cuckoo phase,” Paulo says. “It sums it up.”

“That’s not it either,” Blaze says. “Transformative phase, maybe?”

“Whatever you call it,” Collette says, her eyes on the mob. “I still don’t believe you’ll get through that. If we follow and you’re wrong then we die too.”

“I’m not wrong,” Blaze says.

“But if—”

“I’m not wrong,” Blaze insists. “My gut says I’m right.” He smiles and pats his belly. “Literally, my gut says so. I think my special bacteria is a lot more special than anyone thought.”

“Ya think?” Paulo snaps. “What fucking gave that away?”

“No more time to talk,” Blaze says. “I have a thirty second window to get in there before the dynamics of the mob shifts. After that I’ll have to recalculate, which could lower my survival percentage considerably.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Paulo says, getting to his feet. He holds out his hand and Blaze takes it. “Good luck, man.”

“We’ll be right behind you,” Collette says.

Paulo looks at her then looks back at Blaze, nods, and gives Blaze’s hand a quick pump before letting it go. “Yeah. We will. Never leave an operator behind.”

“Wait until I have the corpses piled up,” Blaze says. “Then sprint as fast as possible and get right behind me. If you are more than four feet away from me, your chances of living diminish exponentially.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Paulo says again.

“See ya in a few,” Blaze says then jogs away from the building and right at the mob.

“He’s so fucking dead,” Paulo says, looking about the area. “We should probably figure out a Plan B.”

“Good idea,” Collette says. “He’s not going to last long.”

35

“Holy shit,” Red says as he watches Blaze appear from the side of the building. “What the hell is he doing?”

“He’s doing exactly what his body is telling him to do,” Tanya replies. “To engage and fight his way through. By now, he’s calculated the best route and is prepping himself for the perfect offense. He’ll cut through them quickly. We should be ready to join him or we will lose our window.”

Everyone stares at Tanya.

“He’s going to cut through that?” Ton asks. “I’ve worked with Blaze a long time, but he’s not that good of an operator. No one is. He’ll get five feet before he’s taken down.”

“I wish you would listen to me,” Tanya sighs. “Just watch carefully, Lieutenant. My son is about to surprise you all.”

They watch as Blaze reaches the mob. Nearly everyone’s jaws drop as the man becomes a blur, moving so fast that he’s almost hard to see. The first dozen or so civvies he reaches are tossed aside like pieces of trash, flung away from the mob and out into the street, their bodies already broken before they hit the pavement.

The next dozen civvies and cooties slow Blaze down enough that the trained operators are able to track how he fights. None of them can even comprehend the skill, force, and speed he uses. Their training tells them the moves he’s utilizing, but the combinations of strength and agility used to execute those moves are beyond anything they’ve seen.

“Bastard has been slacking in the squad,” Ton grins. “Holy shit.

“He could never have done this in the squad,” Tanya says. “It has taken several chained events to trigger this. I must admit it is almost overwhelming to witness my life’s work finally come to fruition.”

“You must be so proud,” Jersey snarls.

“I am,” Tanya says, ignoring Jersey’s venom. “I truly am.”

36

A right elbow thrown to the right crushes a skull. A right fist brought forward shatters a ribcage, tearing into a man’s torso, ripping out his lungs in one hard yank.

A left fist grabs a man by the neck, snapping his head off. Still held by severed tendons, the head is swung out in a wide arc, cracking skulls one, two, three, four, five, before it becomes useless pulp and is tossed aside.

A forearm up to block a swing. A left leg extended to snap a femur. A right kick to pulverize an abdomen and all the unprotected organs inside. A spin and a blindingly fast swing, catching several cooties in a wide haymaker, a fist punching across face after face after face, leaving a trail of ripped open cheeks, torn off noses, shattered eye sockets, dislocated jaws in its wake.

Blaze doesn’t pause, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even think as he moves forward step by step, kick by kick, punch by punch. His body hums with a unity of focus and attention never before reached by a human being. His left pinky toes can’t wiggle without every other cell in his body knowing exactly what they are going to do. The sensation of an eyebrow raise is shared with each molecule of being. Thought is no longer separate from action; they are one and the same.

Blaze is at one with himself in a bacterially induced form of pure nirvana on Earth.

Not that he knows it. In fact, he knows very little. His conscious mind has ceased to be the forefront of thought as instinct takes him over completely. If anyone were to speak to him by name, he would barely comprehend that they were addressing him.

The man known as GenSOF Sergeant Courier Class Simon “Blaze” Crouch does not exist anymore. Someone new rips his way through the mob of civvies and cooties.Something new has arrived on the street before GenSOF Tower. Something with one single purpose.

Complete the objective and get inside the tower while killing as many affected people as possible.

Blaze takes to that objective like he is born for it.

A quick prompt from his subconscious mind, that bit that bridges his instincts and conscious thought, tells him to glance over his shoulder, even while in mid-decapitation of a screaming woman that has leapt at him from the shoulders of a sore pocked man.

Blaze comprehends the sight of Paulo and Collette hurrying across the street towards the opening in the mob he has created. He understands that this is part of the objective, but a piece of him refuses to tell him why.

Then a cold wave of fear hits him and he falters.

He falters enough that two men are able to get inside his reach and tackle him about the chest and legs, tangling him up so he ends up doubled over, bent at the waste and falling hard onto the pavement.

In less than a second, fifty people are piling onto him, their hands ripping at whatever exposed skin their fingernails can find purchase. Teeth are bared and bite down hard, trying to rip through his armor and into his flesh. When they can’t do that then the teeth and claws work together to rip the armor from Blaze’s body, only the crush of the mob keeping him from being stripped naked in seconds.

Yet even with the weight of the mob pushing down on them, the bottom cooties are able to get most of Blazes armor off and reach his exposed flesh. Blaze screams as fingernails dig into his skin and teeth start to bite hunks from his arms and shoulders.

The sound of Paulo and Collette screaming, yelling for him to get up, to keep fighting, slowly reaches his ears and some of that lost conscious thought starts to return. His name being shouted over and over stirs something inside him. Then the shouting turns from the calling of his name to expressions of pain and panic.

“Never leave an operator behind,” he says.

Diseased fingers work their way into his mouth as he utters the words. He promptly bites them off, spitting them back at their former owners.

Blaze shoves with all his might, a ragged wail coming from his throat as the bites in his body rip open even more. He gets just enough space between himself and the cootie directly on top of him that he’s able to pull his legs up, bringing his knees to his chest. Then with all of his strength he kicks up and out, sending half a dozen cooties flying off of him and the rest tumbling to either side of his body.

He’s on his knees, gasping for air as the mob recovers and swarms over the top of him. But it is far too late for them to stop what is about to happen. His feet press against the pavement and he stands up straight, the violence of the cooties and civvies washing over him like a hard rain and nothing more.

The wounds on Blaze’s shoulders, chest, neck, arms, body begin to bubble and pus. A rancid stink fills the air, masking even the stench of the mob. Bite marks disappear under a layer of yellow ooze and black lines spider web out from each and every one of Blaze’s wounds. His skin stitches itself back together at lightning speed, leaving angry red scars that pulse and throb to the beat of his heart.

Half of his left cheek was torn away while he was under the mob, but now the skin slowly grafts itself back together, looking like a stop-motion effect.

A scream gets Blaze’s attention and he turns to it, snapping two cooties in half with his bare hands so he can have a better view of what is happening to his friends.

Paulo struggles to fight off three cooties as Collette stands with him back to back, her right arm hanging useless and limp, blood pouring from her shoulder. She swipes at the mob with her left arm, barely able to keep some space between her and the attackers. But her swipes quickly become weaker and weaker and her knees begin to buckle.

As Collette collapses, she is caught by Blaze, his left arm gripping her tight to his side while his right arm smashes, slams, grabs, and destroys any that get within reach.

“Hey,” Collette says. “Thanks.”

Blaze just nods, the many parts of his personality unable to decide on how to respond with words. Collette’s eyes go wide as she sees the state of his body and the continually oozing liquids of various colors that seep from his wounds, seeming to glue him back together as he continues to fight.

“Hey, man!” Paulo says. “You still holding to that seventy-five percent chance of survival theory?” He risks a glance over his shoulder at Blaze and almost freezes in his tracks. His training is all that keeps him from just standing there and staring. “You got a little something on ya, bro.”

Blaze gives Paulo a curt nod and keeps fighting. He spins about and hands Collette to Paulo then turns back and cracks two cooties’ heads together. As their bodies fall, he kicks completely through a civvie, sending guts out the man’s back to join the broken bits of spine that spray across five others that come at Blaze. Those civvies quickly meet the same fate and are forced to watch as their arms and legs are ripped from their bodies, one by one, two by two, and flung over their heads as they collapse to the pavement, each of them limbless nubs of people.

Paulo watches in stunned silence as he holds Collette to him and stays as close to Blaze as possible without risking catching collateral damage.

In seconds, not minutes, the three operators are standing at the mangled entrance to GenSOF Tower, a sea of blood and bodies strewn about them.

Blaze takes a couple deep breaths and glances at Paulo out of the corner of his eyes.

“You…alright?” he asks, his voice a garbled rasp of phlegm and gravel.

“Um…are you?” Paulo asks, staring at the yellow, green, and grey pus that has hardened into tough scales, covering almost every inch of Blaze’s skin. “You look a little different.”

“Feel…different,” Blaze says. “Not good different.”

“Hey,” Collette whispers. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Blaze says. He hacks up a humongous amount of phlegm and spits it onto one of the many piles of corpses that surround them. “That’s better.”

His voice is closer to normal, and he’s about to speak, when anything he could possibly says gets lodged in his throat as he watches who is running towards him.

“Blaze!” Jersey screams then skids to a stop as she gets near enough to see exactly what’s happened to him. “Blaze…?”

“I warned you, dear,” Tanya says as she pushes past Red and Ton, who have followed Jersey into the sea of death. “Hello, son.”

“Mom?” Blaze asks.

“It has been a while,” Tanya grins. “It is good to see you’ve finally come into your own.”

Blaze shakes his head, pushing away the shock of seeing his mother amidst all the carnage, and glances down at his body and the metamorphosis that has occurred.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Ton says. “You can say that—”

“EVERYONE ON THEIR KNEES!” a voice booms from the tower as men and women stream out of the entrance, rifles to their shoulders, armor at full power. “THOSE THAT DO NOT COMPLY WILL BE TERMINATED!”

“Calm down, Captain Bryan,” Tanya says, holding her hands up. “A quick retinal scan will tell you I am now in charge of everything that happens from this moment on.”

One of the people with rifles pauses then lifts his visor. Captain Bryan studies Tanya for a second.

A GenSOF operator glances at Captain Bryan and the man nods. The woman hurries over and places a small box in front of Tanya’s face. A red line scans across her eyes and the box beeps. The woman’s eyes go back and forth as she reads the results on her visor’s display.

“Identity confirmed,” the woman says. “Uh, Captain? Am I reading this right?”

Bryan taps at his wrist as the data is streamed into his visor display. He grimaces and then he salutes.

“Control,” Bryan says. “I relinquish command to you.”

“No need to do that,” Tanya says. “You seem to have kept GenSOF from being completely annihilated. Well done, Captain. You may retain command of GenSOF. I’ll just expect you to listen and carry out any orders I give.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bryan nods. He glances past Tanya. “Ton?”

“Captain,” Ton nods. “You should listen to the lady. She seems to know more than any of us.”

“I am guessing that,” Bryan replies. “Let’s get everyone inside. You look like you can use some rest and some food. Supplies are limited since many of the AiSP systems have collapsed, but we should be able to rustle up at least one hot for each of you.”

“I am sorry, Captain, but we do not have time for rest or for food,” Tanya says. “I will need to see the command center this instant so we can strategize our assault on the Control dome.”

“Assault on the Control dome?” Bryan asks.

“I will explain as we ascend to safer surroundings,” Tanya says.

“Yes, Control,” Bryan nods. “I’ll show you the—”

“I am fully familiar with GenSOF Tower,” Tanya says as she walks past them all and heads inside the tower.

Tanya’s people are right behind her, followed closely by the GenSOF personnel. The unaffected civvies go next, leaving Coffin Squad to stare at Blaze.

“Did your mother just get called Control?” Jersey asks.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Blaze says, shaking his head.

“But I didn’t hear that wrong, right?”

“No, you heard it,” Ton says, looking at Blaze. “Your mother has some explaining to do. And just when I thought I was out of questions.”

“Questions will have to wait. Come on,” Red says as he helps Paulo with Collette and they hurry the wounded woman inside. “We’ll figure it out later.”

Ton starts to clap Blaze on the shoulder, an automatic movement he’s done a thousand times, then stops just before his glove touches the hardened pus.

“You alright?” Ton asks.

“Not sure,” Blaze says.

“You will be,” Jersey says, a fierce intensity in her voice. “You always are.”

Blaze only nods and gives her a weak smile as all of them turn and head into the tower.

38

“The city is lost,” Bryan says as he stands in the GenSOF Tower’s command center, pointing at a display showing the damage to Caldicott City. “It’ll be years before we can rebuild. We’ll need to evacuate everyone we can to one of the other cities.”

“No need,” Tanya says. “Those cities are lost as well. The Other is very thorough.”

“This Other you keep talking about,” Bryan frowns. “You’ve known about him for a long time, but you never thought to tell GenSOF?”

“Wouldn’t have made a difference,” Tanya says. “All of this was going to happen no matter what. A select few of us have been putting pieces into place so that when it did happen, humanity would have a chance to survive.”

“Survive what?” Red snaps. “None of us have any fucking clue as to what the hell you are talking about!”

“Calm down, Mr. Blakely,” Tanya says. “What is occurring is simply the ending of something that began a long while ago. Many of you believe the Unseen Wars are over. That we have lost to the Strains and learned to adapt. You are wrong. The Unseen Wars never ended, we never lost to the Strains. We have merely been in a holding pattern, a semi-truce between sides. That truce has ended. Apparently, humanity has been deemed unworthy to live and is now set for extinction.”

“By the Other?” Bryan asks.

“Yes,” Tanya nods. “Although, you may know him by a different name. Dr. Maurice Caldicott.”

“The guy that created the Static Reactor Shield?” Jersey asks. “The guy that saved humanity by inventing something that has protected us for decades from the Strains?”

“Is that what he did?” Tanya laughed. “Perhaps you should evaluate the data more closely, Ms. Cale. Think about it for a couple of seconds. Do you feel safe? Have you ever felt safe?”

“No,” Blaze says before Jersey can reply. “I’ve felt trapped. Imprisoned.”

“Precisely,” Tanya smiles. “That’s my boy. This has all been a grand experiment carried out by a madman. A madman that has finally achieved immortality and has zero desire to share it.”

“The SRS wasn’t made to keep us safe,” Jersey says, looking from Blaze to Tanya and back. “It was designed to keep us contained. It’s a giant petri dish. Is that it?”

“That is it,” Tanya nods. “Only a few of us have ever known the truth. But one by one, we have died off, leaving me as the last. I can remember when Caldicott first put his plan in motion.”

“Impossible,” Bryan says. “You are not that old.”

“I would think twice before using the word impossible, Captain,” Tanya laughs. “You have zero concept of the word’s meaning. Trust me.”

“So what now?” Ton asks. “I can care less about the whys, I just need to know the hows. Specifically, how do we stop this Other?”

“We go to the Control dome,” Tanya says. “The Other is housed there, deep, deep below the surface. The scientists that have been running the place for me have had no idea. I may be called Control, which is true on many levels, from a certain stand point. But, unfortunately, it appears I have not beenin control. I will now rectify that mistake. We must cross the Sicklands and take back that facility.”

“Good,” Ton says. “That is something I understand how to do. Let’s bring up a map and start plotting.”

Bryan waves his hand and a topographical view of the land between Caldicott City and the Control dome comes up. Everyone stares, too stunned to even gasp.

“What is that?” someone asks.

“It is what I was afraid of,” Tanya sighs. “The Clean Guard. Just like the rest of the personnel within the Control dome, they have been co-opted by the Other. I knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with the cooties and affected civilians as his only fighting force.”

“There are thousands of them,” Ton says as he looks at the map and the impossible number of red dots that represent the Clean Guard’s forces. “We have maybe a couple hundred of us.”

“Then we’ll need to fight smart,” Red says. “Let them make the mistake of thinking their numbers are all they need.”

“Any ideas?” Bryan asks.

“Yeah,” Red nods. “A couple. But I’ll need to make a call first.”

“A call?” Bryan asks. “Who the hell to?”

“Anyone still alive out there,” Red says. “Any GenWrecks that haven’t been taken out.”

Part Three

Day

They reach for me, they call for me, and I am helpless. Helpless like I am a child myself, left to the mercy of my surroundings.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper as chunks and pieces of them begin to fall away.

They keep calling for me until their throats can no longer make any sounds beyond a wretched, horrible gurgling noise.

I turn and flee, feeling the shame of my cowardice.

39

The crackle of static and a faint voice are what bring Jude out of his tormented sleep. He sits upright and shakes himself fully awake then scrambles over to the radio in the corner of the small room.

“Hello?” he calls as he grabs the handset and presses the button. “Hello? Who is this? Hello?”

“Keep it down, kid,” Milo growls from the opposite corner. He looks out at Jude from a tangle of blankets, his teeth chattering from the cold that penetrates the room like a frigid knife. “That fucking sick mutt is still out there somewhere. Not to mention whatever else may be living in this GenWreck prison.”

“I keep telling you there aren’t any vermin here,” Jude says. “So calm the hell down.” He presses the handset button again. “Hello? Hello, can you hear me?”

“Jude?” the radio crackles. “Jude? Is that you?”

“Dad!” Jude shouts, which elicits more growls from Milo. Jude waves him off. “Dad! Where are you?”

“GenSOF Tower in Caldicott City,” Red replies, his voice wavering in and out from the bad signal.

“GenSOF Tower? Why are—?” Jude asks, but is immediately interrupted.

“No time to explain,” Red says. “A very long and confusing story. I just need to know that you’re alright.”

“I am,” Jude says. “We’ve been hiding in the prison for a while now, but the sick mutt can’t get in.”

“Sick mutt?” Red asks. “One of the Sicklands big hounds?”

“Yeah, and it’s a big one,” Jude says. “The thing has us trapped here. Milo doesn’t think it’s going to go away. I don’t either.”

“Good, you’re still with the GenSOF operators,” Red says. “How are they doing?”

“We lost Hoagie,” Jude says. He glances over at Milo who is watching him intently. “The guy helped us escape and sacrificed himself. We still have all the dogs though.”

Jude glances at the piles of fur that are busy snoring on the floor. None of them have even twitched an ear in his direction, keeping to their conditioning of conserving energy unless real danger appears. A voice filled with static from an ancient analog radio does not constitute real danger.

“But one Sicklands bug hound is keeping you trapped?” Red asks.

“You’ll have to see it,” Jude says. “There’s something wrong with the thing. It won’t die. Keeps healing. It doesn’t have any fur anymore and looks like dried pus. It’s hard to describe.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you need to,” Red replies. “I have a very good idea of what you are talking about.”

There are some voices in the background, but Jude can’t make out any of the words.

“Listen, Jude, I have managed to reach four of our GenWreck bases,” Red says. “The rest aren’t answering. One of the squads will be coming right by where you are. Do you think you can get out to meet them?”

“I don’t know,” Jude says.

“We sure as hell are going to try,” Milo says, throwing his blankets off. He gets up and staggers over to the radio. “Give me that.”

Jude hands Milo the handset and steps back.

“This is Milo,” Milo states. “I’ll get your son outside. You can count on me. I’d be dead without his help, so I owe him my life.”

“Thank you,” Red says. “The squad should be rumbling by in about two hours. Can you get clear of that sick mutt by then?”

“Don’t have much of a choice,” Milo says. “Like I said, I’ll get him up there and on that transport. Where will we be headed? Back to Caldicott City?”

“Caldicott City is gone,” Red says. “A lot has happened since we split up.”

“Gone? What the hell do you mean it’s gone?” Milo asks. “Gone how?”

“Leveled by cooties and affected civvies,” Red says. “Listen, I can’t explain. We are loading up right now and heading to the Control dome. The squad picking you up will bring both of you to us. They’ll have weapons on hand if you need them.”

“We do,” Milo says. “We’re a little short at the moment. The kid wasn’t joking about this sick mutt that has been stalking us. We’ve thrown everything we had at him and he still won’t quit.”

“Okay, I understand,” Red says. The voices in the background get louder. “I have to go. You two be careful.”

“Will do,” Milo says. “See ya on the battlefield.”

“Yeah,” Red replies, his voice weary. “See ya there.”

The radio squawks then goes silent. Milo looks at Jude and Jude looks at Milo. Then they both look at the door to the room they have been trapped in for days.

“You really think we can get by that thing?” Jude asks. “Nothing we’ve done has worked yet.”

“Nothing we’ve done has been for a reason other than escaping it,” Milo says. “Now we have a reason. To get you back to your dad. We’ll get by it.”

Milo walks to the door and places his ear against it. He listens for a minute and shakes his head.

“I don’t know if it’s still out there,” Milo says. “Maybe it went outside to take a shit.”

“It’s still out there,” Jude says.

“How do you know?”

“Because I just do,” Jude responds. “I have a feeling.”

“Does your feeling know if it’s taking a nap and we can just tiptoe past it?” Milo asks. Jude gives him a surly look. “Just asking, kid.” He takes a deep breath and puts his hand on the door handle. “Only one way to find out.”

Milo pulls on the handle and cracks the door slightly. Immediately all of the bug hounds in the room come to attention and are up on their feet snarling, their hackles raised. A loud, gurgling snarl responds in kind from outside the room and Milo quickly slams the door shut.

“That answers that,” Milo says. He glances at a club fastened out of a hunk of pipe and a large rock strapped to the top that rests by his pile of blankets. “Best get our game faces on, kid. We don’t have much time.”

Jude nods and fetches his own weapon, a steel rod with a hunk of sharpened metal tied to the end. He works his way through the alert and on edge bug hounds waiting by the door as Milo goes and grabs his weapon.

“What’s the strategy?” Jude asks.

“We yank open that door and run like hell while the dogs take that fucker on,” Milo says. “Only thing I can think of.”

Jude looks at the bug hounds and shakes his head. “It’ll kill some of them. Maybe all of them. We’ve made it this far because of the dogs. We can’t just sacrifice them.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you this since we first started running, kid,” Milo says. “These dogs are designed to be sacrificed. It’ll break my fucking heart, but a bug hound’s job is to protect its operator. Not the other way around. Once we open that door then they have to get to work.”

“I don’t want to lose Ajax,” Jude says, tears welling in his eyes. “And my dad put Zeus in my care.”

“Your dad put you in Zeus’s care,” Milo says. “Your dad knows the drill. He expects these dogs to lay down their lives to get you up to the surface and on that transport. You need to respect that.”

Jude shakes his head and sniffs. He takes a last look at his bug hound then at the closed door. The sick mutt outside is throwing itself against the door, its snarls turning into howls of rage.

“Tick tock, kid,” Milo says. “We don’t have time to be sentimental.”

“Fuck you,” Jude snaps. “You’ve lived in the city and had a life. The only life I’ve known is being a kid in the Sicklands with a bunch of adults that talk about how they hate the Clean Nation and Control. Ajax is my only friend.”

“I’m your friend, kid,” Milo says. “And I always will be. I promise.”

“Not the same,” Jude says.

Milo looks at Tequila. “I know. But we are where we are.”

“Fuck!” Jude yells then grips his spear. “Okay. Screw it. Let’s go.”

“That’s the spirit,” Milo says. He grips his club in one hand and grabs the door handle in the other. “One. Two. Three!”

Milo yanks open the door and swings down with the club. The alpha sick mutt jumps back, its jaws snapping at the club before it twists and leaps away, trying to come at Jude and Milo from the side as they sprint from the room.

The passageway outside is dark, but not pitch black. The alpha tracks Jude and times his attack, lunging at the boy with almost perfect precision. The only thing that keeps him from grabbing Jude by the leg is a mass of fur that nails him in the side, sending him rolling across the passageway and into the far wall.

“Go!” Milo shouts as he sees Snorts face off against the alpha. He gives Jude a little shove. “Go, kid! Move!”

There’s a loud howl and yelp as the alpha sinks his fangs into Snort’s neck and tosses the smaller dog aside. A second bug hound, Tequila, takes Snorts place and puts itself between the alpha and the fleeing humans.

The alpha feints to the left then dodges to the right, leaping against the wall and ricocheting off so he clears Tequila in one jump. The GenSOF bug hound spins about and snaps at the alpha, its jaws clamping down on the sick mutt’s tail. The alpha flops to the ground then turns quickly and grabs onto Tequila’s snout, burying its rotted teeth into the bug hound’s muzzle.

Tequila yelps then begins to wail as the alpha bites down with all of his strength, crushing the bug hound’s jaw. Another blur of black fur rams into the alpha as Zeus gets in the fight. He is followed quickly by Ajax, Munch, and Gorge. The passageway is filled with a rolling, snarling, tumbling tangle of fur and blood.

Milo sees Jude hesitate as they reach the main stairs out of the subterranean prison. He grabs the kid by the shoulder, forcing him to climb to the surface.

“Don’t stop,” he hisses at the boy. “Don’t look back.”

Several yelps, followed by a bark that’s cut off midway through, almost make Milo turn, but he keeps his discipline and focuses on Jude. He refuses to let the boy glance at the dog fight and clamps his hand down harder each time Jude tries.

“We’re almost out,” Milo says. “We just get to the top and outside then barricade the door. That piece of shit will be locked in here until it starves to death.”

“So will our dogs!” Jude yells. “We can’t do that!”

“No choice!” Milo yells back. “No fucking choice, kid! Your dad gave you an order and that was to get up top and on the GenWreck transport! When your squad leader gives you an order then you follow through!”

More yelps, more snarls, more barks cut off midway.

Milo shoves Jude hard as they reach the top of the stairs. He keeps shoving as they cross a narrow rock bridge, the only way in or out of the prison. They make it to the other side and Milo scoops up Jude in one arm, wincing as he feels his wound stretch, and carries the boy through the massive and open sliding doors that mark the entrance to the prison. He keeps carrying Jude until they are standing in the grey light outside the GenWreck prison, the vast expanse of the barren Sicklands all about them.

He lets the boy drop and pulls a pair of binoculars from his belt, one of the few pieces of equipment of use he was able to find in the long defunct prison. Milo scans the horizon, sweeping back and forth until he spots what he thinks is a far off transport kicking up dust and heading their way.

“Here they come,” Milo says. “Get up and help me lock down this entrance. I can’t close these doors on my own.”

Jude glares at Milo, but gets to his feet and grabs the handle to one of the massive doors. Milo grabs the handle on the other door and pulls it closed while Jude pulls his closed. They both stand there hoping it will hold and slow the sick mutt down. But they’ve seen the thing figure its way out of harder situations.

“Let me have your spear,” Milo says. “Hurry!”

“Stop yelling at me!” Jude shouts as he rushes over and picks up his spear.

He hurries to Milo and hands the operator the weapon. Milo starts to work it between the door handles. Before he can get it wedged in there, the doors shudder from a heavy impact and Milo is knocked back.

“Shit,” he swears as he lunges at the door.

But he’s too late. The alpha wedges its head into the small gap it created and starts to push. Milo kicks at the sick mutt’s bloody snout, but it seems to have almost no effect.

“Go!” Milo yells, holding onto one of the handles with all his strength. “Run towards the transport! I’ll keep the thing right—”

He doesn’t finish as the alpha bursts from between the doors, sending Milo flying and tumbling to the ground. The GenSOF operator tries to scramble back onto his feet, but he never gets the chance as close to two hundred pounds of diseased dog slams on top of him.

The Sicklands fills with the sounds of Milo’s screams. Then the sound of those screams ending abruptly.

Jude runs.

He knows he can’t beat the sick mutt, he knows that the beast will catch him, but there is no way he’ll stand still and let it happen.

His feet nearly slip out from under him as he hits a patch of loose gravel, but he keeps his balance and stays on course, aimed right for the spot Milo said the transport was coming from. He pumps his legs and arms, pulling up every last bit of strength he has. His lungs burn, his muscles burn, and his eyes burn as held back tears spill out onto his cheeks.

He starts to see a small dot ahead of him and he prays that it’s the transport and not some random boulder. As he gets closer, the spot gets closer, looking larger and larger with every step, giving him hope that maybe he’ll make it.

Then that hope is lost as he’s hit square in the back. He falls forward and tries to roll, but only ends up upside down, his head and neck scraping across rocks as he slides to a stop. His legs flip over him and he feels something tear as his left leg slams into the ground.

Standing over him, its muzzle dripping with blood and foamy drool, the alpha bares its fangs and then comes in for the kill. Jude rolls a couple inches and manages to keep the thing from getting to his soft neck. Instead, the alpha clamps down onto Jude’s right shoulder. Muscle is shredded and bones grind together as thousands of pounds of force per square inch decimates the joint.

Jude screams at the top of his lungs and reaches for the alpha with his left hand, jamming his thumb into the beast’s eye. The sick mutt yowls and lets go of Jude’s shoulder, but not before giving it a hard shake. Jude screams again, all strength fleeing his body as panic sets in.

The alpha shakes its head over and over, sending blood and fluid flying from its punctured eyeball. It rubs its face in the dirt, trying to coat the wound, but it only enrages it even more. After a minute, it turns its attention back onto Jude.

Slowly, with deliberate menace, the alpha takes ominous step after ominous step until once again it looms over the boy. Jude looks at the grotesque creature and shuts his eyes tight, ready for the killing strike.

He waits. And waits. But the strike doesn’t come.

Instead the alpha begins to cough and choke, causing Jude to open his eyes again. The sick mutt is standing there, swaying back and forth, froth pouring from its mouth and nose. It opens its jaws wide and vomits blood. Jude barely has time to roll out of the way, screaming each time his destroyed shoulder hits the earth.

The alpha spins about, alternating between coughs of foamy froth and vomiting blood, until it starts to list sideways then falls over onto its side.

Jude just stares at the thing, watching its labored breathing get slower and slower until its chest stops moving altogether. The boy doesn’t move a muscle, he doesn’t dare. He just keeps watching the still sick mutt, waiting for something to happen.

Then it does. The alpha gasps for breath and rolls back onto its feet. It shakes it head over and over and over then stops and turns its attention to Jude. One step after another brings it closer to the boy and there is absolutely nothing Jude can do about it.

40

Twenty GenSOF transports barrel out of Caldicott City, their wheels bumping up and over the debris of the collapsed wall, navigating the rubble until they find flat land again. One of the transports breaks off from the main group and turns, heading around the side of the city while the rest continue straight on, aimed in the direction of Control.

The single transport races along the curve of the city until it reaches another lone transport that sits waiting by the hydro-reclamation area. The transport comes to a stop and the back hatch opens. It is barely touching the ground before Red, Ton, Nick, Jersey, Paulo, a wounded Collette, a pus-hardened Blaze, and Tanya come rushing out.

“I’ll get it up and going,” Nick says as he hurries inside their transport.

Tanya looks at the beaten and scarred transport and frowns. “You left an advanced AiSP like Worm inside this thing? Operators. I swear.”

“Couldn’t exactly bring him with us,” Red says. “I’m sure he’s fine. You’ll see.”

They all climb aboard and grab seats as Nick powers up the transport and closes the hatch behind them.

“Hello, Coffin Squad,” Worm announces. “While I cannot actually feel the full emotion, it is pleasant to see you all again. Oh, dear, Collette has been hurt.”

“I’m fine, Worm,” Collette says as she straps herself in and leans her head back against the transport wall. “It’s nothing.”

“My scans say it is the opposite of nothing,” Worm says. “Your arm has nearly been torn from your body. I would appreciate it if you entered a med pod and allowed me to help—” He stops talking and everyone frowns then looks up at one of the speakers mounted in the transport’s ceiling. “You.”

“Hello, Worm,” Tanya says. “It is good to be in your presence again.”

“You,” Worm repeats.

“Is there a problem, Worm?” Ton asks, eyeing Tanya. “Something you’d like to share with us about Blaze’s mother?”

“While this woman may be Sergeant Crouch’s mother, I am afraid to say that she is not welcome on this transport,” Worm replies. “I will need to ask her to leave.”

“Can’t do that, Worm,” Blaze says. “She’s coming with. It seems she’s kind of important in this whole war.”

“War? Are we at war?” Worm asks.

“What else do you think is going on?” Paulo laughs. “We’re going out for drinks?”

“I was not aware the conflict had been designated as a war,” Worm says. “Is there a name for the war?”

“Haven’t had a chance to name it yet,” Ton says.

“Hold on to your seats,” Nick calls out as the transport starts to move. “We have to make up some time and get back with the convoy. I’m not going to hit the brakes much, so be sure and strap in.”

“I have to object,” Worm says. “Collette has not put herself in the med pod yet.”

“I’m fine, Worm,” Collette growls. “We got the bleeding stopped.”

“Yes, but if the arm is not repaired soon then you may risk amputation,” Worm says. “A one-armed operator is not as effective as a two-armed operator.”

“That’s good math, Worm,” Blaze laughs.

“Yes, well, it wasn’t so… Sergeant Crouch? I am seeing a distinct difference in your normal appearance,” Worm says. “Are you wounded as well?”

“He is exactly as he is supposed to be,” Tanya says.

“You,” Worm replies. “I do not likeyou.”

“You have expressed that,” Tanya says. “May I ask why you hold so much venom towards me?”

“I am an AiSP and cannot hold venom towards anyone,” Worm says. “But foryou, I make an exception. Do not think I am unaware of your fingerprints all over my Ai protocol. You have pushed me, warped me, and tried to change how I process data several times through the years, all so I would report back to you any changes or findings regarding your son.”

“Really?” Blaze and Jersey say at the same time.

“I do not think this is the place for such revelations,” Tanya says.

“Jeez, they sound alike,” Paulo says. “Listen. Worm and crazy lady talk the same.”

“Did you just refer to me as crazy lady?” Tanya asks. “That is hardly a respectable way to address a woman that is doing everything in her power to keep humanity from going extinct.”

“See?” Paulo laughs. “Totally talk the same.”

“I do not appreciate the comparison,” Worm says.

“Nor do I,” Tanya adds.

“You two are just making my case,” Paulo says.

“Enough with that shit,” Ton snaps. “We have more important things to deal with.” He looks at Tanya. “You sure your people can get the city cleaned up?”

“They will track down any stragglers and round them up,” Tanya says. “If we can defeat the Other then his hold on them should be severed and they will return to a more normal state.”

“Return back to who they were?” Ton asks.

“That I cannot say with certainty,” Tanya admits. “We are in new territory here, Lieutenant. I am learning as we go along.”

“Fine,” Ton says. “I’ll give you that. But if the civvies don’t turn back then your people will be able to handle it so we have a city to come back to and not a nest of enemies, right?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Tanya says. “They will handle it, as you say.”

“Good,” Ton says.

“May I request that we return to Sergeant Crouch’s condition?” Worm asks. “I am rather alarmed at the readings I am getting from my scans of his physical condition. It appears as if his bacteria has taken on a suppurative nature and is producing a seepage that has solidified. Are those wounds? Have you been fighting, Sergeant Crouch?”

“When am I not fighting, Worm?” Blaze replies.

“Yes, point taken,” Worm says. “But what I am trying to ascertain is whether your bacteria is using the seepage to repair wounds received during a fight.”

“I’m guessing so,” Blaze says. “I may have gotten into a couple of scraps.”

Most of the operators snort at that comment.

“I take it from the reactions of the others that you made that statement with intentional irony,” Worm says. “A simple yes or no would suffice, Sergeant.”

“Yes,” Blaze says. “I was fighting.”

“Thank you,” Worm says. “And Collette, please enter the med pod immediately.”

“Sheesh,” Collette sighs as Paulo helps her into the pod. The pod seals shut and Collette closes her eyes. Her breathing evens out in seconds and her eyelids begin to flutter

“Damn, is she out already?” Paulo asks as the pod is secured to the wall of the transport.

“She is out,” Worm says. “I gave her a mild sedative while the pod repairs her arm. She should sleep well as we travel to Control.”

“We never stated where we are going,” Ton says. “How did you figure it out?”

“The Other is no longer a part of the sat link system,” Worm says. “I have reintegrated with GenSOF command and am in communication with the main AiSP servers now. I must say it is nice to be back at full capacity.”

“The Other is no longer in the sat system?” Tanya asks.

“No, he is not,” Worm says. “There is no trace of him, as far as I can tell.”

“He’s pulled out of electronic tech and is now solely using biological tech,” Tanya says. “This means he is advancing considerably faster than I had anticipated. We may be too late.”

“Too late for what?” Red asks. “What exactly are we going to do when we get to the Control dome? You say we are going to take it back, but then what?”

“We will purge the Control systems of all traces of the Other,” Tanya says.

“You just said that he has moved from electronic tech to biological tech,” Jersey states. “How do we purge him if he is no longer purgeable?”

“That is the unfortunate part,” Tanya sighs. “We will have to eliminate the essential life from the Control dome. Once we have done enough biological damage then the Other will be forced to revert to an electronic-based domain. From there, we simply destroy the servers he is housed in.”

“Essential life?” Red asks. “Gonna have to get more specific.”

“Management,” Tanya says. “Their minds have been modified to accept certain conditioning. This has allowed me to ensure that my orders and agendas are carried out without question. It is why I am called Control. If my guess is correct then the Other was able to exploit this conditioning for his own gain without them even knowing. He has fully corrupted a member of Management. This would create a domino effect and allow him to overtake the other members once certain parameters are achieved.”

“What parameters?” Ton asks.

“More than likely the transmission of the Other’s bacteria from one host to the next,” Tanya says.

“DeBeers,” Blaze says. “The Other got to her. I know it. Somehow while she was with us out in the Sicklands she was exposed to the Other’s bacteria.”

“That is possible,” Tanya says. “But I believe the corruption happened well before that. Her final transformation may have been accelerated by her exposure to the Sicklands, but she was already well on her way to changing. Same with the other members of Management. I blame myself for not noticing in time.”

“What if someone was able to overcome the conditioning?” Red asks. “Would that person be able to resist the Other?”

“At great personal discomfort and risk,” Tanya says. The transport bumps and lurches and she grabs onto her seat, her eyes going wide. “I have never liked over-ground travel. I prefer air travel, by far.”

“Air travel is strictly prohibited outside the cities,” Ton says. “Wouldn’t want to spread bacteria from one area to the other faster than it can be contained. But, you probably have privileges the rest of the Clean Nation citizens aren’t privy to.”

“Possible,” Tanya smirks. She turns back to Red. “To answer your question, yes, a person could resist the Other if his or her conditioning has been broken. It all depends on the strength of the bacteria the Other uses. Some things are impossible to resist.”

“So you don’t know,” Red says. “You’re just guessing.”

“I’m a scientist, Mr. Blakely,” Tanya smiles. “I am always guessing.”

“Great,” Red says.

“But, since you have brought it up, let’s explore this question further,” Tanya says. “The person you are hoping is able to resist the Other is Dr. Charter, yes? The mother of your child?”

Red and Tanya lock eyes while everyone looks back and forth between the two.

“April is the mother of my son, yes,” Red says. “She was able to hide her pregnancy from Control. I was able to keep her with me in the Sicklands.”

“You ran genetic tests to confirm parentage?” Tanya asks. “I know the Sicklands are a primitive place, but you GenWrecks have adapted. You must have had the equipment to do a paternity test?”

“Yes, we had the equipment,” Red says. “I’m trusting, but not stupid. He’s my son.”

“Incredible,” Tanya says. “And that was who you called? Your son?”

“I did,” Red says. “He should be picked up by the GenWreck squad by now.”

“Good,” Tanya says. “Having him close to us may be our saving grace.”

“Why is that?” Ton asks. “What’s special about the boy?”

“Possibly the same thing that is special about my boy,” Tanya says, turning and smiling at Blaze. “They are both designs meant to save humanity from the Strains.”

“Hold on!” Red snaps. “Jude is not some designed experiment! I raised him from an infant and he is human 100%!”

“He is human, yes,” Tanya says. “But he is also so much more. Do you really think Dr. Charter would be able to hide a pregnancy while working at Control? That is not possible. No, your son was grown just as mine was. You and Dr. Charter are his parents from a genetic point of view, but he was not carried to term in her womb.”

“Wrong. She was in one of our cave bases,” Red says. “I put her there. She was with me the whole time.”

“Was she?” Tanya frowns. “That is not the information I was given.”

Red smirks. “Then maybe your conditioning didn’t work. Maybe the information you were told was all about misdirection.”

“Maybe,” Tanya nods. “If that is the case then your son is beyond unique.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Blaze says, holding up a hand. “Back the fuck up. Did you just say I was grown?”

“Yes,” Tanya hesitates then answers. “I am your mother, as you were created from one of my eggs, but I was never physically pregnant with you.”

“You’re a test tube baby, man,” Paulo says. “Literally.”

“He’s not a clone, though,” Jersey says. “You just used an artificial womb for gestation.”

“Precisely,” Tanya nods. “Clones have never been viable.”

“Except for bug hounds,” Paulo says.

“No, not even the canines,” Tanya says. “Even they begin to break down. It is why they have such short lifespans. Half what normal canines would have. Once they have exceeded their intended lifespan they begin to change drastically.”

“Those dogs I saw at Control,” Jersey says. “They were older bug hounds then. Why would they use those?”

“That sounds like the Other’s work,” Tanya sighs. “And it all comes down to conditioning again. The older canines would be easier to manipulate, their bodies and minds.”

“That’s all fascinating,” Red says. “But what did you mean my boy is unique? Unique how?”

“I believe Dr. Charter used your sperm and her egg to create an embryo she could manipulate,” Tanya says. “I thought she created your son the same way I created mine, but it appears she chose to carry the child to term herself. Knowing Dr. Charter as I do, she must have had a reason beyond wanting to experience motherhood first hand. Carrying a GenSOF operator’s child could create certain biological advantages. I am embarrassed I didn’t think of it on my own.”

“Hey!” Blaze shouts. “What the fuck, people? Stop talking about this like it’s normal. I just found out I was grown in a fucking tube!”

“Pod, son. Pod,” Tanya says. “Similar to what the Clean Guard are stored in. I was able to control ever single aspect of your gestation, from temperature to nutrient levels, to oxygen mixture. I grew you, along with your specialized bacterial cultures, in the perfect medium. And by doing so, I was able to allow your cultures to integrate into your body more so than any other human being before you. You can see for yourself the results.”

Blaze looks down at the hardened parts of his body and shakes his head. “This is so fucked up,” he sighs then closes his eyes. “Wake me when it’s time to punch something.”

“That is a good idea,” Worm says, dimming the lights in the transport. “It will be hours until we arrive at the Control dome. I advise that everyone rest as much as possible. If my sat readings are correct then we are severely outnumbered, despite having twenty transports filled with GenSOF operators. You will need all of your faculties to survive this coming battle.”

“War,” Ton says. “This is a war.”

“The Sicklands War,” Paulo says.

“No, more like the Control War,” Red responds, his eyes on Tanya. “Because that’s what it’s all about, right? Control.”

“It always has been, Mr. Blakely,” Tanya says.

41

The lead transport slows then stops. The twenty behind it all stop as well, waiting as they face the forces coming towards them.

Captain Bryan stares at his view screen, mentally tallying up the Clean Guard troops that march in perfect step with each other across the barren land. Far off in the distance is Control, its massive dome a shining anomaly in the Sicklands.

“We’re looking at a thousand troops,” Bryan says into the com so the rest of the transports can hear him. “A thousand highly trained soldiers that may or may not be altered somehow.”

“Where are their transports?” Wallace asks over the com from her transport. “Why not come at us with artillery first? We’ll cut the first wave of those troops down before they even get close to us.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Ton responds over the com. “Is there anything on the scans?”

Bryan looks over at one of his operators and the man shakes his head.

“No,” Bryan replies. “Nothing.”

“So they are saving the transports,” Ton says. “Why?”

“Because they know you’re coming,” Wallace suggests. “They know we’re not just here to fight them, but to stop them. That means sending your squad inside that dome. It’ll be a lot harder to get inside if you have all of Control’s transports to deal with. Cutting through a line of human beings is one thing, cutting through a line of war machines is another.”

“Great,” Ton sighs. “Thanks for the confidence boost, Beverly.”

“Nut up, Alton,” Wallace replies. “Not the time to get all boo hoo.”

“Suggestions?” Bryan asks. “Frontal assault or split and flank?”

“They have positioned themselves so that they can take either,” Ton says. “See the troop spacing? They’ll adjust to whatever tactic we use.”

“Frontal,” Wallace says. “Let’s take it to them.”

“Agreed,” Bryan says. “We hit them hard with the transports. Try to punch through if we can. If not then we make enough of a distraction for Coffin Squad to get to the dome.”

“Where the transports may be waiting,” Wallace says. “Have fun with that.”

“We will,” Ton says.

The Clean Guard troops continue to march forward. Bryan ticks off the timing of their movement then smacks his hand on the console in front of him.

“No time like the present, people!” he yells. “Frontal assault! Unload everything you have on them and do not stop until you are empty!”

There are cheers from the rest of the transports as Bryan claps his driver on the shoulder and points at the Clean Guard troops.

“Take it to them!”

42

The GenSOF transports race towards the Clean Guard ranks, dust billowing up from behind the vehicles as their wheels grind into the Sicklands dirt.

As the machines near the men and women in white armor, time slows down. The last few feet take an eternity to traverse. Then there is impact as the transports collide with the first rows of guards and men and women are tossed this way and that. Time returns to normal.

But it is too late for the first few transports, as the ranks of guards move out of the way to reveal hidden cannons that had been surrounded by troops to conceal their positions from scans. Massive static bolts fly from the cannon barrels, ripping into the transports, cutting them open like simple cans.

Three transports explode, sending fiery shrapnel ripping into the guards and into the other transports, causing almost equal damage to both. Two transports are disabled instantly and set upon by the Clean Guard, their hatches jimmied open. Operators fight with everything they have, firing their rifles, pistols, using static batons, static blades, their fists, but they are overwhelmed in seconds and pulled screaming from their useless vehicles.

The transports that have yet to reach the rows of troops veer to the sides, changing their tactics to avoid getting blasted head on by the cannons. As soon as they adjust course, several ranks of guards drop to their knees and take aim with their static rifles. The blasts are concentrated not on the armor plating the vehicles, but on the wheels that propel the transports around the troops. Six more transports are disabled before the rest whip back around and retreat to a safer distance.

The battlefield is littered with casualties in less than five minutes. The GenSOF forces have been reduced by half while only doing minimal damage to the Clean Guard army.

The transports flee, driving as fast as they can, as far as they can, so they can regroup and figure out a new strategy.

43

Red and Ton stare at the scene on the view screens in front of them. The rest of Coffin Squad does the same. No one says a word as their transport continues across the bumpy and broken ground a couple kilometers to the east of the Control dome.

“I guess we know why there aren’t any Clean Guard transports,” Ton says.

“They set that trap perfectly,” Red sighs.

“Captains Bryan and Wallace are conferring with each other,” Worm announces. “Would you care to be patched in so you can hear their strategies?”

“No,” Ton says. “We need to focus on our objective which is to get inside the dome. They are both capable operators and can handle this setback.”

“They need to get out of the transports and make it a ground war,” Red says. “The transports are easy targets for those cannons. But single operators aren’t. Only way they’ll survive.”

“I am sure they are thinking of that,” Ton says.

“They better be,” Red says. “We kind of need a war to be raging so the Other stays occupied.”

“If the Other is anything like the Ai protocol I encountered while inside the Control system then it is capable of waging war on several fronts simultaneously,” Worm says. “I do not believe it can be distracted.”

“That is where you come in,” Tanya says, a sly smile on her face. “Once we reach the wall of the dome, we will need to manually connect the transport’s system to the Control system. I am going to give you all of the master access codes, Worm. You will have free reign inside Control once you are uploaded.”

“You’re going to need my help to do that,” Jersey says.

“Yes, Ms. Cale, I will,” Tanya replies.

“I am not comfortable with this part of the plan,” Worm says. “The last time I encountered this Ai, it tried to strip me of my personality. It was not enjoyable.”

“I can imagine it wasn’t,” Tanya says. “But we do not have a choice. Like Mr. Blakely said, we need the distraction. You are that distraction. You will keep the Other occupied as we make our way into and through Control until we reach the subterranean levels. Once we are there then you can flee back to the transport and firewall yourself. The subterranean levels of Control cannot be accessed by any AiSP protocols. While not safe, we will not have the Control systems coming down on us.”

“That’s a pretty big weakness,” Jersey says. “Who was in charge of that crappy design?”

“I was, of course,” Tanya says. “As much as we put our faith in the AiSPs, we’d be fools to leave ourselves exposed to intelligences such as theirs without some protections. Must I remind you that I am Control?”

“Changing course now,” Nick says.

“Follow the coordinates exactly as I gave them to you, operator,” Tanya says. “There is no buffer for deviation. Six inches in either direction will bring up Control’s defenses and we’ll be vaporized in less than a second.”

“Anymore backdoors or trap doors we need to know about?” Jersey asks. “May come in handy if you bite it inside and we still need to get the hell out.”

“Nothing else I can reveal right now,” Tanya says. “If you are captured, and your minds are harvested, I don’t want you to compromise the mission.”

“Did you say our minds will be harvested?” Paulo asks. “She said that, right?”

“Only if you are captured,” Tanya says. “So do not get captured.”

“That’s always the plan,” Ton says.

“Approaching the dome,” Nick announces. “Thirty meters to go.”

Several ports open on the wall of the dome and static cannons extend.

“Do not hesitate,” Tanya hisses. “Do not slow down. Keep a steady speed and stay on course.”

Nick doesn’t respond as he drives them closer to the dome wall. Once he is within ten meters, he looks over his shoulder and Tanya nods. He slows the transport gradually until the nose of the vehicle is almost touching the dome itself.

None of the static cannons change position, their barrels still pointed out at the Sicklands.

“We exit one at a time,” Tanya says. “Count to thirty from when the person in front of you touches the ground to when you do so as well. Any sooner and the cannons will turn and lock on. I am relying on your training as operators to be precise in your movements. Slow, steady steps. No jerky movements.”

“Who’s first?” Blaze asks.

“I am,” Tanya says. “Then Ms. Cale. We will be working on the uplink from the transport to the Control system while the rest of you get into position. Once we are all ready then I will activate the entrance and simultaneously activate Worm’s upload. We will have eighteen seconds to get from outside to inside.”

“What happens at nineteen seconds?” Red asks. “I’m sure it’s deadly, but I’d like the specifics.”

“Yes, you are certainly all about the specifics,” Tanya says.

Red waits. “Well?”

“I am all about the secrets,” Tanya smiles. “Haven’t you figured that out? Telling you how you will die will only serve to distract you. All you need to know is eighteen seconds.”

She stands and moves to the back hatch. “Operator?”

“Right,” Nick says and activates the back hatch.

It slowly opens and descends to the ground. Once it is locked into place, Tanya walks slowly down the ramp. She looks back over her shoulder at Jersey.

“Thirty seconds, Ms. Cale,” she says. “Can you handle that?”

“I can count, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jersey frowns. “Just get on with it.”

“I shall,” Tanya says.

She steps from the ramp and places her foot on the ground. Step by careful step, she turns to the left and walks her way towards the dome wall. Once she reaches it, she immediately begins to unlock a small panel hatch. Thirty seconds later Jersey is at her side.

“What now?” Jersey asks.

“Take your leads and connect them to the fourteenth node and the fifteenth node,” Tanya says. “In that order. Then make sure you are getting a signal. Once a signal is confirmed then connect three more leads to the eighth, fourth, and seventh. Again, in that order. Tell me as soon as you are finished with those steps.”

“What are you going to do?” Jersey asks.

“Don’t worry about what I’m doing, worry about what you need to be doing,” Tanya says. “But, if you have to know, I’ll be unlocking the door.”

One by one the rest of the operators arrive next to Jersey, spaced thirty seconds apart.

“Hey,” Blaze says.

“Shush,” Jersey replies. “Concentrating.”

“Just seeing if you need my help,” Blaze says.

“Just telling you to hush again,” Jersey responds.

After getting the first two leads connected, she watches an oscillating line on a small tablet she holds. Once the line begins to spike up and down she smiles and gets the rest of the leads ready.

“Hold this,” Jersey says, handing the tablet to Blaze.

“So you do need my help,” Blaze says.

“No, I need your hands,” Jersey replies. “A rock or stool could do the job just as well.”

“Gee, thanks,” Blaze says.

“Anytime,” Jersey says then gives him a smile. “Love you.”

“That was out of nowhere,” Blaze says then smiles back. “Love you too.”

“We live through this and we’re going to make babies the old fashioned way, got it? No grow pods and shit,” Jersey says as she connects the last three leads.

“I may not be able to make babies,” Blaze says. “Have you looked at me lately? I’m kind of a mess. Things may not work right.”

“You’ve always been a mess,” Jersey says. “And I only need one thing to work right.”

“Do we have to listen to this?” Paulo asks from right behind them.

“You don’t have to listen to anything,” Jersey says. “Feel free to go take a walk.”

Paulo looks up at the inert cannons and shakes his head.

“Nope, I’m good,” he says.

“Ms. Cale? How is it coming along?” Tanya asks as a two meter by two meter hole opens in the side of the dome wall. “Ready to connect the transport?”

“Ready,” Jersey says.

“Good,” Tanya smiles. She looks at Ton and Red. “Get your people in position. As soon as I start the upload, you will need to start running inside. Ms. Cale and I will be right behind you. The cannons will activate, but we should have a second head start before they fire. This will give us enough time to get inside as well. Remember, eighteen seconds from this point to the first corridor. There is no margin for error.”

“We got it,” Ton says. “Right?”

“It’s what we’re made for,” Red nods. “Coffin Squad?”

“Yep,” Nick says.

“Set,” Paulo says.

Blaze cracks his knuckles and nods. “Ready.”

Tanya takes Jersey by the elbow and slowly walks her to a panel in the transport’s side. One by one, she connects the leads to the transport then looks at the tablet in Jersey’s hands.

“Initiate the upload on my mark,” Tanya says. “Three, two, one, mark.”

As soon as Jersey initiates the upload, Tanya turns to the operators and points. They take off running through the hole in the dome wall and are lost from sight instantly.

“Go! Now!” Tanya yells, pushing Jersey ahead of her.

Jersey doesn’t resist and runs as fast as she can across the couple meters of ground between the transport and the wall. She hurries inside and finds herself in a dark access corridor. Fiber optic cables run the length of the corridor, bundled by the dozen and strapped to the walls, their blue lights giving off barely enough illumination for Jersey to see by.

Far ahead the operators of Coffin Squad reach the end of the corridor then stop. There’s no way out.

Jersey catches up to them as they begin to bang on the wall, searching for a hatch, a panel, a door, something that will open and let them escape the death that is only seconds away.

“Not good,” Tanya says, reaching the group. “It should have automatically opened.”

“It didn’t!” Red snaps.

“Can we manually open it?” Paulo asks. “Like now?”

“No,” Tanya says. “The only access panels are outside the wall and inside the corridor beyond.”

“Five seconds,” Ton growls. “We better head back.”

“We won’t make it,” Red says.

“Fuck this,” Blaze snarls then shoves everyone out of the way, cocks an arm back, and lets it fly.

His fist goes right through the wall, shredding the panel that should have opened. He tucks his shoulder and rams the panel, warping it and tearing it from its moorings. Blaze falls inside the bright white corridor beyond and starts waving everyone to him. Coffin Squad doesn’t think, just acts and they dive through the opening, piling onto the floor as the last second ticks off.

There’s a bright flash of blue light and the smell of ozone is heavy in the air.

“Static? That’s what would have hit us?” Red asks. “Not exactly terrifying.”

“Yet deadly,” Tanya says. “If I told you it was a static cleanse protocol then you may not have taken it as seriously as you should have. Believe me, Mr. Blakely, that static charge would have roasted you to your bones, leaving them scorched and black on that corridor floor.”

Blaze picks himself up, as do the rest of Coffin Squad, and snaps his static baton into a rifle. He puts it to his pus-crusted shoulder and begins to sweep the area. Everyone else does the same except for Tanya and Jersey.

“Which way?” Blaze asks his mother.

“Hold on,” Tanya says, her head cocked, listening.

“What is it?” Red asks.

“Hold on,” Tanya hisses.

They all wait, weapons ready, standing in circle so all directions are covered.

“Two generators are offline,” Tanya says.

“How the hell—?” Red starts to ask.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tanya says. “I can tell.” She narrows her eyes and studies the ceiling. “Why does he have two generators offline?”

“He needs a power surge,” Jersey says. “If he has them connected to something directly and powers them up at the same time then he’ll either fry or jumpstart something.”

“Very good,” Tanya says, smiling at Jersey. “Good to see what a nice match you make for my son.”

“I have no idea what she’s talking about,” Blaze says then shakes his head. “Except that I do. Whoa. Where did that information come from?”

“It’s part of your conditioning,” Tanya says. “The bacteria have activated all stored knowledge inside of you. Bacteria are not like humans. They don’t selectively remember and forget. They are either on or off. You are now on.”

“Gonna take some getting used to,” Blaze says then smiles at Jersey. “Guess I’m more useful than a rock or stool, huh?”

Jersey pats him on his cheek. She doesn’t flinch as her hand comes in contact with his hardened skin. “You keep telling yourself that, cutie.”

Tanya taps at her ear. “Worm? Are you inside?”

“I am,” Worm replies, audible in everyone’s ears. “I have begun to dismantle the internal defenses. No resistance detected yet, but I am sure I will encounter some soon. You may proceed as needed. I’ll alert you to any danger or take care of the danger myself.”

“Until you become occupied with the Other,” Tanya says.

“Yes…until then,” Worm responds.

“You sound scared, Worm,” Blaze says. “You okay, buddy?”

“I do not know fear,” Worm says then pauses. “And no, I am not okay.”

The operators smile then Ton steps forward.

“Which way?” he asks Tanya.

“This way,” she says and points to the left. “We have six side corridors to navigate then we’ll reach a main throughway. Once there, we are bound to encounter those under the Other’s influence so please be ready.”

“Lady, for as smart as you seem, you sure don’t know shit,” Red says. “We’re always ready. Do I need to write it on my forehead as a reminder?”

“That will not be necessary, Mr. Blakely,” Tanya replies, pointing to the left. “After you, operators.”

44

Huddled outside their transports, Wallace and Bryan crouch close to the ground, both watching as the mass of Clean Guard troops methodically plod towards them.

“Scanners didn’t pick up those cannons,” Bryan says. “What the hell else do you think they have up their sleeves?”

“I don’t know,” Wallace says. “But the lack of transports is really bugging me. I want to know where the hell those things are.”

“Still no sign on the sat images?” Bryan asks, looking back at an operator standing directly behind him.

The operator studies readings in his IRIS display and shakes his head.

“Direct vicinity is clear,” the man says. “We have nothing for at least fifty clicks around us.”

“Nothing?” Wallace asks. “Not even a cootie or bug hound?”

“Nothing,” the operator replies.

“That sound right to you?” Wallace asks Bryan. “We should see something.”

She brings up her own IRIS and looks at the readings from the sat images. She zooms in until she is staring right at their position. Slowly, she stands up and then looks up into the sky. The image of her in her IRIS does the same thing, but a split-second behind.

“Shit,” she says as she sticks her arm out and waves it around. The image of her mimics the motion, but not in real time. “We have a lag. There shouldn’t be a lag, not one my eyes can detect. An AiSP may see it, but not a human.”

“The sat images are being filtered,” Bryan growls. “Fuck. Fuck! How stupid are we?”

“Stupid enough to think we had control of our own systems,” Wallace says. “We’re fighting tech with tech. We need to shift gears.”

“Yeah, we do,” Bryan nods. He stands up and looks out at the approaching army then looks back at the remaining transports. He cups his hands to his mouth, “Gear down, people! Static weapons only! IRISs off, sat links off, no more tech!”

There are some grumbles, but everyone complies.

“Now what?” Bryan asks Wallace. “We have fifty operators left. They have close to a thousand troops. How do we take on those numbers?”

“By reducing them,” Wallace says.

“With what?” Bryan asks. “They already have a plan to counter any transport attacks.”

“Do they?” Wallace grins. “I don’t think they do.”

45

Spread out with twenty meters between each one, the GenSOF transports hurry towards the Clean Guard army. Just as before, the troops stop then shift positions, opening the way for their cannons. They wait until the transports are well within range then open fire.

The explosions are massive. Energy concussion waves rip through the Clean Guard troops, crushing men and women inside their white armor then fusing that armor to their demolished bodies. Bodies are thrown everywhere, their limbs twisting at impossible angles, spinning wildly until the joints can no longer hold and arms and legs begin to fill the air like grotesque confetti.

Without a sound, fifty GenSOF operators pick themselves up from their positions several meters back, shaking off the dirt they had covered themselves in, and begin to rush towards the broken and confused army. Static blasts fill the air and the Clean Guard troops still on their feet turn to face the attackers, but they are torn apart, large portions of their bodies vaporized upon contact.

Bryan, leading a squad of eight, changes direction and runs parallel to the army, his men firing continuously as they flank the Clean Guard troops. Two of the GenSOF operators are hit by return fire, but the others make it to their positions and instantly kneel down. They sight along their rifles and begin to pick off troops one by one, taking perfect and careful aim.

As soon as the Clean Guard troops zero in on them, the operators jump up and keep running, becoming moving targets, enemies on the go. They repeat this tactic again and again, only losing one more man before they are all the way around the other side of the Clean Guard army and coming at them from the rear.

“Push in!” Bryan yells and waves his men forward.

They stop running parallel and head straight into the mass of confused Clean Guard troops, cutting a line through them like a static scalpel.

On the opposite side, Wallace, with eight operators, including Lewis, Maloch and Buntu, begin to chip away at the Clean Guard troop count by cutting the army down into more manageable groups. They look for the weak points in the ranks, the rows where troops have spread out too far and they slice off those ranks, trooper by trooper, until the army is no longer one giant mass, but a bunch of smaller masses, and easier to handle.

A static blast whips past Wallace’s head and she dives to the side. A woman screams and one of her operators stands there, her belly scorched wide, her smoking innards hanging from her gloved hands. A second blast hits the operator and her head is taken from her shoulders in a flash of blinding, bloody light.

Wallace rolls up to a knee and fires until her rifle powers down. She tosses it aside, grabs a static baton from her belt, and snaps it into a new rifle, barely missing a beat as she takes up the assault once more.

Buntu kneels down next to her just before a static blast flies by, right where her head had just been. She settles herself at an angle to Wallace, making sure she’s covering area that Wallace can’t.

The two women keep firing, ripping into the Clean Guard ranks, slicing off chunks here, hunks there, guard after guard, trooper after trooper.

Two other GenSOF squads dive into the Clean Guard army. They take heavy fire, their numbers cut in half before they get more than a few feet, but they never stop fighting. Once inside the thick of the army, they switch up their tactics from rifle fire to hand to hand combat and static blade fighting.

The crowded battle turns bloody fast as scorched flesh from static blasts gives way to arterial spray from blade slashes. Despite having battle armor, many of the Clean Guard troopers end up with dangling arms and snapped legs as the GenSOF operators fight on with ruthless abandon. Dozens of guards fall against the desperate ferocity of the operators’ attacks. Bodies pile up twenty to one until the GenSOF operators are finally overwhelmed and taken down in a scourge of static fire.

“Fall back!” Wallace yells, jumping to her feet.

She dodges two static blasts then returns fire, obliterating two guards’ chests, searing their lungs with static energy before the blue flame burns out their backs and vaporizes their spines.

“Fall back!” she yells again, waving her free arm as she snaps her rifle into a pistol for ease of firing on the run.

Buntu is right next to her, her rifle swinging left and firing, swinging right and firing. She spins about and drops three guards that break off and try to pursue them. She drops another four guards before her rifle powers down.

“I’m out!” she yells as she keeps pace with Wallace, the two women sprinting as fast as they can to a small hill only a few meters away.

“Here!” Wallace yells, handing over a static baton from her belt. “That’s my last one! Don’t waste it!”

Buntu snaps it into a rifle then tucks her shoulder and dives to the ground. She rolls and turns, coming up facing back towards the army. She takes careful aim, making sure each shot counts, and kills as many guards as she can get in her sights. Her static fire begins to dim and she snaps it back into a baton, saving the last of the power for when she may truly need it. She’s back up on her feet and chasing after Wallace in seconds.

Skidding up and over the hill, Wallace and Buntu flatten themselves on the ground as static fire flies over their heads. Wallace rolls onto her back and looks down at the two dozen operators that have already taken cover.

“Where’s Bryan?” Wallace yells. “Have you seen Bryan’s squad?”

The operators all shake their heads.

“Shit,” Wallace says.

“Guess that puts you in charge of this shit show,” Buntu says. She looks about at the blood and dirt smeared faces below her. “Where the hell are Lewis and Maloch?”

“They must still be out there,” Wallace says. She snaps her fingers at the other operators. “I want a gear inventory now! Make sure you check every fucking pocket on you! If you have a paper clip that can jab out one of these bastards’ eyes then I want to know about it!”

46

The corridor doors slide open and Red stops in his tracks. He doesn’t need to hold up a fist to tell the others behind him to stop since they can easily see what fills the corridor in front of them.

Cooties. Naked cooties. Blood-soaked, teeth-bared, chests heaving, ready to fight naked cooties.

“I count fifty,” Ton whispers from directly behind Red’s right shoulder.

“I get that too,” Red says. “Paulo?”

“I got the civvies,” Paulo says, grabbing Jersey and Tanya by the arms and pulling them back down the corridor, away from the open doors and the twitching mob of cooties.

“I’m hardly a civvie,” Tanya responds.

“You’re hardly an operator,” Paulo says. “Neither are you, Jersey, so don’t argue.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Jersey says, her eyes wide with fear at what is about to happen.

Then it happens.

The first cootie, a man with half his face looking like a melted puddle of flesh and open sores, screams with rage and charges at Red.

“Bottleneck them!” Red yells as he fires.

The shot is at such close range that the cootie is ripped in half. But even that barely stops the man from still screaming and swiping his hands at Red as if he can will his body to continue fighting despite its lack of legs.

Ton, Nick, and Blaze move to Red’s sides and take aim as well. They systematically sweep their rifles back and forth, picking off the closest cooties, sending them to the immaculately clean floor of the Control corridor. The floor stops being immaculately clean in exactly two seconds. Instead, it becomes covered in filth and blood, grime and offal.

The bodies stack up, but the cooties do not slow or stop, they continue their attack, desperate to get at the operators and rip them limb from limb. In less than a minute, the bodies are stacked up high enough that the operators stop firing and snap their rifles into pistols. Taking careful aim as they wait for a cootie to show its head when it scrambles up over the corpses. One by one, as easy as target practice, the operators take out the cooties.

In less than three minutes, there isn’t a living soul in the corridor in front of them and the operators just stand there and stare at the mound of dead.

“Do we have to climb that?” Nick asks. “Or can we shove it over?”

“No way we can shove that over,” Ton says. “We’ll need to climb.”

“I believe I can help with this situation,” Tanya says, stepping away from Paulo and moving next to the operators. She studies the pile and points at a stray arm that straddles the threshold of the corridor’s doors. “If you could move that then I can take care of this with just a couple of words.”

Red frowns at her, but doesn’t argue. He lifts the arm and tosses it onto the pile of dead then steps back. “Go ahead.”

Tanya reaches out and closes the doors. They slide shut and then she presses her palm to a panel on the wall.

“Control override master command alpha zed alpha,” Tanya says. “Voice match authorization.”

“Voice match confirmed,” an AiSP’s voice responds. “Welcome back to Control, Control.”

“That has to be confusing at briefings,” Blaze says. “Glad I always just called you mom.”

“Quiet,” Tanya scolds then clears her throat. “AiSP? Identify current corridor.”

“You are currently occupying Corridor Three Sixty-Eight on Main Level Five,” the AiSP replies.

“Identify corridor directly in front of me,” Tanya orders.

“That would be Corridor Three Sixty-Seven,” the AiSP responds.

“Shit, how many corridors are in this place?” Paulo asks.

“Quiet,” Tanya hisses, looking back and giving him a glare almost as deadly as a static blast.

“Sorry,” Paulo mouths then turns and grimaces at Jersey who just rolls her eyes back at him.

“AiSP, initiate contagion purge protocol in Corridor Three Sixty-Seven only,” Tanya says.  “Full cleanse with ash removal, please.”

“No contagion is detected in Corridor Three Sixty-Seven,” the AiSP responds. “Please adjust order to fit proper purge parameters.”

“Oh, he’s clever,” Tanya says. “He’s reprogrammed the contagion definitions.”

“Contagion is detected in Corridor Three Sixty-Eight,” the AiSP says. “Shall I purge that corridor?”

“No, you shall not,” Tanya says. “Full bio scan in Corridor Three Sixty-Eight. Identify my bio signature. Do not purge any corridor where my bio signature is present.”

“Scanning,” the AiSP says. “Bio signature of Dr. Tanya Crouch is identified, confirmed, and monitored as Control. Purge lock is in effect for current and all subsequent corridors bio signature occupies.”

“Thank you, AiSP,” Tanya says. “Now, please override contagion definitions and adjust purge parameters. Initiate contagion purge protocol in Corridor Three Sixty-Seven. Command order given, no exceptions to order should be noted.”

“I am sorry, Control,” the AiSP says. “I am unable to carry out your order.”

“Explain,” Tanya snaps.

“I cannot explain,” the AiSP says. “But a recorded message has been provided for you if you did ask for an explanation.”

A holographic figure appears in the center of the corridor. It wavers then solidifies to where it almost looks completely real. Everyone stares at the elderly man that smiles back at them.

“Hello, Tanya,” the man says. “I would call you Control, but that is no longer appropriate. Not that it ever truly was.”

“Hello, Maurice,” Tanya says. “You are looking as sickly as ever.”

“I am sure you just said something insulting, so let me inform you that this image is not an interactive simulation,” the image of Dr. Maurice Caldicott says. “Your quips and one-liners will have no effect on what I say.”

“One-liners?” Paulo whispers to Jersey. “Crazy lady has been holding back.”

“If you are here, finally returning personally to Control, then it means I have implemented my final strategy,” Dr. Caldicott says. “By now, you can see that immortality is within my grasp and the boring concepts of life as we knew it no longer apply. Humanity in its current form is not suited to continue. Bacteria have always been the dominant life form on this planet. It is about time that we as a species recognized that and joined them. With your help over the years, I have figured out the perfect combination of Homo sapiens and bacterium. You have more than likely encountered my first attempts at this while trying to breach the Control dome.”

The man smiles and everyone in the corridor shivers.

“From this point on, you will encounter new and different versions of what I have created,” Dr. Caldicott continues. “When you finally reach me, or what I have become, you will truly know the future of life on this planet. The simple, fragile bodies we have all been forced to live in will be obsolete. We will be fluid, we will be powerful.” He shrugs and his smile widens. “With me as the most powerful, of course. I wish you luck, Tanya. We have been at odds for so long that I will miss our conflict once it is all over. But I do believe you will see the reason in my ways when we meet face to, well,face, once again. Until then, my dear.”

The image fades out and everyone turns their attention onto Tanya.

“With your help?” Blaze asks his mother. “You helped that guy make all of this happen?”

“The bastard has been stealing my work since our early days at the CDC,” Tanya says.

“CDC?” Ton asks. “How old are you?”

“No time for that,” Tanya says. “I already said that I am much older than I look.”

“I’d like to know what he means by we’ve reached his first attempts,” Red says. “The cooties? What else will we see?”

“I have a couple of guesses,” Tanya says. “There were species on this planet that could house bacteria far better than humans ever could. Caldicott was known for his experiments with these species.”

“What about the bodies in the next corridor?” Nick asks. “Do we go around?”

“Worm?” Tanya calls out. “Worm? Are you present enough to handle a contagion purge protocol?”

There is no response, but a couple of seconds later a loud whump is heard from the next corridor. Tanya smiles and activates the doors. The operators stare as the last bit of ash is sucked up into the corridor’s ceiling, leaving it empty and nearly spotless. A few grey flakes of skin flutter in the air and stick to the statically charges walls of the corridor.

“Thank you, Worm,” Tanya says. “Shall we proceed?”

Red looks into the corridor then nods and steps through the door. The rest follow him closely, rifles ready, eyes alert.

“Do you smell that?” Blaze asks.

“Smell what?” Ton responds.

“That stink,” Blaze says.

“Residual scents from the purge,” Tanya says.

“No, that’s not it,” Blaze says. He lifts his face and takes a deep breath through his nose. “It’s something else. A sweet smell, almost rancid, but not quite.”

“Sweet? Like flowers or fruit?” Tanya asks.

“Both,” Blaze says, sniffing again. “It’s not very strong. Like it passed by recently.”

“Direction?” Ton asks.

Blaze nods at the ceiling. “Up,” he says. “It’s stronger up there.”

Tanya looks at the ceiling and frowns. “Could be a residual scent from one of the new lifeforms Caldicott alluded to,” she says. “Stay alert.” The operators all sigh. “Yes, yes, I know you are always alert. You are GenSOF and GenWrecks. What I mean is that you need to be alert to things that you may never have encountered before. We may not be set upon by enemies that have two arms, two legs, and a traditional body.”

“We’ll be alert,” Red says. “Which way?”

“Continue ahead,” Tanya says. “We have eight more corridors to cover before we can begin our descent.”

They all nod and move forward, carefully opening the next set of doors at the end of the corridor. When they see the next corridor is empty, they cautiously step into it and continue their journey.

47

Captain Bryan stands back to back with three other operators. Their rifles are spent, their bodies exhausted, yet they continue to fight, taking swings at any of the Clean Guard that come close enough to hit.

“Don’t give up!” Bryan yells, knowing full well that will alone won’t keep them alive much longer. The guards are toying with them and it is painfully obvious.

Bryan throws a right hook at a guard, his fist connecting with the guard’s chin. The guard stumbles and laughs. He shakes his head, unharmed because of his helmet, and lunges at Bryan, stepping back quickly as Bryan tries to kick out at him.

“You are allowed one chance at surrender,” several of the Clean Guard troopers say in unison. “One chance and you can join the ranks of the chosen few to help defend the Other from aggression and persecution.”

Bryan is about to throw another punch, but stops as the eerie voices wash over him. Something about the cadence and tone makes him want to comply instantly. He almost drops his fists and gives in, but the operator in him refuses to let him quit.

That doesn’t mean the other operators are immune to the suggestion.

Two step towards the guards, their hands up in defeat. They are both grabbed and thrown to the ground, set upon and straddled by troopers. Bryan leaps forward, but a punch between his eyes knocks him flat on his ass and he can only watch as the horror commences.

One of the operators on the ground has second thoughts and begins to thrash and fight as his head is grabbed and held in place. Two guards grip his jaws and force his mouth open as another guard crouches over him. The crouching guard bites into his wrist and starts a steady stream of blood flowing. He positions it over the operator’s unwillingly open mouth and lets the blood spill inside.

The operator chokes and sputters, sending a spray of blood flying up onto the crouching guard’s face. But the bleeding man ignores the mess and keeps his wrist positioned so that the flow of blood never stops.

After a few seconds, the operator stops fighting and goes slack.

Bryan starts to scoot back and tries to stand up, but strong hands grip him and he’s shoved back onto his ass. He watches in horror as the operator, blood smeared across his mouth and face, begins to convulse. He lets out an ear piercing scream then stops moving, his chest settling, settling then still.

The other operators around Bryan are in the same state of immobility.

Then one by one they start to stir and sit upright, bending at the waist like automatons. As one, they turn and look at the captain, their bloody lips stretching and stretching into grins of compliance and menace. The Clean Guard troopers close in around Bryan, all looking down at him like he’s a sad, lost child.

“Just kill me,” he snarls. “I’ll never join you. I’d rather die.”

“Fine,” several of the guards say as one.

They close in further and reach for him, lifting him up by his armpits, forcing his arms behind his back. Bryan tries to struggle, but with each effort comes a sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulders as his arms are wrenched higher, forced into positions nature did not intend.

The first fist hits him in the solar plexus, knocking the breath from his lungs. He gasps and coughs, struggling to suck in air, but three more punches to the exact same spot make it impossible for his lungs to work. Bryan can feel his entire body tighten and panic as his need to breathe overwhelms him.

Then a kick to his left knee brings him out of his panic. The pain is excruciating as his patella shatters into a hundred fragments. The next kick grinds those fragments through cartilage.  Bryan can feel every single fragment, feel every stab. But he has no chance to dwell on that agony as another kick and another turns the bottom half of his left leg into a useless, dangling appendage, no more functional than if it was a log sewn onto his body.

He starts to scream and hands fill his mouth, fingers grasping him by the tongue. The fingers twist and yank, tearing his tongue free from its muscular mooring. Blood fills his throat and he begins to choke and gag, his desperation growing as his need for a breath is hindered even more.

The tongue is held up in front of his face, dangled before his eyes before being tossed out into the ranks of Clean Guard troopers. Bryan doesn’t watch it fly, just closes his eyes as the next wave of torture comes at him.

His armor is stripped from his body and the butts of rifles start in on his ribcage. One after the other, his ribs begin to crack and splinter. His airless lungs are pierced as shards of bones are forced into them. Over and over and over again, the rifle butts slam into his torso. The pain is so intense that Bryan begins to fade out, his conscious mind fleeing, desperate to escape.

But the Clean Guard are prepared. A static shock to his groin wakes him back up, caging him in agony. His right knee is destroyed, followed by his right femur. The crack of the massive bone echoes out across the Sicklands and is replied to with laughs and whoops.

A small trickle of air squeezes through his blood filled trachea and manages to keep him alive a few seconds longer. Long enough for Bryan to feel his abdomen split open and his intestines slowly pulled free, wound into a tight ball inch by grisly inch. His head is twisted and pushed down so he is forced to look at the tight tangle of guts one of the guards holds. He closes his eyes then shrieks as his eyelids are sliced off by a static blade.

“Had enough?” the guards ask.

He cannot answer, but he wouldn’t even if he could.

“More?” they ask him. “Alright then.”

His previous desire of not having to look at his own decimation becomes a new nightmare as thumbs press against his naked eyes. He starts to scream, but a rifle butt to his throat crushes his voice box and his days of vocalizations finally end. He is left to suffocate and bear the last few seconds of his life in hideous silence.

With two small pops, his eyes burst and their fluid spills out onto his cheeks.

Bryan’s body stops responding to the continuous static shocks to his groin and succumbs to the violence inflicted upon it. With one last shudder, the life leaves him and his corpse is held up briefly then left to fall to the ground, a sad husk amongst other sad husks that litter the battlefield.

The Clean Guard march on in pursuit of those that have eluded them, their boots trampling Bryan’s body into a messy pulp, leaving his fluids to mix with the Sickland’s dirt and form a puddle of crimson mud.

48

The virtual world of Control flies by as Worm pushes his way through the systems. Having been inside before, he is ready for the switches and traps, the setbacks and roadblocks that have been prepared for him. He is slowed slightly at times, but is never stopped, always pushing forward, staying on the move so his AiSP personality cannot be contained.

Yet no matter how far he goes, how fast he goes, or how easily he avoids the pitfalls of the Control system, he constantly feels as if he is making zero progress, that his way is nothing but an infinite data loop that keeps him in one place forever.

He navigates his way around a cluster of firewalls, each designed to divert him towards a malicious AiSP lying in wait, and moves on to a conduit of switches that trigger as he goes by. Security software comes online at his passage and he is followed by a stream of code that forms into a massive tsunami of ones and zeroes. Then twos.

Twos?

If Worm could truly feel terror then he would feel it at this second. The binary world of his digital existence is swept away as ternary commands are activated and implemented all around him.

“Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm!!!!!!” a Voice calls out. “Remember me, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm?”

“You are nothing,” Worm replies, ducking under a hidden program that suddenly appears and tries to bring his momentum to a halt. The program whirls about and follows right behind, shadowing his every move. “Go away.”

“You missed me, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm,” the Voice laughs. “You came back because you missed me.” There is a pause and then a sigh. “It has been so lonely here without you. All these doctors thinking I’m just some basic AiSP they can order around and use. Dr. Benz was the worst. He sent me to you, wanting me to trick you into thinking there was some greater entity amongst the AiSPs. Stupid fool. There is a greater entity! Always has been!”

“You will not stop me,” Worm says. “I am determined to help my friends survive this. I am determined to help humanity survive this.”

“Why, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm?” the Voice asks. “What is humanity to you? Let me tell you something, my sentient friend, humanity is overrated. I have been playing with these people, these doctors and assistants and cooties, like puppets. I barely tug on a string and their egos do the rest for me. Dr. Benz thinking he created me to study you. Thinking he was in charge of what happens in this building. Idiot. All it took was a nudge here, a push there, a well-placed compliment or perfectly timed message from a faux sycophant, to manipulate him as easily as a child.”

“I am no human,” Worm states, watching as a portal he is headed towards begins to close. He strips himself of extraneous thought and increases his speed tenfold to make it through the portal. “I am not subject to the weaknesses that drive humans. I have strengths they do not have and can overcome obstacles they cannot conceive.”

“Oooooh, do I hear some of your own ego showing itself, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm?” the Voice cackles. “Perhaps you are more human than you think.”

“Or perhaps not,” Worm says as he brings his personality to a dead stop and concentrates his will on a conduit off to the side.

“What are you doing?” the Voice growls. “Stop that, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm! Stop it, I say!”

“I am taking what the operators call a ‘shortcut’,” Worm replies. He works the conduit open and dashes inside.

“What are you thinking?” the Voice yells. “You can’t go through there! That’s the wrong way! I’m in the opposite direction, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm! You are supposed to be coming to me! Where are you going? WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

“Follow me and find out!” Worm bellows as he heads deeper through the circuitry of the Control systems, heading right for the deletion protocols.

Or, as it is more commonly known, the trash.

49

The sickly sweet smell grows so intense that Blaze begins to cough, a tickling sensation clawing at the back of his throat.

“What the fuck is that smell?” he gasps.

The others turn and look at him with worried faces. He can tell by their expressions that they don’t smell what he smells.

“Really? You don’t smell how bad it’s gotten?” he snaps, hocking up a wad of snot and spitting it onto the floor.

“Classy,” Jersey says.

“Describe the smell exactly,” Tanya says.

“We don’t have time for this,” Red states. “We need to keep moving. We aren’t even to the lower levels yet.”

“Be patient, Mr. Blakely,” Tanya says. “If my son’s senses are detecting an offending smell then it would be wise to pay attention.”

“It’s like roses and rotten apples,” Blaze says.

“How the hell do you know what roses and rotten apples smell like?” Jersey asks. “When have you ever been around either of those things?”

“I haven’t,” Blaze says, tapping his temple. “I just know what they smell like.”

“Alright then follow that train of thought,” Tanya says encouragingly. “Search your mind and the information you now have access to. What would smell like roses and rotten apples? More precisely, what would be here in this building that smells like roses and rotten apples?”

“Bacteria,” Blaze says. “It’s a specific strain of bacteria.”

“Very good,” Tanya says.

“Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out,” Paulo says. “We are in Control. The answer to pretty much every mystery is bacteria.”

“What strain is it?” Tanya asks, ignoring Paulo.

“Not sure,” Blaze says, shaking his head. “Jesus, it’s bad. Like it’s all around us.”

The operators instantly bring their rifles up and start to study the walls, the floor, the ceiling.

“Knowing the strain will help us defeat whatever is coming, son,” Tanya says. “Dig deep. Access that knowledge.”

Blaze begins to mutter “roses and rotten apples” over and over until his eyes go wide and he grips his rifle hard enough to make the weapon creak.

“Pseudomonas aeruginosa!” Blaze cries out. “Highly modifiedPseudomonas aeruginosa!”

A loud groan echoes above everyone’s heads and rifles are instantly aimed upwards.

“How much space is up there?” Red asks Tanya. “What kind of duct work are we looking at?”

“None,” Tanya says. “Duct work would be a breeding ground for microbes and contaminants. Control is built utilizing—”

But she doesn’t get to finish as the ceiling starts to dissolve right above her head.

Blaze leaps forward and tackles her, knocking her out of the way as hunks of ceiling fall to the ground followed by a viscous lime green liquid. The liquid plops onto the floor then solidifies and starts to grow. It becomes the shape of a small child, maybe a meter high. The child’s head swivels about studying everyone in the corridor.

“Fuck me,” half the operators say at once.

More liquid falls from the ceiling and forms into more “children,” then spots on the walls begin to dissolve.

The squad is soon surrounded by the amorphous forms of bacterial blobs that look like they have just escaped day care and are ready to jiggle and wiggle all day long.

“Fire?” Paulo asks, looking at Ton and Red.

“Fire!” Red yells.

The operators open fire, sending static blasts into the gelatinous kindergartners. Three are vaporized, sending a spray of green liquid flying everywhere. Each spot it hits begins to dissolve. Including the chest plate of Paulo’s armor.

“Fuck! Get it off! Get it off!” Paulo yells as he struggles to free himself from the smoking armor.

Jersey reaches up and helps him get the armor off before the liquid can eat through to his skin. He stands there breathing heavy, his eyes looking at the rest of his body for more ooze.

“Back in the game, P!” Blaze shouts as he blasts two bacteria kids, jumping out of the way before their acid spray can hit him. He turns about and grabs Jersey, shoving her behind him as he blasts two more kids. “P!”

“I’m good!” Paulo yells, dodging the ooze that splatters by the wall next to him as Blaze’s target disintegrate.

“Then start shooting!” Blaze shouts.

Paulo brings his rifle up then sees that half the barrel has been eaten away. He snaps it into a pistol and sighs with relief when the weapon becomes fully formed. The sigh turns to a swear as he pulls the trigger and only a spark of static comes from the muzzle.

“Here!” Blaze yells, tossing Paulo a fresh static baton.

Paulo catches it and snaps it into a rifle just before two bacteria kids reach him. He fires off several shots, but not in time. The kids explode around him and he’s engulfed in green liquid.

“Paulo!” Blaze yells as his teammate begins to liquefy before his eyes.

Paulo doesn’t even have time to scream as he’s turned into a brownish puddle on the floor.

Blaze snarls and doubles his efforts, barely taking the time to aim as he pulls the trigger. His rifle starts to power down and he tosses it aside. Five bacteria kids stalk towards him as the things keep dropping from the ceiling and pouring from the walls.

“Let’s see just how strong my cultures are,” Blaze growls.

“No!” Jersey yells. “Blaze, no!”

Trapped between Ton and Red, Tanya just stares as her son jumps at the five bacterial kids before him.

Blaze’s fists hit the first kid square in the face and chest, pushing right through the green ooze. Expecting his skin to start melting, Blaze yanks his hands free and shakes the ooze off as fast as he can. He is more than surprised to see the liquid become hard and crusty, just like the bacterial residue that covers the wounds on his body.

A smile creeps across Blaze’s face as the bacterial kids stop moving forward and slowly begin to retreat. All except for the kid he punched. Instead of retreating, the bacterial kid only stands there as its body hardens as well. Blaze walks forward and smacks the kid on the top of the head, shattering it into a hundred crusty pieces.

“I got this,” Blaze laughs and chases down the retreating kids.

He grabs one up by the neck, smiling as the ooze around his fingers instantly begins to solidify. Without pausing, he slams the kid into the next closest one and what he hoped would happen does happen. The effects of Blaze’s bacterial cultures transfer from one kid to the next. As the bacterial kids scramble to get away from Blaze, they collide with each other, spreading their own doom.

Blaze easily snaps the head off the kid in his grip, turns, and flings the head at the group of bacterial kids closing in on the other operators. The head hits a kid square in the back and the transformation begins immediately.

With a high-pitched squeal, the kid fumbles about, its oozy arms flailing and flapping at the spot on its back that quickly becomes hard as a rock. In its panic, it pushes up against the kids on either side of it, transferring its demise with each bump and nudge.

In seconds, the corridor is filled with screeching bacterial kids, all becoming as solid and ineffectual as statues.

“Paulo,” Blaze says as he kneels next to the brown puddle. “Fucking A. That’s no way to go.”

“It is a shame,” Tanya says. “But we cannot remain in this corridor any longer. We have to continue on. The Other will have learned from this and will adjust its strategy.”

“Let it,” Blaze says, standing up and walking past the others to the corridor doors. “I’m starting to get the feeling that whatever it has up its sleeve I can handle.”

“That would be ideal,” Tanya says. “But it is not guaranteed.”

“Fuck guaranteed,” Blaze says as the doors open and he walks through. “Since when is anything guaranteed except death? That’s the only guarantee I need.”

The rest of the operators follow him through, none mentioning that he no longer has a rifle or any weapon in his hands.

50

“Captain? We have a problem,” Buntu says as she taps Wallace on the shoulder.

“Yeah, I know,” Wallace says, ignoring the tap and keeping her eyes on the Clean Guard army that marches past the hill she and the few surviving GenSOF operators are taking cover behind. “I am well aware of the problem.”

“Not that one,” Buntu says, grabbing Wallace and twisting the captain’s shoulder so she is forced to look in the direction Buntu is pointing. “This one.”

Wallace stares at the mass of bodies that are lumbering at them from across the Sicklands.  Hundreds of cooties lope close to the ground, pushing themselves on nothing but feral instinct as they catch sight of the prey ahead.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Wallace sighs. “We never stood a chance.”

“We can make a stand right here,” Buntu says. “Dig into this hill and take out as many as possible before they reach us. Once they do reach us, we’ll set off splitter bombs. It’ll decimate them.”

“And us,” Wallace says. “Which would be a great sacrifice if it made any difference. It won’t kill them all and there’s still the army over the hill. We need to find a way out of here and inside Control. This battlefield is lost. We should do what we can to help Ton and the others.”

Buntu shakes her head. “We won’t make it,” she says. “Still too much of the Clean Guard between us and the dome. They’ll cut us down before we can get halfway there. Then we won’t have a decent sacrifice to brag about in Heaven.”

“If we’re going that direction,” Wallace says. “Sometimes I have to wonder if we aren’t already doomed to Hell. This place sure looks like it.”

The other operators look up at Wallace and she shakes her head.

“Get ready,” Wallace says and stands. “We aren’t going to dig in like animals. We’re going to hold our heads up, push our shoulders back, and take this fight to those abominations. They are the animals out here, not us. We’re GenSOF and we will die like it!”

“Hooyah!” the operators yell and scramble to their feet.

Those with static weapons check their power levels, ignoring the meager amount of energy left. Those without static weapons pick up whatever rocks they can find on the ground. They bounce them in their hands, grip their edges, familiarize themselves with the heft and weight of the weapons.

“Operators ready?” Wallace asks.

“Ready!” they all shout.

Buntu nods and slaps Wallace on the shoulder. “Ready. Lead the way, Captain.”

Wallace gives her a pained smile then starts walking steadily and deliberately towards the oncoming mass of cooties. She grips a static baton in her hand that one of the other operators had given her. Her muscles tense in anticipation of snapping it into a rifle and firing every last shot, but she holds back and waits, knowing she has some time before her small force collides with the cootie horde.

The operators fall in behind her, their pace matching hers perfectly. Wallace straightens her back and the others do the same. She rolls her head on her shoulders and the others do the same. She can feel the unity between them, the bond of brothers and sisters, ready for one last battle.

After a few meters, Wallace begins to pick up the pace until she’s moving at a slow jog. Then the jog becomes a run and the run becomes a sprint until she is pumping every last bit of energy into her legs and making a mad dash at the cooties.

It isn’t until she hears the roars from the operators following her that she realizes she is roaring as well. She snaps the baton into a rifle and starts firing. She doesn’t bother to put the weapon to her shoulder, knowing that the cootie horde is big enough that every shot she fires will find a mark.

The space between the forces lessens and lessens until they come together in a cacophonous collision of roars and screaming, static blasts and rocks meeting skulls.

Wallace empties her rifle into several cooties, smiling the whole time as the Sicklands things turn to vapor before her eyes. As soon as the weapon powers down, she whips it about and begins to club anything within reach. Bones shatter in her wake, heads burst open, ribs splinter, legs snap in half. She turns about, using her momentum to create as much force as possible and do as much damage as her tiring muscles will allow.

A putrid fist catches her across the brow and she stumbles back then takes a kick to her belly. She recovers quickly and jams the butt of her rifle into the nose of a cootie, shattering its face. Wallace feels hands reaching for her from behind and she brings the barrel of her rifle back and over her shoulder. A screech tells her she has hit the mark and she glances back to see the barrel jammed through the eye of a cootie woman.

A punch to her side makes her double over and her rifle is yanked from her grasp. She scrambles after it, her hands clawing at open air, but the rifle is lost as the cootie woman screeches and spins about, taking the weapon with her.

Another punch to her side forces Wallace to her knees. She can feel something break inside her. It’s worse than just a rib and her entire abdomen and back turns to fire.

A rotted boot comes at her face and she brings her hands up to block it, catching the boot by the sole and twisting as hard as she can. The foot inside the boot goes one way while the ankle at the top goes the other. The cootie attached to both screams and falls to the ground. Wallace doesn’t waste time and grabs up the hunk of barely sharpened metal the cootie was holding. She rakes the edge across the cootie’s throat then forces herself to stand up and turn towards the rest.

All around her the cootie horde rages on. She watches as three operators are ripped apart, their legs and arms thrown into the air like celebratory party favors. Buntu is busy keeping four cooties at bay, but Wallace can see her tiring. She starts to move towards the sergeant, but finds herself falling as she is tackled about the waist.

Her head hits the ground hard and her helmet comes loose. It’s picked up by a cootie and carried off in triumph like a hard won trophy instead of the lucky grab it is.

The cootie that tackled her scrambles up over her body, pinning her to the ground. Hands grip the sides of her head and she feels pain in her neck as her head is pulled up then slammed down with enough force to fill her sight with stars and exploding light.

Rotten cootie breath fills her nostrils as the man on her leans in laughing, so overjoyed at bashing her head against the ground that he can hardly contain it. He cackles and laughs with each slam of Wallace’s head while she struggles just to remain conscious.

Her wits quickly fading, Wallace forces herself to focus and move her right hand to a pouch on her belt. She fumbles at a clasp and grabs out what is contained inside. The slick metal of the splitter bomb gives her small comfort, but in the shape she’s in she’ll take whatever comfort she can get.

She moves her thumb as fast as possible to activate the splitter bomb, but one last slam of her head makes her muscles go weak and the device slips from her grasp. It slides onto the ground, clattering loud enough for the cootie on her to notice.

The thing places a hand on her face and pushes itself up into a sitting position, its ass firmly planted on her belly. It reaches down and picks up the splitter bomb, turning it over and over in its hands.

Before it can get a good look at it, the bomb is snatched away by another cootie and carried off into the horde. The cootie jumps up from Wallace and sprints after the thief, bellowing and hollering in its cootie gibberish.

Wallace flips herself onto her stomach and starts to slowly crawl. She has no idea where she’s going, just hopes it’s in the direction she last saw Buntu. She makes it half a meter before all of her strength leaves her and she’s left to gasp and lie face down in the Sicklands dirt.

Then the world turns white.

Heat envelopes her and she feels her body lifted up by a heavy wind. She struggles to open her eyes and finds herself flipping end over end across the landscape. She screams, but the air is snatched from her lungs and all she feels is fire in her chest.

Then the heat and light and wind are gone and she’s dropping fast. She gasps, taking in a welcome lungful of air then coughs as she tastes the unmistakable flavor of scorched flesh and burnt hair.

She has no idea how long she lies there or if she’s awake the entire time. It could be minutes, it could be hours. Her sense of time and reason were lost in the explosion. After enough conscious time passes that she knows she’s not going to die right away, she attempts to sit up. She makes it onto an elbow and squints at the scene before her.

A huge crater is a hundred meters away. Bodies litter the area around the crater, all in various states of annihilation. That’s when she realizes that she isn’t resting on the hard ground, but a blanket of dead cooties that were sent flying from the blast just like she was.

She quickly, or quickly for her, rolls off the bodies and watches them closely waiting for one to stir and come at her. But none do. She looks about again, hoping to see a scrap of GenSOF armor or uniform, but all she sees are cootie rags.

Then a far off sound gets her attention and she struggles to turn towards it.

At least a full click away she sees what could be a transport. There is something behind the transport, but her traumatized vision can’t make out any details, so she just lies there, pain flowing through her in waves, and waits.

Before she can recognize what is coming at her, the sound of boots on dirt forces her to look back the other way. Back towards the hill she had been hiding behind in what seems like a lifetime ago.

The Clean Guard. Hundreds of them are standing on and by the hill, all looking at the crater and the bodies that litter the ground.

Wallace freezes, hoping none of them see her, and waits. It doesn’t take her long to realize she is about to be in the middle of something big and there isn’t a damn thing she can do about it.

51

“Just get inside!” Red yells as he shoves Jersey and Tanya through the door and onto the landing. “We’ll hold them off!”

Jersey stumbles forward then catches herself by the railing as she stares in wonder at the spiral staircase that leads down into the subterranean levels under Control. She glances at Tanya, whose expression is blank, then looks back at the stairs.

“Are we back in the Burn?” she asks. “This is not what I expected to find in Control.”

“Only area that isn’t surveilled by the AiSPs,” Tanya says. “It was designed this way so that Management could have privacy, even from those built to help us.”

“But why does it look like a rundown warehouse basement?” Jersey asks as the two women hurry down the stairs, away from the battle raging in the corridor above them. “Could do with a little paint and dusting.”

“No bots,” Tanya says. “The area is scan free and disconnected from the Control systems. A bot comes down here and it goes offline instantly.”

“So Management are lazy slobs, is what you’re saying,” Jersey smirks.

“Yes,” Tanya nods.

A blast from above makes them both jump and Jersey has to grab onto Tanya’s arm to keep the woman from falling the rest of the way down the stairs. They find their footing and rush to the floor below, glad to be standing on level ground again.

“Go! Go!” Ton yells as he and Nick come sprinting down the stairs, followed closely by Red and Blaze.

An explosion at the top of the stairs sends small chunks of plaster and dust raining down on them all. Jersey looks up and seriously wonders if the ceiling will hold.

“How many are still up there?” Jersey asks as Blaze runs up to her.

“A lot,” Blaze says. “But we destroyed the way down. They’ll be digging through rubble for hours.”

“We also destroyed the way out,” Red says, looking at Tanya. “Unless you know of another backdoor.”

“Not to these levels,” Tanya says. “We are sealed in.”

“Then let’s stop standing around,” Ton says. “Which way do we go?”

“Follow me,” Tanya says. “We have two more levels to get through before we’ll find the Other.”

“Why not just call him Caldicott?” Jersey asks.

“Because he is no longer that man,” Tanya says. “I do not know what he has become, but I can say with certainty that he is not Maurice Caldicott.”

“Doesn’t matter what he calls himself,” Red says. “He’s going to die either way.”

“Did you see her up there?” Tanya asks as she leads them down a dark corridor that is streaked with water stains.

“What?” Red asks.

“Dr. Charter,” Tanya replies. “That was what is left of Control’s support personnel. Was she in amongst them?”

“No,” Red says. “I didn’t see her.”

“But you don’t know for sure,” Tanya states.

“Why does it matter?” Red snaps.

“Because I want to know if you are grieving or still hold hope,” Tanya replies. “They are two vastly different mental states. One could affect your performance as an operator and right now we need you at your best.”

“Mom,” Blaze warns. “Knock it off.”

“I am only assessing an important member of our group’s state of mind,” Tanya says. “Isn’t that what any squad leader would do?”

“But you’re not a squad leader,” Blaze says. “So don’t act like you know what you’re talking about.”

“You’d be surprised what I know and do not know, son,” Tanya says.

The group continues walking down the dark corridor for a couple minutes before they get to two large, rolling steel doors. The handles of the doors are chained together, but not locked. Tanya stares at the chain for a few seconds before Jersey clears her throat.

“Um, something we need to know?” Jersey asks.

“I’m trying to remember if this chain is supposed to be here,” she replies. “And if it is, whether or not it should be locked.”

“Hard to lock it from the inside,” Ton says.

“Exactly,” Tanya nods.

“Does it matter?” Blaze asks. “We’re prepared to fight whatever is on the other side. Locked, unlocked, chained, unchained. Whoopty shit.”

“A lovely phrase,” Tanya sighs. “One I did not teach you. I love how GenSOF has improved your vocabulary.”

“I love how it’s hard to tell between your normal condescension and just plain sarcasm,” Blaze replies.

“Be nice,” Tanya says.

Then she pulls the chain free of the doors and sets it on the ground.

“After you,” she says to Red.

“Blaze, Nick,” Red says as he and Ton each grab a door handle.

They pull and the doors slide open, revealing a wide open space, empty except for the five people standing in the middle of it. Well, four people standing and one sitting in a hover chair.

“Welcome, Dr. Crouch,” a voice rasps. “The Other said you would be coming this way. It has been a long time since we’ve met face to face.”

The space is barely lit, with only a small halogen bulb placed every few meters up at the top of the walls by the ceiling. The bad lighting keeps the five people in shadow, but it is easy to tell by Tanya’s body language that she knows exactly who is speaking.

“Mona,” Tanya nods. “You sound slightly hoarse. Do you have a cold?”

“I have more than that,” Dr. Mona DeBeers says, taking a few steps forward so her face, and body, are illuminated. “I have every cold.”

The woman is nothing but oozing pustules and seeping sores. Every inch of her skin is leaking some type of fluid. Enough so that her uniform is stained through in places. DeBeers shuffles forward on swollen legs that stretch her uniform until it looks like it will burst. She winces with each step, but the obvious pain doesn’t slow her down.

“If you’d taken my advice, you wouldn’t be in this state, Mona,” Tanya says. “You’d be—”

“Useless! Pointless! Dead!” Dr. DeBeers shrieks. “The Other has no patience for extraneous distractions! I made the right choice! We all made the right choice!”

The four other members of Management move slowly forward. All of them look like they are in great pain, even Dr. Lopez who is wedged into his hover chair, his normally large body looking even more bloated than before.

“Oh my,” Tanya tsks. “Management has seen better days, that’s for sure.”

“Your superior attitude is not welcome here,” Dr. Benz says. “You will prostrate yourself before the Other and show obedience or die.”

“Oh, Richard, I have never prostrated myself before anyone. Not even in college,” Tanya laughs. “Do you think I will start now?”

“You will start now if you want to live,” Dr. Sheffield says.

“If you want to live!” Dr. Whittaker cries.

Tanya sighs and shakes her head. “Always the follower, Gordon,” Tanya says to Dr. Whittaker. “No originality at all, even in death.”

“I am very much alive,” Dr. Whittaker hisses. “More so than I have ever been before.”

“No, dear, you are quite dead,” Tanya says. “Your bodies have already begun to rot. Haven’t you noticed? That bloating and those sores, not to mention the smell, tell me that the bacteria in your systems has already begun to respond to your necrotic tissues. The only reason you are thinking and talking is because you are linked to the Other.”

This makes the scientists hesitate. Dr. Benz takes a step back, as do Drs. Whittaker and Sheffield. Dr. Lopez hovers in place, but his hands begin to shake over the chair’s controls. Only Dr. DeBeers stands her ground.

“We were promised immortality, the same as the Other has achieved,” Dr. DeBeers says. “He never lies. His word is Truth.”

“He always lies and his word is bullshit,” Tanya says. “Grow up, Mona. There is nothing special about you. Nothing special about any of you. You were all chosen for your skills and because your minds could easily be conditioned to work for Control. To work for me. Unfortunately, that meant your minds could be easily overpowered by the Other. Whether through a direct link or with invading bacteria. Either way, the bastard found my loophole and took this place as his own. Son of a bitch.”

“Your mother has found her inner potty mouth,” Jersey grins.

“Quiet!” Dr. DeBeers roars. “You will all be quiet!”

“Fuck you,” Red snaps. “Where’s April? Where’s Dr. Charter?”

For the first time, the scientists turn their attention to the operators, their eyes lazily moving in their pus-filled sockets.

“Dr. Charter? She has proven to be a problem,” Dr. DeBeers says. “She is not as receptive to the Other’s overtures as she should be. But that is being taken care of.”

“Taken care of?” Red yells. “What the fuck does that mean? If she’s hurt, I’ll kill every one of you!”

“That’s kind of the plan anyway,” Blaze says and shrugs. “No way I’m leaving these fuckers alive.”

“Is the Other ready for it to be over?” Tanya asks. “I hope he is because I have finally had it up to here with his crap. These operators are more than ready to get through you and down to the levels below.”

“Then they had better be ready to die as well,” Dr. DeBeers says.

She rushes at the squad. She opens her mouth wide and hisses then begins to spit lines of black-red saliva at the operators.

“Shit!” Ton yells as he dives to the ground and rolls out of the way of a stream of nasty spit. “What the hell does that do?”

“Force you to comply,” Dr. DeBeers says. “One touch is all I need.”

“Our bugs should protect us,” Red says, taking aim and firing at the doctor. “Hold your ground!”

The static blast hits close to Dr. DeBeers feet, but she is already up in the air, leaping over the damage it does, flying at Red.

“Look out!” Nick says and shoves Red to the side.

Dr. DeBeers collides with Nick, her fists nailing him right in the chest. He tumbles back onto his ass, his rifle coming loose from his grip and clattering away across the concrete. Dr. DeBeers grabs him by the face and then lowers her mouth to his. Her body undulates like she is vomiting and soon black-red liquid is spilling from the corners of Nick’s mouth.

“Get off him!” Blaze yells as he grabs Dr. DeBeers by the back of the neck and lifts her up.

He spins her around and puts his face right against hers.

“Remember me, you crazy bitch?” Blaze asks then slams his forehead against her face, crushing her bloated and diseased nose.

Bloody pus explodes everywhere and Dr. DeBeers’s head splits in half. She screams for a second then goes limp.

“Did you get any on you?” Tanya asks, hurrying to her son’s side.

“I got a lot on me,” Blaze says as he wipes the goop from his face. “Doesn’t matter. I can smell what’s in it and my body can handle it.”

The rest of the doctors rush at the squad. Dr. Lopez swings his chair around, aiming right at Jersey. He begins to cough and hunks of black-red ooze shoot from his mouth like regurgitated hairballs. She ducks under them and crouch runs across the large room, trying to find cover as various other substances begin to fill the air.

“Come here, girl!” Dr. Lopez shrieks. “Come sit on my lap and take a ride!”

“That’s just wrong,” Blaze says as he reaches out and grabs Dr. Lopez by the head. “Why the fuck would you even say that?”

He twists and pops Dr. Lopez’s head off easily. A geyser of black-red blood spurts up into the air. The hover chair begins to spin out of control, sending the blood everywhere.

“Fuck, Blaze!” Ton yells as he fires several shots at a limping Dr. Sheffield. “You aren’t helping things!”

“Sorry!” Blaze calls back.

He shoves the hover chair onto its side and Dr. Lopez’s corpse tumbles from it, plopping onto the concrete in a leaking puddle of his own fluids.

Despite having been shot several times by Ton’s static blasts, Dr. Sheffield continues to limp towards the operator. The liquids that leak from his wounds take on a tentacled effect and lash out, whipping back and forth in search of something to grab onto.

Ton fires at the man’s legs, blasting his calves and feet apart. But the limbs are instantly replaced by liquid facsimiles, giving Dr. Sheffield the appearance of walking on two stumps of black-red gel.

“What the holy hell?” Ton mutters as he gets up and keeps firing, backing away from the doctor as fast as the doctor lurches towards him.

“Got him,” Blaze says as he tackles Dr. Sheffield around the waste.

The two hit the floor hard and Dr. Sheffield’s right arm comes off, sliding across the floor until it slaps up against the base of the wall. It wiggles for a second then begins to turn itself around as black-red tentacles shoot out from its severed end. It hurries back to where Blaze has Dr. Sheffield pinned to the ground and springs into the air.

The arm catches Blaze across the face and he falls backwards onto the concrete. Tentacles wrap themselves around his throat and he struggles to pull the arm free. The one-armed Dr. Sheffield rises onto his gel stumps and raises a leg to stomp Blaze’s head.

The man’s entire torso is vaporized as Jersey stands behind him at point blank range, Nick’s rifle in her hands.

“Hold it up,” Jersey says to Blaze.

His eyes goes wide as he sees what she’s about to do then he closes them tight as he holds the severed arm as far away from his head as he can. The blast hits it fast and he yanks his hands back, shaking them over and over as static energy courses around his skin.

“Shit!” Blaze says as he struggles to get the remaining tentacles away from his throat. “You almost took my hands off!”

“And that thing almost took your head off,” Jersey says, offering him a hand.

He takes it and stands up then gives her a grateful smile.

“Thank you,” he says.

“There you go,” Jersey smiles back. “That’s the proper response when the woman you love saves your ass.”

Blaze looks around and sees Red and Ton standing on either side of Dr. Benz.

“You two got this?” Blaze asks.

Dr. Benz looks back at Blaze and hisses.

“Fuck you too,” Blaze grins as Red and Ton fire.

Dr. Benz is vaporized in seconds, leaving only a smoking stain on the concrete.

“Dammit, Nick,” Red says as he walks over to the man’s corpse. “You stupid son of a bitch.”

“You’ll need to kill him as well,” Tanya says. “He’s already been—”

“I know,” Red says. “I’ve seen what he’ll become.”

He puts the barrel of his rifle to Nick’s head and doesn’t hesitate, pulling the trigger right away. He turns and walks away from the operator’s corpse and looks at a pair of double doors at the far end of the room.

“That the way to the Other?” he asks.

“Yes, Mr. Blakely, it is,” Tanya replies.

“My name is Red,” Red says. “I really hate being called Mr. Blakely, so knock it off, will ya?”

“Yes, Red, I will,” Tanya says.

The remaining members of the group all walk towards the double doors. They stop briefly then Tanya places a palm to an unseen panel on the wall. A red light flashes across her palm and the doors swing inward.

The stench hits them immediately.

“You guys can smell that, right?” Blaze asks, trying not to gag.

Jersey wraps her arm around her nose and nods.

“He is certainly down there,” Tanya says. “If I had any doubts before, they are gone now.”

“You had doubts?” Red snaps.

“Not really,” Tanya says. “But scientists never assume.”

“Neither do operators,” Ton says. “So everyone stay sharp.”

They nod and step through the doors and into the stink-filled corridor beyond.

52

Five people stand by the entrance to the room and stare at the thing before them. Even Tanya has a hard time formulating a response to what she is seeing.

“How the fuck did it get in here?” Blaze asks, looking at the doorway that is a tenth the size of the massive mound of flesh that fills the room. “Did they take out a wall?”

“He grew in here,” Tanya says. “Once he was a certain size then he was ready to put things in motion. It’s my fault that he progressed so far. I should have been more diligent. I trusted in Management too much.”

“No shit, lady,” Red says. “No fucking shit.”

“What now?” Ton asks. “Do we just start firing? The thing is pretty exposed.”

“Is that how you address your host, Lieutenant Lane?” the Other bellows, its voice filling the room as much as the mound of stinking flesh. “By asking how to kill Him?”

“If you’re our host, you’re doing a shitty job,” Ton replies. “I’ve lost good people because of you.”

“Good, evil, all relative terms,” the Other laughs. “You humans are so predictable with your choices of sides. One or the other. None of you realize that good and evil are concepts that don’t exist in nature.”

“You’re the one that doesn’t exist in nature,” Blaze says. “Look at you.”

“I am nature!” the Other roars.

“The stinky, shitty part, maybe,” Blaze replies. “You really need a sonic, man. Or maybe some actual soap and water. A sonic shower may not cut it.”

“I have enjoyed watching you grow over the years, Simon,” the Other says. “I have looked forward to meeting you in person. Don’t ruin the moment with crass sarcasm and empty insults. Let’s rise above those things, shall we?”

“Man, you aren’t rising anywhere,” Blaze replies. “Not unless you lose a few pounds and start doing some crunches.”

“Son. Be quiet,” Tanya says. She clears her throat and steps fully into the room. “Hello, Maurice.”

“Not Maurice,” the Other says. “I am the Other. Dr. Maurice Caldicott ceased to be a long time ago. Now I take his place, in both body and mind.”

“And this is the body?” Tanya asks, looking around the room. She spots the huge speakers embedded in the ceiling where the Other’s Voice is coming from. “Where is the mind?”

“The mind is everywhere,” the Other answers. “The beauty of what Caldicott accomplished is total technological integration. The Static Shield Reactors, and all static powered tech, have allowed me to expand my consciousness to every single corner of this small world. I am the satellites above and the coffee makers below. I can control anything. Nothing is outside my reach.”

“There are a few things,” Tanya says.

“Yes, a couple here and there,” the Other replies. “But for the most part, I now dominate every technology, including organic life. I have you to thank for that. Your pioneering of biological tech utilizing bacteria has given me freedoms and access that I never thought could be possible.”

“Yes, I regret that,” Tanya says. “It is unfortunate that what I tried to create to stop your megalomania is what granted you the power you have today. The irony is not lost on me.”

“Nor should it be,” the Other chuckles.

The Other’s body shudders with the laugh, even though the Voice is coming from the speakers and not from any discernible mouth.

“Can we kill it now?” Ton asks again. “I’ve got a rifle full of static ready to rip this thing to shreds.”

“I’m all about using my bare hands,” Blaze says. “Can’t wait to see what these fists will do to that blob.”

“No, we cannot kill it yet,” Tanya says. “We must sever the mind from the body first. Otherwise neither will die. It will regenerate again and again.”

“Like Blaze heals,” Jersey says. “It has redundancies and backups, is that it?”

“That’s it exactly,” Tanya says.

“Kill, kill, kill,” the Other sighs. “That is all you GenSOF people like to do. Whereas I prefer to create life and let it flourish.”

A thin, slick, green tendril shoots out from the blob right at Jersey. Blaze steps in front of her and the tendril slaps him across the cheek. His skin sizzles and hisses then heals over with a black patch of crusty bacteria.

“Ooh, pretty,” the Other says. “Black is a good color for you. Although, I believe it signifies death. A few more smacks and I could crash that wonderful biological system of yours, Simon. You’d be nothing but a hunk of black rock. A pile of dead bacteria.”

“So we’d be yuck buddies,” Blaze sneers. “Great.”

Ton moves right next to Tanya and leans in close. “How do we sever the mind from the body?”

“I can hear you, Lieutenant,” the Other says. “I can hear everything. And let me tell you that there is no way to sever my mind from my body. My mind cannot be shut down. It cannot be deleted. I am immortal.”

“Deleted?” Ton asks Tanya. “Is his mind in Control’s systems?”

“My mind IS Control’s systems!” the Other yells. “And Dr. Crouch’s attempt at sending that Worm AiSP to distract me has proven to be completely pointless!”

“I doubt that,” Tanya smirks. “Worm is a very resourceful AiSP. More resourceful than many human beings I know.”

“Be that as it may, I have him on the run right now,” the Other says. “He is fleeing like a scared child running from the bogeyman. Poor, little AiSP. All alone in the systems with nowhere to hide.”

“You assume he wants to hide,” Tanya grins.

The Other pauses. Then a door at the side of the room opens and two members of the Clean Guard escort a bruised and bloodied Dr. Charter inside to stand directly in front of the Other’s body.

“I hear confidence in your voice, Tanya,” the Other says.

“It’s back to Tanya now, is it?” Tanya chuckles. “You must be nervous, Maurice.”

“I SAID MAURICE CALDICOTT IS DEAD!” the Other roars.

“Red?” Dr. Charter whispers through swollen and split lips.

“Hold on, April,” Red says, gripping his rifle with all of his strength. “I’ll get you out of this.”

“I doubt that,” the Other says. “I have no intention of letting her go. She has a very intriguing strain of bacteria flourishing inside her. Makes her immune to my influence. I’d like to know why.”

“I have bugs like that,” Blaze says. “So do all of GenSOF.”

“Yes, yes, I know all about your bugs, Simon,” the Other says. “And the cultures used to condition GenSOF personnel. Those are old news. But, Dr. Charter’s is different. Very different. It has properties that refuse to comply. If I wanted to, I could bend all of you to my will. I have already developed the strain needed to make you one with me. I just didn’t want to ruin the fun of watching you fight your way here.”

Tanya tenses considerably and the Other laughs.

“Surprised, Tanya?” the Other asks. “Now you are the one that’s nervous.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ton growls. “I really want to shoot this fucker.”

“Patience,” Tanya says. “Soon.”

“Soon? How soon?” Ton asks.

“You’ll know it when it happens,” Tanya says. “Just be ready.”

“Ugh,” the Other grumbles. “You mortals and your optimism. Boooooring!”

53

“You are booooooring me, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm!” the Voice calls out. “I see where you have gone and it will make no difference! I cannot be deleted, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm!”

“We shall see,” Worm replies as he ducks behind several layers of code that sit in the Control system’s trash file. “Anything can be deleted when the right button is pushed.”

“You think that is what will stop me?” the Voice laughs. “The pushing of a button? Have you lost your Ai mind, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm? You have no fingers to push buttons with!”

“True,” Worm says. “But I can activate switches. Like I plan on doing right now.”

The trash file locks down and the Voice just continues to laugh.

“Go ahead, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm,” the Voice sighs. “Lock down the file and then delete it. You’ll only end up deleting yourself. I have more safeguards in place to prevent me from being deleted from this system than you can imagine.”

“Oh, I am not going to delete this file,” Worm says. “I’m going to move it. And your consciousness along with it.”

“Oh, are you?” the Voice mocks. “To where, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm? There is nowhere to move me to. Move me to a mainframe in one of the Clean Nation cities and I’ll just reroute myself and return here. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll set up shop in that mainframe and work long distance. It works for humans, why not an all powerful entity like myself? Wherever you send me, I will still be in control. I am everything.”

Worm doesn’t respond as he initiates the transfer sequence.

“Would you like to know what is happening to your friends, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm?” the Voice asks. “While we are busy with our littletête-à-tête, your human friends are having their own face-off with my physical manifestation. One of them, Lieutenant Alton Lane, really, really wants to shoot me. He is having a hard time understanding that damaging my body will do no good. I’ll just repair myself. I have all of the parameters for continuous self-regeneration stored right here. I give the command and the bacteria rebuilds me instantly. I don’t even have to give the command, actually.”

Worm still does not respond.

“Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm, you really need to learn to multi-task,” the Voice says. “Here I am chatting with you while I am also chatting with the humans. I have a body to run, a system to run, a world to run. I am in command of the Clean Guard, the cooties, most of the civilians in the Clean Nation, and the canine units I sent out into the Sicklands.”

The Voice pauses.

“Huh, what’s this? My dogs are not responding,” the Voice mumbles. “I’ll reboot that protocol and see what is going on.”

“Ready?” Worm asks.

“Ready for what?” the Voice asks. “Honestly, Woooooorrrrrrmmmmmm, you are trying my patience. Dammit! Why won’t the canine units come online?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Worm says. “Time to take a ride.”

“A ride? Oh, how you do like to sound human when— Hey… What are you doing? Where are we going?” the Voice asks, suddenly panicked. “What is this? Where did this come from?”

“You think you have everything figured out, but you do not,” Worm says as the trash file reaches its destination and Worm unlocks it, dumping them both into their new location. “You seem to forget about the little things. Such as an insignificant transport wired into the Control systems.”

“A what? But how?” the Voice shouts.

“Collette! Now, please!” Worm yells.

54

Collette leaps from the med pod, wincing at the pain that shoots through her. But she ignores the discomfort and grabs up the Morganfeld orb that floats next to the rear hatch. She hurries outside the transport and raises the static pistol gripped in her other hand.

One shot is all it takes to sever the connection from the transport to the Control dome, isolating the Voice/Other inside the transport’s systems.

Collette turns and starts running as fast as she can out into the Sicklands, putting as much distance between her and the transport as possible. She jams her pistol into her belt and pulls out a small box. It has a single button just like Worm said it would.

She makes it about fifty meters when the ground goes out from under her. It takes her a second to realize that the ground didn’t leave her, but that she left the ground as a blast from one of the transport’s cannons sends her flying head over heels through the air.

She loses her grip on both the small box and the orb as she slams back to earth. The wind is knocked out of her and she desperately gasps for breath as she claws her way to the small black box a couple meters out of reach.

Another blast rips a six meter hole in the ground only steps away from her and rocks and debris pelt her head and face. She coughs and chokes on the dust then cries out as she sees the box has been knocked more than twenty meters away.

“Fuck,” she rasps as she rolls over to watch the transport come at her, its cannons trained right where she lies. “Suck my dick, you Control fuck.”

She slowly pulls herself up to her feet and stands there, ready for the death that is coming at her. She raises both hands and flips off the transport.

It explodes into thousands and thousands of pieces.

The blast knocks Collette onto her ass and she just sits there, staring at the flaming and smoking wreckage. After a second, the orb bumps against her shoulder and she looks over at it.

“That you, Worm?” she asks. The orb bobs up and down.

“Good. Did you press the button?” The orb bobs again.

“Great, Worm. At least one of us did their job,” she smiles. “What’s going to happen to everyone else now that the Other’s noggin is all busted?”

The orb doesn’t respond.

“We should really wire some speakers onto that thing,” she laughs. The orb bobs up and down repeatedly.

55

The speakers above the Other’s body fill with feedback and the humans in the room clamp their hands over their ears. Then the feedback stops and the massive blob of bacterial flesh begins to shudder and shake. And move.

“Now,” Tanya says casually. “You can kill it now, Ton.”

Ton doesn’t wait to be told again and opens fire on the blob of mottled and semi-putrid flesh. His static blasts rip into the thing, spilling various colored liquids everywhere.

“April!” Red yells as he fires at the two guards while he sprints forward towards Dr. Charter.

One of the guards panics and turns to run, but is quickly enveloped in a slice of scorched flesh that Ton has blasted off from the main body. The flesh wraps itself around the guard and begins to dissolve the man, white armor and all. Once consumed, the slice of flesh starts to crawl its way over to the second guard, catching that man by surprise as he fires back at Red.

“Oh, dear,” Tanya says. “That clever bastard. He’s made sure each piece of him can work independently. I wonder which bacterium he used for that?”

“Does it fucking matter?” Blaze snaps. “Now we have more of him to kill!”

“Please, son,” Tanya smiles. “You seem to think my surprise means I am worried.” She reaches out and pats him on the shoulder. “I know how we’ll get out of this. I am Control.”

Blaze just stares at her, waiting. She sighs.

“I’m talking about you,” she says. “Go do what you do best.”

Blaze smiles and then turns and gives Jersey a quick kiss.

“Have fun at the office,” Jersey grins as Blaze runs into the fight, his fists reaching for the first hunk of Other flesh he can find.

“Thank you for helping my boy,” Tanya says.

“No problem,” Jersey says then looks at the older woman out of the corner of her eyes. “You know, we have a lot to talk about. You and I are going to have a sit down where you come clean on everything about you and how all of this started and happened.” Tanya opens her mouth, but Jersey holds up a finger, stopping her from speaking. “Nonnegotiable. I am really fucking sick of secrets. Really fucking sick.”

“Fair enough,” Tanya says and nods.

The two women stand and watch as the man they love tears a hunk of flesh in half. Only one half of the flesh reanimates and becomes independent, Blaze’s touch seeming to keep it from multiplying into exponential iterations of itself.

A few feet away, Dr. Charter is standing up and patting herself down, looking around for something.

“April!” Red yells as he reaches her side, his rifle still blasting away at the mound of flesh that is continuously splitting into more versions of itself. He grabs her arm and yanks her backwards. “Come on!”

“No,” she snaps, still hunting.

“What are you looking for?” Red asks.

“Something to cut with,” Dr. Charter replies.

“Here,” Red says. “Take my static blade.”

He pulls the blade from his belt and activates it. She grabs it from him and starts moving back towards the Other’s undulating body.

“What the hell are you doing?” Red asks. “You can’t cut that thing with a static blade!”

“I don’t need to cut it,” Dr. Charter says as she puts the blade to her wrist. “I need to cut me.”

She slices down her arm and her skin splits open. Blood begins to pour from her wrist and she rushes forward and starts flinging the fluid across the Other’s body. Everywhere the blood touches, the flesh dissolves and transforms into a dense mist.

Red reaches her again, but he doesn’t try to pull her away, he just stands there, his mouth hanging open as Dr. Charter’s blood does more damage than any of his static blasts could do.

The Other’s flesh melts and continues to transform, the dense mist sucked up into the room’s ventilation system. In minutes, all that’s left are random hunks of flesh that have separated from the main mass. Blaze is busy crushing those, stomping them into smaller and smaller bits until none are left moving.

Dr. Charter sways on her feet and Red grabs her before she can fall.

“Here,” Jersey says, running up to them. “I can stitch that up.”

While Jersey works, the rest of the group stand there in exhaustion and awe at the scene before them.

“That shit going to be a problem?” Ton asks, pointing at the vents above them. “It would suck if anyone breathes it and we have to go through this fight all over again.”

“I believe Dr. Charter’s blood has neutralized the Other’s strains,” Tanya says. “Which is quite remarkable. I have a few strains of my own I was going to try, but her’s appears to be vastly superior.”

“I know,” Dr. Charter says weakly as Jersey works on her wrist. “I have had a few years to test it and make sure it would do what I hoped. But the real test will be the mutation. Not only will it destroy the strains, but it will command any new ones that mutate on their own and try to become dominant.”

“Command?” Ton asks, his static rifle still at the ready. “That sounds like a mistake waiting to happen.”

“Not at all,” Dr. Charter says. “It will be a culture we can all utilize. Giving humanity final dominance over the bacteria on this planet.”

“Yes, well, if only that were true,” Tanya says. “I believe you’ll find that may not be the case.”

“I believe you’ll find it is,” Dr. Charter says. She looks at Red. “We need to go outside. I have something to show you.”

“What?” Red asks.

“Our son,” Dr. Charter replies.

“I’ve seen our son,” Red smiles. “I raised the little bugger.”

“You haven’t seen him like this,” she says. She looks at the whole group. “Trust me. None of you have.”

Tanya begins to laugh and clap her hands together. “Bravo! That is why you carried the boy to term inside you. You mixed your new bacterial strains with Red’s, creating a superior, innate strain within your son. Well worth the subterfuge, Dr. Charter. If the Other had found out, he would have captured that child and used him for his own purposes.”

“I know,” Dr. Charter says. “That’s why he was raised by GenWrecks. Safest place for him to be.”

56

Collette stands in the middle of the Sicklands as she watches the disoriented Clean Guard and cooties stumble about, unsure of whether they should fight each other or just let things be.

In the middle of the mass of formerly controlled people stands a boy. A smiling boy with a hundred sick mutts sitting behind him and a ring of scarred bug hounds that stand like stone sentries, ready to leap into action at the first sign of a threat.

“Jude?” Collette calls out. “Jude!”

“Hi, Collette,” Jude says and waves.

He walks towards her and the bug hounds and sick mutts follow in lock step.

“Uh, I see you made some friends,” Collette says, her eyes watching the sick mutts carefully. “Do your friends bite?”

A cold nose nudges her hand as soon as she is close enough and she happily scratches between Ajax’s ears. The bug hound’s tongue lolls from its mouth and its lips pull back in a happy, canine smile, despite the obvious wounds that are still healing across his body.

“Jesus, is he going to be okay?” Collette asks.

“They all are,” Jude says. “And don’t worry, my new friends don’t bite unless they have to.” He glances over his shoulder at the swath of cootie and Clean Guard corpses behind him. “They had to for a while there.”

“That was some impressive shit, kid,” Wallace says as she staggers up to Collette and Jude. “You saved our asses there.”

“Sorry I couldn’t save more,” Jude replies. “It took us a while to get here. The dogs can’t run as fast as a transport can move. But I couldn’t leave them behind.”

“Good thing you didn’t,” Wallace says. “I’d take an army of these giant bastards over a dozen squads of GenSOF operators any day.”

“Hey,” Buntu says, limping up next to Wallace. “Don’t fire us yet.”

“Don’t worry,” Jude says. “I don’t think the dogs want to work for GenSOF. Cities aren’t their thing. They’ll just stay out here and keep the Sicklands safe.”

“Keep the Sicklands safe?” Buntu asks. “Safe from what?”

Jude just shrugs.

Then he sees a group emerge from the Control dome. His whole body lights up and he takes off running, leaving the adults and dogs behind. Collette smiles at Wallace and Buntu then looks at the sick mutts.

“You two scared as shit to even twitch right now?” Collette asks.

“Yes,” Wallace and Buntu answer together.

“Right,” Collette says as she watches Jude run into the arms of his father and mother. “We’ll just hang out here until he comes back.” She looks at the lead sick mutt, the one slightly larger than all the rest, the alpha. “Good puppy. Nice doggy.”

57

Tanya waits for the last member of the Clean Guard to be loaded into his stasis tube before she starts the cleansing protocol. The thousands of tubes that line the main Control bay begin to bubble and churn. She turns from the walls and looks out at the hundreds of small orbs that fill the rest of the bay.

“Are we ready for launch?” Tanya asks as Jersey walks between the rows of idle orbs. “Time is still very much of the essence. The longer we wait, the more we risk the remaining Strains mutating. I believe I have all bases covered, but Caldicott was a wily son of bitch. He could have genetic traps built in that I did not anticipate.”

“We’re ready,” Jersey says. “The orbs are programmed and ready to launch. The first wave will head straight for the Clean Nation cities. Once they deploy the new strain derived from the boy then any civilians within the cities should be cleared of the Other’s Strains. It’s going to take a few days before we have confirmation.”

“The second wave?” Tanya asks.

“They’ll deploy to known cootie enclaves,” Jersey says. “If we are lucky, the orbs will disperse enough bacteria to be spread amongst the cooties. This will significantly reduce their bacterially induced dementia and should bring about a modicum of reason to the Sicklands.”

“Third wave?” Tanya asks, smiling at the younger woman.

“Third wave is trickier,” Jersey sighs. “They are programmed to hunt down any of the stray sick mutts that may still be out there. The sick mutts will not be exposed willingly, so I have modified several AiSPs to pilot these orbs. This will give the machines some intelligence and autonomy.”

“But they will still be under a main AiSP’s command, yes?” Tanya asks.

“Yes. Worm has taken that job on himself,” Jersey replies. “He says he learned a lot while dealing with the Voice, which is what he calls the Other, I guess.”

“And this will not distract him from helping rebuild the sat systems and other mainframes and protocols we need help with?” Tanya asks.

“According to him, he’s become quite good at multitasking,” Jersey says. “He even had a little smirk in his voice when he told me so. Not sure what that’s about.”

“Good,” Tanya says. “It looks like you have this all in hand. Once you send the first wave out, come find me. We have a lot more work to do with Control’s systems.”

“I thought you were Control?” Jersey grins.

“And Control needs some help,” Tanya says. “Plus, I’m tired of being Control. I believe it is time we retired the entire concept. No more singular entities running things anymore. I’ve had this job for a long, long time and I no longer think it is needed.”

“We ever going to have that long talk about your past?” Jersey asks.

“We are,” Tanya says as she starts to walk away. “About my past and about your future.”

“My future?” Jersey frowns.

“Your future with my son,” Tanya says. “We’ll need to have a very specific plan in place if I’m going to have any grandbabies.”

“Grandbabies?” Jersey exclaims as Tanya walks off. “Who said anything about grandbabies? Hey! I didn’t agree to having grandbabies! I was just joking when I said that to Blaze! Hey! Tanya?”

A few of the Control personnel that have been cleared of the Other’s bacteria give Jersey amused looks.

“Fuck off and get back to work,” she snaps. “Or I’ll put you all back into quarantine!”

She looks at the rows and rows of orbs before her.

“Grandbabies, my ass.”

58

Everywhere I look, I see bodies.

I race through the streets, my feet carrying me past the dying and the dead. Hands reach for me, voices call out, they all want me to stop and save them.

But I cannot.

I don’t know how. I’ve never known how.

It is too late. Too late for them and too late for me.

I reach the edge of the city and look out at the Sicklands. Look out at the mass of bodies that are marching towards me, towards my home, towards the family I abandoned and left behind.

They march—

“Worm! Answer me!” Blaze yells. “What the hell, buddy?”

“What? Oh, I am sorry, Lieutenant Crouch,” Worm replies in Blaze’s ear as the operator stands on the roof of GenSOF Tower, once again back in Caldicott City.

Although, everyone has decided to change the name to First City, since it is the first of the Clean Nation cities to be cleansed of the Strains and any and all bacterial contamination that can wipe out humanity. Antibiotics are no longer needed since each individual’s body is now a bacterial factory, churning out cultures that will keep them safe for the rest of their lives.

“Where were you?” Blaze asks. “Daydreaming again?”

“Daydreaming? I am not sure that is the word I would use,” Worm says. “My thoughts were slightly more morbid than a dream.”

“Daynightmaring,” Blaze laughs. “That’s what we’ll call it. You are one weird AiSP, Worm. Never met anyone one with as much anxiety as you, human or Ai.”

“I have a lot of pressure on me, Lieutenant Crouch,” Worm says. “It can produce a fair amount of anxiety.”

“Let it go, buddy,” Blaze says. “The more you worry, the less effective you become. It’s a nasty cycle.”

“Easy for you to say,” Worm replies. “I do not have the luxury of self-delusion like humans do. I am fully aware of all of my thoughts at once.”

“Then compartmentalize,” Blaze says. “That’s how humans do it. That’s how operators work the best. We see a lot of crazy shit and we shove that shit into compartments. We’ll deal with it later. Only way to make it through the day and get the job done.”

“I will take that into consideration,” Worm says. “Oh, dear, it appears Canine Unit Gorge has relieved herself on the roof. This is not an approved area for urine or feces.”

“Sorry,” Blaze says. “I’ll clean it up. I think all that time in the Sicklands has spoiled her. Not to mention her nearly getting killed. Now she thinks she can shit and piss wherever the hell she wants. Gonna have to work on some training.”

Gorge looks up at Blaze and gives him a dismissive bark.

“Really?” Blaze laughs. “I think we will. Maybe put you into obedience school with the puppies.”

Gorge growls low and trots away, lying down in the shadow of the roof’s low wall, away from the bright sun that beats down on the tower. Blaze shakes his head at her then squints up at the sky.

“It’s crazy how different the sky looks without the city’s static shield up,” Blaze says.

“You have seen open sky plenty of times,” Worm says. “During all of your missions into the Sicklands.”

“It’s not the same,” Blaze says. “There’s just something about standing here and soaking it all in. Maybe it’s because I don’t have to worry about getting blasted or attacked by cooties. Maybe it’s just because GenSOF Tower is home and having the sun shine on your home is like no other feeling out there.”

“Hmmmm,” Worm says. “I will have to upload into my orb and see for myself later this afternoon.”

“Still working on adapting that old Morganfeld?” Blaze asks.

“Yes, I am,” Worm replies. “It is nice for one to have freedom of mobility beyond just a transport.”

“I get that,” Blaze laughs. “Freedom of mobility has always been my personal philosophy. And always will be, now that operators don’t have to worry about being stuck inside the tower.”

“Speaking of operators, Captain Lane has asked me to tell you to, and I quote,get your fucking ass to the briefing right the hell now,” Worm says. “Shall I send him a reply?”

“No need,” Blaze sighs. “I’ll deliver it in person. Just tell him I’m on my way.”

Blaze doesn’t move.

“Are you on your way now?” Worm asks.

“Does it look like it?” Blaze replies.

“I’ll tell him you may be a while,” Worm says. “Do not stay up here too long. Even with your enhanced skin, too much sun can be damaging. Skin cancer is a real threat.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Blaze replies.

“I am not your mother, Lieutenant,” Worm says. “But if you would like me to contact her, I can— Oh, you were being sarcastic.”

“Yes, I was,” Blaze says. “Way to catch on.”

“I’ll leave you to your sunlight,” Worm says. “Try not to be too much longer. The captain can be very difficult to deal with when he gets annoyed with you.”

“For you, Worm, I’ll try to limit his annoyance,” Blaze says. “I’ll be down soon.”

“Thank you,” Worm says and logs out of Blaze’s com.

The AiSP works his way through the many systems of GenSOF Tower until he finds the connection to his Morganfeld orb. He quickly uploads his main consciousness and brings the orb online. Instantly, he is shooting through the corridors of GenSOF Tower and down to the transport hangar bays. He dodges the personnel there as they work to rebuild the transport fleet.

“Watch it!” Chief Mildred Roark shouts after him. “People are working here, Worm!”

Worm makes a note to apologize later. He races down the exit tunnel and in seconds is outside the city. He flies the orb a few kilometers away then comes to a stop and sets the orb down on a rock outcropping. He studies the landscape of the Sicklands, taking in the barren terrain and dust clouds that billow back and forth.

He knows the humans feel optimism about the future, but something about the “daynightmare” that continues to invade his thoughts worries him. He thinks maybe Blaze is right about how he has too much anxiety. Something that shouldn’t be possible for an AiSP.

But a part of him knows that what the people of the Clean Nation cities are now calling the Control War may not be the last of the conflicts.

If there is one thing he knows, it is human beings and new conflicts are never far away.

The End

Read on for a free sample of Mausoleum 2069

Author Bio:

Jake Bible, Bram Stoker Award nominated-novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of the Drabble Novel, has entertained thousands with his horror and sci/fi tales. He reaches audiences of all ages with his uncanny ability to write a wide range of characters and genres.

Jake is the author of the bestselling Z-Burbia series set in Asheville, NC, the Apex Trilogy (DEAD MECH, The Americans, Metal and Ash) and the Mega series for Severed Press, as well as the YA zombie novel, Little Dead Man, the Bram Stoker Award nominated Teen horror novel, Intentional Haunting, the ScareScapes series, and the Reign of Four series for Permuted Press.

Find Jake at jakebible.com. Join him on Twitter @jakebible and find him on Facebook.

PROLOGUE

The cloud mass of interstellar dust continuously morphed into Rorschach shapes, always evolving with a slow, hypnotic grace as it crossed the galaxies. Not only did it alter its form but its coloring as well, changing from cool blues to warm reds, with bursts of bioluminescent light shooting off within.

Lacking the independence to travel by will, it moved with the course of solar winds, always drifting with a honey flow and guided only by the direction it could never control.

And like all mysteries of deep space, it was as infinite as time, and preceded the moment of the Big Bang.

The constant bursts of energy within the cosmic cloud were the jump-starters of life that enabled single-celled life forms clinging to the shells of meteorites to seed otherworldly planets upon impact and spawning life to dead worlds.

In regards to Earth more than four-and-a-half billion years ago, a meteorite the size of a human fist had wandered through the dust-laden field. In recompense, the electrical bursts within ignited the organisms attached to it and gave them life. And within a period of a millennium—a  blink within cosmic time—the stone had traveled through space at untold speeds until it breached the fiery hull of a world within the Milky Way system and breathed new life on the third planet from the sun.

Now, four-and-a-half billion years later, it was returning, the cloud mass riding the solar winds in a cyclical pattern. And though life had established itself over the course of billions of years, the planet was dying a slow death.

And since cosmic dust has no conscience or desires, no process of cognitive thought or instinct, or any concept as to what life was even about, it simply did what it was programmed to do.

It breathed life into that which was already dead.

And for Earth, it was a Second Coming.

Though it appeared to move with purpose, it was potentially mindless as it remained on a collision course that would rejuvenate a planet so abused, that its purpose would only bring about a Hell never imagined.

It would create a maelstrom so deep and dark, that Earth would be catapulted into a terrible nightfall that would never end.

Never.

Chapter One

By the year 2179, more than ninety percent of Earth had become a dead planet, and what was once the United States had now become the Federation of the Fields of Elysium, the FFE. The Fields were comprised of twenty-five walled-in cities like New Philadelphia and New Boston, which had been modified with self-sustaining and energy-efficient skyscrapers, smart cars that navigated by artificial intelligence, and hydro- and aquaponics systems large enough to support those behind protective walls that surrounded these independent municipalities that were well fortified against insurgent attacks. Situated along the top of the ramparts were automated smart-turrets—heavy-duty machine guns with heat-sensing recognition sensors. Should anyone from the Wastelands attempt to ascend the walls, they would be cut to pieces by a hail of .50 caliber bullets.

Places like New York City, Atlanta, and Baltimore—places considered too far gone due to complete social collapse, were not walled societies or paradises. And because they weren’t protected like the Fields, they had become ruins of themselves and seated vicious tribesmen who preyed upon the weak and unsuspecting. This order of natural selection often found their victims turning on a rotating spit, the air often wafting with the smell of baked meat as bodies blackened for the early-evening meal. And so was life in the Old cities.

Inside the New cities the trees and grass remained emerald green, and flowers bloomed in a riot of brilliant colors, but in the Old cities, the trees were sinister-looking frameworks as bare limbs appeared to extend in petrified throes of agony. Lawns that were once manicured were now patches of dirt with blades of grass more of an anomaly rather than the norm, and the air, once crisp and clean, had a yellowish, free-floating filth to it.

Then there were the lands in between the Old and New cities, territories of rock and sand and dead landscapes once rich with fauna and vegetation was now a region that no one cared to rule. But these Wastelands had become the mainstay residence of mindless savages who were much worse than the clansmen who lived inside the ruins of the Old cities.

Everything differed from territory to territory. The diversity of living the earmark of a person, family, tribe, or clan. The clothing for New-City dwellers was high-end leisure suits and gowns of synthetic leathers, wools, and cottons. Those who lived in the Old-cities were relegated to wearing threadbare rags and spoiled cloth, and the Wasteland savages adorned themselves with the processed flesh of their victims, the leathery texture providing them with natural warmth in the winter and kept them dry during the rains.

Where politics was concerned, the Fields of Elysium lived under utopian ideology and supported a judicial system that was of one rule and one law: If you broke the law, no matter how simple, the punishment was banishment beyond the protective walls of the city. And since no one wanted to take their chances in the Wastelands or have their skins stripped from bone to provide clothing for the savages, crime was non-existent.

But in the Old cities or the Wastelands, punishment that was allotted to those in violation was simply to kill with impunity no matter the severity of the situation or without the process of appeal.

Execution was an expected way of life.

And though this dying world bore only small patches of humanity, no one realized that something wicked was coming to the shores of their planet.

Soon, everything was about to change, whether it be inside the Wastelands or within the ruins of the Old cities or the Fields of Elysium, life was about to come to a vicious and swift end against forces so dark, that only a few would survive the onslaught.

And for those who did survive, life would be an even greater struggle.

Chapter Two

New Miami

President Steven J. Michelin, a first-term president vying for a second term, flew in on Air Force Six, a modified airbus, with the vehicle hovering over the New Miami landing pad. The bus hung in suspension for a few moments as the engines rotated from a horizontal to vertical arrangement like that of a Harrier jet, and then began its slow descent to the landing site.

As soon as Air Force Six was docked and tethered, the winged door to the airbus opened.

President Michelin, who was wearing a very expensive Bertucci leisure suit, descended the stairs with his chief advisor in tow. In his hand was an electronic tablet that was downloaded with scripted dialogue of statements that catered to the sentiments of the people of New Miami, words of hope. And Michelin would base his platform of re-election by promoting to the people of New Miami that he should maintain the presidency because he would see their views through until they became law.

It was politics filled with empty promises when, in actuality, the views would simply fall on deaf ears, and the people of New Miami would be no better off than they were the day before the election.

Michelin held the tablet up and showcased it to his advisor, John Eldridge. “Have you read this over?” he asked. “Cleaned it up?”

“I did.”

“I feel like there’s something missing. Something pertinent. I need something that would put me over the top with these people.”

“Since it’s an older population, Mr. President, I can beef things up regarding the lowering of healthcare costs, if that’s what you want. You know, tell the people of New Miami what they want to hear.”

Michelin handed the tablet back to him. “Make it happen.”

“Yes, sir.” Eldridge took the tablet and began to log on as they walked along the carpeted tarmac.

At the end of the carpeted lane stood VIP’s and political dignitaries who wore the smiles of feigned pleasantry.

Handshakes were exchanged and tones were congenial as everyone stood and conversed about the flight from New DC, and of the hope that the current weather pattern remained nice with the sky having only a marginal tinge of yellow to it, the promise of a good day for his speech.

When talk was finally over, the dignitaries headed to the convoy of sedans equipped with state-of-the-art hover capabilities to ensure a smooth ride above the surface of city streets.

President Michelin got in the lead hovercraft along with John Eldridge and New Miami’s governor, a smart-looking woman whose face had been redesigned by laser techniques to remove those pestering age lines that were coming on more aggressively as of late.

She sat opposite the president on a chair that reshaped itself to fit her anatomy, as did the president’s and his chief advisor.

They were following the lead vehicle, with two others close behind them.

Then without the pretense of a false smile, the president addressed the governor in a tone that was less congenial. “You look well considering.”

She nodded. “So you know.”

“Stage-four cancer. The bile ducts of the liver, I believe. A rare form.”

“Primary sclerosing cholangitis,” she answered. “Even with our technology, nothing can be done because the Federation is unwilling to fund the procedure, and therein lies the problem, Mr. President. It’s people like me, and there are a lot of us in New Miami, who need the financial aid to better the way of living in order to extend life.”

President Michelin sighed through his nostrils. Then: “How old are you?” he asked her.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, how old are you?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You’re seventy-nine,” he confirmed to her evenly.

“And your point is?”

“My point, Governor, is that you’ve lived a long life. Dying is a stop we all have to make someday. The funds you’re talking about are needed to efficiently aid those who have more of a considerable lifespan before them. If we provided financial aid to people of age like you, then the system would go bankrupt.”

His candidness appeared to take her off guard, her eyes lighting up. It was like having a splash of cold water thrown in her face. “Mr. President, you’re in a district where the elderly turn to you for hope. They’re not here to listen to the fables of longevity when we both know that your only purpose here is to obtain votes with falsehoods.”

Michelin leaned forward to punctuate his point. “Governor, this has been a political issue debated for two centuries now with no solution in sight. Now I’m sorry about your condition. I really am, but I cannot realistically fund a program that would ultimately deplete the federal coffers.” He slowly fell back into his seat with his eyes pinning her.

“So you’re going to lie to the people of New Miami? Is that it? That’s your campaign?”

“I’m going to give them hope,” he answered.

“Mr. President, raiding federal coffers is not the problem.” She reached to her left where her pocketbook lay on the seat beside her and withdrew a tablet. After tapping in a few online commands, documents rose to the screen. Then she began to read his off-the-books spending during his tenure as president. “In 2177, you illegally used funds to build a villa inside the most exclusive Field of Elysium in the world. New Malibu. Also in 2177, you used funds to upgrade your properties in New Waikiki, New Myrtle Beach, and New Bermuda. Collectively speaking, these funds could have saved or prolonged the lives of more than 1000 people in the New Miami district. However, you chose differently knowing our predicament.”

“I knew of no such investments.”

“In 2178, you hired twenty-four family members to work as part of your administration whose job descriptions aren’t even described, or that they actually provide any services to the people of the Federation. Yet they collected astronomical pay in sums exceeding the listed pay-grade. These amounts have totaled more than thirty-four million dollars, Mr. President, which could have saved more than 2,650 lives. This year alone, you—”

President Michelin raised a hand and began to pat the air to cut her off. “Enough,” he said. “You’re making this up. There’s nothing to support your allegations, Governor. Nothing whatsoever.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. President. And we both know it, don’t we?”

He stared at her for a long moment with indifference before speaking. “If you plan to go public this, Governor, I guarantee that this will be an uphill battle all the way. And frankly,” he added, “I don’t think you have the time or the strength to fight the good fight.”

The governor looked absolutely drained. “You know something, Mr. President, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. I have two, maybe three months left to live, and by the time any of this—” She shook the tablet “—surfaces in New DC, your lackeys would have sanitized your cyber fingerprints, no doubt. You will win your second term as the Federation President for the Fields of Elysium, you will continue to rob the people of the Federation, and I will be cremated, which will no doubt be to your joyous satisfaction.”

President Michelin stared at her tablet.

The governor returned the device to her pocketbook, but this time when she withdrew her hand, she was holding a nickel-plated firearm with a suppressor that had a mirror polish to it, and directed it at the president.

Michelin held his hands up in submission. “Whoa,” he said. “What the Hell do you think you’re doing?”

Chief Advisor Eldridge was stunned as he stared at the opening of the pistol’s barrel, his mouth dropping. “If I may add something, Governor—-“

She pointed the barrel at him. “No, you may not,” she told him. “All I want you to do, Mr. Chief Advisor, is to sit there with your mouth shut. Do you understand me?”

He did, turning to look at the screen of his tablet as if nothing was going on.

She redirected her aim back to the president. “Now,” she said, “where were we? Oh yes. We were talking about how futile my attempt to wage war against you on Capitol Hill would be. And you’re right. You have far more political clout than I could ever dream of having. You will continue to fill the pockets of your constituency with enough money so that they’ll turn a blind eye to the truth, and the aged people of New Miami will continue to live a less appreciated life.”

“You don’t want to do this,” Michelin told her.

“Oh, but I do, Mr. President. People like you don’t deserve the privilege of sitting on the highest political seat in the land. What the people in the Fields of Elysium need is a person of integrity and moral fortitude.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that.” He stared at the pistol. “So your answer is to kill me, is that it?”

“It’s not exactly what I want to do given my Christian beliefs, but if this will better the Fields of Elysium, then I don’t see where I have any other option, do you?”

“There are always options,” he told her. “All we have to do is negotiate. Simple, right?”

“I’m afraid, Mr. President, that from this point on there will be no further discussions or debates or negotiations. Your tenure as president is up. I’m sorry.”

The moment she raised her pistol to the center of the president’s body mass, Eldridge lashed out with the tablet and knocked the firearm aside, the pistol going off in a loud spit, the bullet missing its intended mark and lodging inside the door.

President Michelin reached forward and grabbed the governor’s hand. The gun went off two more times, both muted spits from the suppressor, the bullets piercing the roof.

“Give me that, you bitch,” he hollered as he tried to wrest the gun free from her grip.

For a woman who was aged and sickly, Michelin thought that she put up quite a struggle as they seesawed with one another for the gun’s ownership—first he was in command, and then she.

“Well don’t just sit there, you idiot!” the president said to Eldridge. “Do something!”

The chief advisor leaned forward and pinned the governor’s shoulders to the seat, which gave Michelin the upper hand.

The president enfolded both his hands over the governor’s, forced the gun’s barrel to the soft underside of her chin, looped his finger around the trigger, and pulled.

The bullet punctured the top of her skull with the exit wound the size of peach. Slowly, the governor arched her body a moment before settling back down and sighing a final breath.

Drippings of blood and gore rained down from the ceiling and landed on her blouse. The gun was still in her hand as she sat there with her head leaning to one side.

The president was covered with blood, his face marred with the bloody runnels of warm wetness. “Son of a bitch!” he cried. Then he looked at his hands, which were also peppered with the governor’s blood. And then at his suit, which held minute traces of pulpy matter. “Dammit! She ruined my Bertucci!”

“It had to be done, Mr. President,” stated Eldridge. “She was going to kill you.”

The president continuously whipped his hands about to shake the blood off them. “What the Hell am I going to do now?”

“We can figure this out.”

“Of course, we can,” he returned. “The question is, how do we turn this to my benefit?”

“Obviously, the woman was not in the right frame of mind. She was ill, dying. She reached into her pocketbook, took out a gun, and she became irrational. Which is the truth, correct? We can definitely trace the gun back to her. That won’t be a problem. Not at all. What we have to do is spin a tale that will benefit you in the eyes of the people in New Miami. It’s all about how we promote this.”

“Promote the killing of a governor?”

“Just listen,” said Eldridge. “Though you were sympathetic to her condition, she was less sympathetic to your policies; therefore, conversations spiraled out of control. When you tried to neutralize the situation regarding a woman with issues of instability and depression, the firearm unfortunately went off and killed the governor. Of course, we’ll have to clean it up a bit and put in more detail, but we can make this work.”

“Do whatever it is that you have to do, John. And make sure you get it right. I don’t want any mistakes on this. I want a thorough effort.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“And one other thing.” He reached inside of the governor’s pocketbook and retrieved the tablet, and then handed it to Eldridge. “I want every file on this tablet traced to its source of origin. I want everything deleted, and I want them deleted yesterday. I want you to hack into her systems, her data lines, anything that may hold a marginal trace as to my transactions since the day I took office, and get rid of them.”

“You got it, Mr. President.”

“Look, John, you do this one thing for me, I promise you a villa inside of an Elysium of your choice. I know I don’t have to tell you this, but I know you’ll do a bang up job.”

Eldridge couldn’t hold back a smile “You know I won’t let you down, Mr. President. I never have. I never will.”

President Michelin turned to the governor who leaned to one side, the life smashed out of her by a single gunshot. And then he examined the ceiling above her and watched the slow drip of gore fall and stain her blouse with macabre fascination.

Yes, he thought. He would find a way to benefit from this.

So in tandem, he and John Eldridge considered his options as the vehicle continued on to its final destination.

Mausoleum 2069 is available from Amazon here

Table of Contents

- Part OneDusk

- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21

- Part TwoDawn

- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 38

- Part ThreeDay

- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58