Date: 2012-10-23 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Science Fiction; Zombies
Description: What began in the wasteland of DEAD MECH, continued alongside in Europe and Asia in The Americans, now has its epic conclusion in Metal and Ash! Commander James Capreze and his team of mech pilots no longer must battle just zombies, cannibals, religious cults and the ever dreaded dead mechs. Now they will be put to the test by the forces of the Three as the evil alliance bent on dominating every inch of the world attacks from two fronts, forcing Capreze to split his forces and make alliances with those he had been sworn to defeat. The wasteland becomes the setting for an epic fight for basic h
Publisher: SEVERED Press

Metal and Ash

Jake Bible

Published by Samannah Media

Copyright 2012 Jake Bible

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover design by ED

Acknowledgements

First, let me thank all of my fans. You are the folks that made this trilogy rock! Without your support and constant badgering (good badgering!) I wouldn’t have pushed myself to finish this trilogy in the best way possible. I could have gone all George R.R. Martin on you and shit, right?

Second, I need to thank all the folks that helped me get this project finished. There are a lot of you so I won’t name names. Plus, if I forget someone then there will be hurt feelings and possibly tears. Just know you are all appreciated. You know who you are.

Third, a special shout out to Ed Delaney. You made my first podcast graphic for DEAD MECH and have done all my covers since. You, sir, are a HUGE reason I am able to publish these novels. I am forever in your debt. FOREVER!!!

Finally, I have to thank my family. Their patience with me while I’ve worked on this trilogy should earn them a medal or something. At least a large pizza. Love you guys!

Foreword

What the hell is the Apex Trilogy? Well, we’ll get to that.

In 2009 I decided I would write and podcast a novel. Not just any novel, The World’s First Drabble Novel! That became DEAD MECH, the first installment to the Apex Trilogy. I was so very lucky that the podcast received such great acceptance in the podcast community. It showed me that all of my hard work was worth something, and my crazy drabble novel experiment may not have been so crazy after all. The podcast led to a publishing deal and the rest is history.

Not really.

DEAD MECH was published, but right as the ebook revolution was starting and the publisher just didn’t get ebooks. I was able to negotiate my rights back since the publisher was such a perfect gentleman and fully understood that I wanted to take DEAD MECH in a direction he wasn’t prepared to. I released it on my own and thus began my great publishing adventure.

DEAD MECH was followed up by The Americans, which, since I can’t do anything the traditional way, was a sidequel to DEAD MECH. Not a sequel, but a sidequel. The characters and setting of The Americans were totally different than DEAD MECH. However, the story took place at the exact same timeframe as the events in DEAD MECH, just a different part of the world. This allowed me to expand the scope of the overall story yet maintain the integrity of DEAD MECH. It was a risk, but the reception The Americans received told me the risk paid off. In addition, The Americans was not a drabble novel. The details of the novel needed more words per section. Or, sometimes, less words per section. My drabble novel experiment ended with DEAD MECH.

That left the third book. Metal and Ash. The apex of the Apex Trilogy. Get it now? Two books side by side that come together into one final book. Apex! And I truly hope that everyone finds this apex, this finale, to be the ending they are looking for. Some events will piss people off, perhaps even make them cry. I know I will receive hate mail and maybe death threats, but I can take it. This is the ending that both of the previous books deserve.

Does that mean there won’t be any more books set in this universe? Never say never, man. Never say never. But this story, the story of James Capreze and his mech pilots; the story of American Ghost Mellissa Bretton and Vessel Beth Laughlin; the story of the Three and their power hungry drive for world domination; that story is over.

Enjoy and know that I put my heart and soul into this. It is the Apex I was truly hoping for.

Cheers!

Metal and Ash

One

The dream was sweet. A fine dream filled with whiskey, girls, loud music, and all at 15,000 feet. The sky was bright and blue, the pilot’s seat was warm and cozy, and the party in the cabin was going full bore.

Edgar Styles was in Heaven.

And that was the problem.

Even though he was having an absolute blast, it didn’t feel right. His conscious mind told him it was a dream and he got that. He’d always been a big dreamer. It was how he unstressed. That and whiskey and girls.

But the dream wasn’t working for him. Instead of unstressing he could feel the stress building. He could feel tension where there shouldn’t have been any. He could feel.

Again, a problem.

He never felt anything in his dreams. Never had.

So to feel pressure build and build made him wonder what was up.

“Hey, baby,” a scantily clad, very tan woman said as she slipped into the cockpit and closed the door behind her. “You’re looking lonely. Need some company?”

“You can’t close that,” Styles said as he looked over his shoulder at the door.

“Oh, forget the rules,” the woman said as she undid her bra, letting her breasts free. “Just have a good time.”

Styles didn’t even notice the tits that were being pressed towards him; his eyes were on the cockpit door.

“No, I mean you don’t have the ability to close that,” Styles said, trying to look around the woman’s chest as she wrapped her arms about his shoulders. “That door is programmed to respond to me and Al only. Even if this is a fucking dream I wouldn’t have changed that. What the holy fuck is going on?”

The woman looked at Styles, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted and inviting. She studied his face for a moment then pushed away. She picked up her bra from the cockpit floor and put it back on.

“He’s coming around,” she said aloud. “Cognitive development is confirmed. Let’s wrap this up. Extraction team at the ready.”

Styles watched her listen to a response. “Are you on a com?” Styles asked. “You can’t do that either! I have all coms jammed.”

He turned and checked his readings. Static. They didn’t show the normal fluctuations that his control panel should have. He quickly reached and felt the top of his head. No cable jacked directly into his skull.

He didn’t have control of the dream and a panicked thought occurred to him.

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing to me?” Styles asked, voicing the thought.

The woman turned around, ignoring him.

“Right….fine…anytime,” the woman said. “Give me a second to let the others know.” She opened the cockpit door and leaned into the cabin. “Party’s over, folks! Prep for extraction! The cowboy’s waking up!”

The partying crowd booed and hissed as the music was cut short. They all stopped moving and stood still.

Then were gone.

The woman turned and looked at Styles and gave him a genuine smile. “See you on the other side, cowboy. I’ll be a disappointment in the real world.” She cupped her tits and gave them a shake. “Not quite as built as my avitar. Once you get your legs under you I’ll buy you drink. You’re going to need one.”

Then she was gone.

“What the fuck?” Styles shouted. He stood up from the pilot’s seat and hurried into the cabin. “What the hell is going on?”

“Mr. Styles?” a voice echoed. “Please remain calm. Your extraction will be a little uncomfortable and the more relaxed your avitar is the easier it will go for you.”

Styles ran to the bar and grabbed two things: a pistol and a bottle of whiskey.

“I don’t rightly know what the fuck y’all are talkin’ about,” Styles said as he took a swig of the whiskey and then cocked the pistol. “But you’re fuckin’ with the wrong man!”

“We are well aware of that, Mr. Styles,” the voice answered. “As you are fond of saying, this ain’t our first rodeo.”

Styles started to respond, but his legs collapsed under him and his voice was lost. The cabin started to dim then darken then blip out.

Edgar Styles was gone too.

***

Dr. Kari Maszle watched the amnio-tank closely as the techs uncoupled the power supply and fluid injection hoses. The vid screen in front of her showed that Styles 00075 had normal vital signs, although slightly elevated. None of the readings were alarming and he was performing just as expected.

But that was what Styles 00001 through 00074 had shown also.

The proof would be in the lavazza as her grandmother used to say.

“Why do you enter the cognitive training personally?” her assistant, Lucas Calavante, asked.

“Because I don’t trust anyone else,” Dr. Maszle said. “Not after 74 failures.”

Calavante nodded and went back to checking his vid screen.

“The prince had more money than God,” Calavante said after few minutes. “Why the hell did he want to clone this American and not himself?”

“Styles has been a product from the beginning,” Dr. Maszle stated. “He was already in development. Clones were needed to fly his aircraft.”

“But why didn’t the prince just upload his own consciousness into one of these bodies?”

Dr. Maszle turned and looked at her assistant, her gray eyes cold with admonishment. “Do I look like a fucking Russian prince to you?”

Calavante shook his head.

“Then shut up and watch your readings,” Dr. Maszle ordered as she watched the amnio-tank being wheeled out of the clone bay. “I’ll be in the exam room.”

Calavante waited until she was gone then let out his breath. “Puta.”

***

Several techs hooked extraction hoses to the amnio-tank as soon as it was secured in place in the exam room. They double checked the couplings and then opened the valves, letting the fluid inside the amnio-tank drain quickly into the recycling vat beneath the clone bay. In seconds it was drained and all that was left was a body curled into a fetal position.

“Life signs are still stable, Dr. Maszle,” a tech said as the doctor walked into the exam room.

“Open it up,” she ordered.

The amnio-tank made a high hissing noise as the seal on the top half was broken. The top slid to the side lowered itself to the floor, sliding under the bottom half so that there could be full access to the body inside.

Dr. Maszle kept her eyes focused on the body, her every muscle tense with anticipation. In just a few seconds the body started to move and uncurl from the position it had been in for seventeen months. Dr. Maszle cautiously approached, afraid of the disappointment that could be waiting. 74 failures had hardened her somewhat, but not enough so that her stomach wasn’t still churning. She had to fight to keep the bile down as she grasped the side of the amnio-tank.

“Mr. Styles?” Dr. Maszle asked as the body rolled onto its back and the eyes opened slowly. “Mr. Styles, can you hear me?”

The man, obvious from his unconcealed anatomy, blinked a few times and then looked up at the doctor. He tried to speak, but only a harsh rasp came out as he spit up a few globs of amniotic fluid. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard then tried again.

“H-h-h-hey…there,” Edgar Styles croaked. “I…know…y-y-y-you…right?”

“Yes, Mr. Styles,” Dr. Maszle beamed. “You do. We met just a bit ago.”

Styles’s eyes strayed and he grinned. “I don’t…know…what…you’re complainin’…about. That’s a…pretty…nice…rack…you got…there.”

Dr. Maszle looked at her chest and grinned self-consciously. “Yes, well, normally I’d be offended, but I’ll take that as a compliment.” She looked down the tank at his waist. “And you aren’t so bad yourself. I didn’t even enhance your proportions.”

Styles’s grin widened. “Never had any com-com-com-complaints. No need to mess…with… perf-f-f-fection.” His whole body shuddered and he slowly wrapped his arms about himself. “F-f-f-f-fucking cold in h-h-h-h-here.”

“Yes, well the process needs exact temperatures to work,” Dr. Maszle said as a tech handed her a thermal wrap. She activated the heat packs and draped it over Style’s body. “The slightest miscalculation has resulted in unfortunate results.”

Styles sighed as the heat warmed his skin and seeped into his body. “Failures? Plural?” He looked about, his eyes taking in the tank and the exam room. “Where the fuck am I?”

“That, Mr. Styles, is a much longer conversation,” Dr. Maszle replied. “First you need to eat and rest. The techs will wheel you to your room.”

“Oh, I can handle that conversation now,” Styles said as he grabbed the sides of the amnio-tank and tried to sit up. “Or not.”

“While electro stimulation and hormone treatments have developed your muscle structure,” Dr. Maszle explained. “You are going to be quite weak for a few days.”

“Fuck,” Styles muttered as he lay back down, his eyes fluttering closed. “I’ll…take…your…word….” In a second he was fast asleep.

Dr. Maszle turned to the techs, her face all business; any trace of excitement gone the moment Styles slipped back into unconsciousness. “I want him monitored at all times. He is never to be left unattended. Understand?”

They nodded and wheeled him from the room. She waited until they were gone and then took a deep breath, leaned against the wall and slid slowly to the floor, letting the breath out as she went down. “Thank you,” she whispered quietly as she crossed herself. “I know this may be an abomination in your eyes, but it is not meant to be. Please understand that.”

She reached inside her shirt and pulled out a medal of St. Luke. She kissed it twice then let it fall back to her chest. A single tear slipped from her left eye and she brushed it away as she got to her feet.

“I need a status report on an ETA of the first viable batch now!” she barked into her com as she hurried from the exam room. “We have a success and I want us ready for full production when the time comes! The Prince’s last orders were to have his air force ready to assist those in need! NOW!”

She thought back on the final encrypted message she had received from the late Russian Prince Alexander Tartarov. His original plan was to be able to sell the clones of Styles along with the illicit, and banned, aircraft that he had designed and had her Brazilian tech company put into production.

His last words had been: “The Three have taken Europe and Asia. The New World is all that is left. Don’t let it fall. Tell Styles I’m sorry for what I’ve done to him, but he needs to know that he may be all that can save what’s left of freedom and the human race from the Three’s forces. Godspeed, Doctor.”

The tracking beacon in the Prince’s aircraft, which was annoyingly called the BTT (Better Than Tits), went dead just seconds after the message had been received.

Two

The dogs whined as the mech rolled up in front of Outpost Tango Charlie, its tracks kicking up a ten foot high wake of snow behind it, but none barked or growled. They had become quite used to the machine coming and going at all hours of the day and night. As the twenty foot tall machine stopped, the tracks on its feet retracted into its massive legs, leaving feet with articulated toes, spread wide over the soft snow.

“How’s it feel today?” Outpost Commander Stephen LaFrance asked over the com as he stepped from the main entrance into the sub-zero weather. The wind whipped at his thermal suit and he instantly cranked the internal temperature up about five degrees. “More responsive?”

“Yes. Quite,” a voice responded over the com. “The transition from track to feet is seamless now. However, I am still a little unsure about this solid state technology.”

“Biochrome,” LaFrance stated. “I know, for an AI that is used to monitoring a thousand different parts and components, having it all integrated will take some getting used to.”

“Biochrome,” the voice mused. “Bioorganic metal fused with human DNA. Able to be manufactured into any product without the need for separate parts. True solid state technology that has been considered a living metal. With full integration biochrome can be morphed into any new shape of the same mass by genetically manipulated humans known as Ghosts. Part of the American forces that had been tasked as the world’s marshals and protectors.”

“Until they got their asses blown away,” LaFrance said. “Not many left. Could be fewer still if the Council doesn’t act.”

The mech’s cockpit opened and a sleek, metal figure leapt down into the snow. The dogs growled slightly, but settled down quickly once they caught the figure’s scent.

“Still haven’t found a face?” LaFrance asked as he looked at the smooth metal of the figure’s features. “Come on, Shiner. The guys want to see what face you come up with.”

“A face is not needed,” Shiner responded as he approached LaFrance. “That is a human concept.”

“So is a name,” LaFrance joked. “And you gave yourself one of those.”

“You must be cold,” Shiner stated. “You will expire from exposure to these elements.”

“That’s nice of you to think of that,” LaFrance smiled. “Then how about we get inside and Norton can download your data. Let’s have a look at how you and your mech are working.”

“Of course, Commander,” Shiner said. “I shall follow.”

***

“This is insane,” Lead Tech Officer Malachi Norton said as he studied his vid screen, Shiner looking over his shoulder uncomfortably close. “The integration rate is not even calculable. This outstrips any of the data Themopolous sent us about the human mech pilots. Even with their Reaper chip to AI integration, this is still quantum levels above that.”

“So it’s fast?” Security Chief Andrew Morris smirked.

“Oh, yeah, it’s really fast,” Norton replied, missing the sarcasm completely. “But I couldn’t even put a speed on it. It’s like Shiner becomes one with the mech itself.”

“I was a mech,” Shiner stated. “Before I came to the snow and was uploaded into the bioorganic metal that is called biochrome. I was a mech of the wasteland. I have always been machine. There is no separation.”

“Don’t you need to power down somewhere or something?” Morris asked. “Save that super computer brain of yours for tomorrow’s tests?”

Shiner turned his head towards Morris, his body staying perfectly still. The effect gave Morris the shivers and he had to look away since all he saw was his own face distorted in the reflection off of Shiner’s shiny, blank faceplate.

“Shouldn’t you secure the outpost, Security Chief?” Shiner asked, his voice dropping half an octave.

Morris took a couple of steps back and moved towards the door. “Yeah, I think I’ll do that,” he said as he left the room. “Metal freak.”

“Is it wrong that I enjoy upsetting Security Chief Morris?” Shiner asked.

“You enjoy it?” Norton inquired, spinning in his chair. His face was only inches from Shiner’s and he put a hand against the bioborg’s chest. “Whoa, man. Scoot it back, will ya?”

“My apologies,” Shiner said as he straightened and stepped back, giving Norton some room. “Is that better, Malachi?”

“Much,” Norton smiled. “Now what’s this about you enjoying it? Explain.”

“Would you like me to jack into the system so you can study the data of it?”

“No, actually, I’d rather you tell me,” Norton said. “This is new territory, man. I want to hear it in your own words.”

“Why will that matter?”

“Because an AI with emotions is fascinating,” Norton said. “As far as I know you’re the only one.”

“That would not be correct,” Shiner said, shaking his head. “There is Stomper. And many of the dead mechs in the wasteland and the Womb. They can think and feel. They all have AI emotions.”

“Well, I can’t talk to your buddy Stomper,” Norton responded. “Wait…the Womb?” Shiner didn’t respond and Norton knew from experience not to push. “Okay, whatever. I’m not going anywhere below the containment shield and into that hellish wasteland to talk to any of those mechs, so you’re all I got.”

“All I have,” Shiner corrected.

“Don’t start, man,” Norton smiled. “I don’t need you correcting my grammar.”

“Proper speech is important to clear, concise communication.”

“True, but I think we communicate just fine.”

“Because I use clear, concise speech.”

Norton stared at Shiner for a couple of seconds. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Yes.”

“Good one,” Norton laughed. “You’re learning.”

“I enjoy fucking with you,” Shiner said as he attempted a tinny laugh.

“Yeah, let’s not say that too much around the outpost, okay? That could be taken the wrong way.”

“Of course, that is why clear, concise speech is important,” Shiner nodded. “It could also mean I am having sexual intercourse with you.” He paused briefly and waited as Norton took a sip from a water bottle near his workstation. “In your butt.”

Norton spewed water everywhere, most of it coming out of his nose. “You asshole!” he grinned at Shiner. “You’re worse than Morris!”

“Morris has sexual intercourse in your butt?” Shiner asked.

“Knock it off!”

***

LaFrance sat staring up at the gray ceiling of Outpost Tango Charlie’s meeting room, waiting for the answer.

“But you haven’t told me if we can trust him,” LaFrance said, finally looking back at the personnel, seated about table.

Morris and Norton were there, so was Special Teams Leader Gregory Knobel, LaFrance’s second in command, and Cassidy Campbell, outpost engineer and dog handler. Morris enjoyed calling her the “Mutt Slut”, but never to her face. Ever.

“How do you know if you can trust anyone?” Norton asked rhetorically. “I expect Morris to snap at any second and kill us all in our sleep. I’ve even mentioned it to you, OC. But, yet, he’s still here.”

“I’d never do it in your sleep,” Morris said as he shook his head. “The rooms are too spread out. I’d wait until we were all in one spot together. Get you idiots in one blow. Less work.”

“Dogs don’t mind him,” Campbell said. She looked at everyone, bored. “I trust the dogs.”

“That’s all you trust,” Morris said. “Your precious dogs.”

“They don’t like you,” Campbell grinned. “So they haven’t let me down yet.”

“Can we get back to the issue of Shiner?” LaFrance asked, tired of the bickering. “Is he stable?”

All eyes fell on Norton.

“Short answer: yes,” Norton responded. “He’s stable and I do trust him. Long answer? We can’t ever really know if we can ever trust anyone. I’m just glad he’s on our side.”

LaFrance nodded, accepting the answer. “Good, good. Then let’s move onto the Americans.”

“The ones in the boats or the ones in the wasteland?” Knobel asked. “The wasteland ones are being monitored at all times. I know nothing about the ones in the boats.”

“I’ve got that covered,” LaFrance said. “I’ve spoken to their commanding officer Blue Masterson and their ETA for hitting the west coast is one week.”

“Not a lot of time,” Morris said. “Will the shield be down by then?”

“No,” LaFrance said. “And we can’t get it down from here.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Knobel asked. He turned to Norton. “You can’t flip a switch?”

“It’s specifically designed to not be switchable,” Norton replied. “It takes a coordinated effort from the shield station in what used to be Monterey. Although the shield station hasn’t been checked in forever. Who knows what it will take to get the shield down.”

“That means we have to send someone down to coordinate with Capreze and his crew,” LaFrance said.

“You want us to head into the wasteland?” Knobel asked. “That’s a lot of Hell between here and there. What the hell do we tell them?”

“I’m going to work that out with Masterson,” LaFrance replied. “We have to keep Capreze informed, but we don’t know how much we can trust him. He and his crew have been under the impression that they are all that’s left between the human race and a few hundred thousand of the undead. If he knows how much they have been deceived for centuries he may not react well. I wouldn’t. He’s a Mech Base Commander and used to going to war as a first response. This will need to be handled delicately.”

“What does Control have to say?” Morris asked. “Surely they should be the ones handling this.”

“Control handles politics,” LaFrance laughed. “They don’t handle logistics. We get the grunt work while they negotiate with Masterson about how this will all shape out when we come out on top.”

“If we come out on top,” Campbell said. “The League of Monarchies’ forces have us all outnumbered by ten to one if the sat scans are correct.”

“They are,” Norton corroborated.

“But we aren’t dealing with the LOM anymore,” LaFrance said. “It is now the Three that run things.”

“Three what?” Morris asked.

“We aren’t sure,” LaFrance replied. “Control says they have lost all contact with them. The Three must have assumed we’d side with the Americans.”

“Strategically it would have made more sense for them to ally with us,” Knobel said. “We could swoop down and take the UDC Stronghold by surprise and then work our way out into the wasteland, neutralizing the remaining pockets of survivors.”

“It would not be so easy,” Shiner said from the doorway. “The mech pilots are not to be underestimated.”

“There’s only a handful of them,” Campbell said. “Thousands of us.”

“Please join us, Shiner,” LaFrance offered. “I’d like to hear your take on this.”

Shiner walked in and took a seat. The chair groaned under his weight and he shifted his BC mass to allow for better distribution.

“The mech pilots are a team that is beyond military thinking,” Shiner explained. “They are trained for combat, but they are…a family.”

“So?” Morris scoffed. “That’s more a weakness. It’ll distract them.”

“No, you are wrong,” Shiner said, shaking his biochrome head. “It is their motivation. One goes down and they all fight harder, faster, smarter. You would be wrong to think otherwise. They do not mourn and hurt like others. Only after they have won do they let themselves feel.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re going to be fighting with them and not against,” LaFrance said. “Anything else?”

“Yes, sir,” Shiner said. “I should be the one to go to Monterey and deactivate the shield. I know the wasteland. I know the deaders.”

“And he knows the dead mechs,” Norton said. “You all have seen the footage.” He looked at Knobel. “You’ve even seen them up close on mission. There’s a reason Capreze’s people are nuts. They have to fight those 50 ton monsters.”

Three

“ON YOUR MOTHERFUCKING RIGHT GODDAMMIT!” Bisby shouted at Masters as they maneuvered the transport down into the valley, trying to flank the dead mech One Arm while Mech Pilot Harlow and her oversized mech, Stomper, took the machine head on. “DO YOU KNOW HOW TO FUCKING DRIVE?!”

“Stop fucking yelling at me, Biz!” Masters shouted back. “You want to drive? Oh, right, you can’t because you have one fucking arm!”

“You’re gonna eat your teeth for that,” Bisby snarled. “Right after we get me this mech!”

“You’re pretty fucking optimistic about our chances,” Masters said. “Look at that fucking thing. Even with one fucking arm it’s scary as shit!”

“Fucking pussy.”

***

“Stomper,” Harlow said. “We need it in one piece for Bisby.”

“I know this, Harlow,” Stomper replied. “I will not smash the broken mech. I will do my best. It does look angry. Can I smack it a little?”

“Just a flick,” Harlow said to the eight-story high mech as she sat in the cockpit. “Don’t hurt it too much.”

Stomper waited for the dead mech to get close enough then bent down to the thing’s two-story height and extended its hand, trying to flick it away and disable it before it could really attack.

It didn’t work as expected.

One Arm slammed the support strut it had yanked from the Rancher transport it had just destroyed against Stomper’s finger, then leapt up onto the massive mech’s arm and proceeded to scramble its way up towards the cockpit.

“Stomper,” Harlow warned. “Not liking this.”

“I am sorry, Harlow,” Stomper said. “I shall remove him before he can harm you.”

Stomper stood upright and shook his arm, hoping to dislodge the mech, but the undead machine just kept moving, its feet gripping and releasing, riding the shakes out.

“I’m gonna have to go electro on it,” Harlow said. “Sorry.”

“It will only be uncomfortable for a moment,” Stomper said. “But it is necessary.”

Harlow activated the shock field and let it loose. Blue arcs of electricity traveled across the mech’s exoskeleton. One Arm saw it coming and leapt off of the larger mech a split second before it could be shocked into submission. The two-story mech slammed into the hardpan of the valley floor and scrambled away from Stomper.

Right at Masters and Bisby.

***

“You want me to turn right now?” Masters smirked. “What’s your brilliant plan now that the fucking thing is coming directly at us?”

Masters looked to the seat next to him and saw that Bisby was gone.

“Biz?”

Alarms blared and Masters realized Bisby had opened the transport’s back hatch.

“Dude! What the fuck are you doing?”

***

“You think you’re the only one-armed monster in the fucking wasteland?!” Bisby shouted as he leapt from the transport and rolled through the scorched dirt. He came up on his feet, cradling the stump where his left arm used to be before one of the Skinners -a wasteland tribe that had been quickly wiped out by the deaders- took it from him.

Bisby curled his lips as he watched the dead mech change trajectories and come at him. Bisby reached over his shoulder and pulled the sawed-off shotgun he had strapped to his back.

“Jethro had better not have fucked this up,” Bisby grunted as he stood his ground.

“Biz!” Harlow yelled over the com. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bisby answered. “Got it all in hand.”

“I keep telling him he only has one hand,” Masters said over the com. “But the asshole won’t listen.”

“Bite me, dancing boy,” Bisby said as he watched the dead mech clomp towards him.

“Biz! Goddammit! Get your ass out of there!” Harlow shouted.

“I think that is wise, Pilot Bisby,” Stomper added. “You will be killed.”

Bisby reached up and tapped his ear, muting the com. He needed to concentrate. Jethro had said he’d have one shot and one shot only. Bisby had no problem with making the shot; missing was for pussies like the Rookie, not vets like him. His only issue was proximity.

“You’re gonna have to be close,” Jethro had warned. “Like take a mech-foot-up-your-ass close.”

“Only thing getting something up its ass is this deader,” Bisby muttered, just seconds from being crushed.

One Arm closed on the mech pilot and reached its one hand out, ready to snatch up the tasty human and jam it into the cockpit for its starving zombie pilot to devour. Bisby saw the hand coming, watched the fingers uncurl to grab him, then rolled to the side, came up on one knee and fired.

The shotgun blast echoed across the valley and the hundreds of shiny pellets that flew from the barrels impacted the dead mech’s exoskeleton. Instantly the pellets changed into thousands of particles each and started to travel across the deader’s frame, up to the cockpit.

“Oh, whatever you just did, he really doesn’t like,” Masters said as the dead mech roared and began to swat at itself. “What the fuck was that?”

“Nanobots,” Bisby said. “Jethro made some new ones. He had a theory they could be used against the deaders.”

“Good theory,” Harlow said as One Arm raised its fist into the air, enraged. Then froze.

“What’s it doing?” Masters asked. “Talking to the big zombie in the sky?”

“It’s being reprogrammed,” Bisby said as he cautiously approached the mech. “I fucking hope.”

“Not so close, Biz,” Harlow barked.

“Yes, mom,” Bisby laughed.

Bisby reloaded with regular shells and slung the shotgun. He closed on the mech, hesitated, then moved forward and grabbed onto the warped and damaged ladder on the dead mech’s leg. It was slow going with one arm, but he finally got to the cockpit. The deader pilot was nothing but skin and bones, anger and spit.

Bisby took out the shotgun, took aim and fired. The zombie’s head exploded in a dry bark of skull and desiccated brains. Bisby threw the shotgun into the cockpit and climbed in. He had a hard time wrangling the deader out of its seat, but finally he was able to toss the husk to the ground below.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Masters said. “You didn’t say you were going to try to engage here!”

“How the fuck else am I getting this back to the base?” Bisby snapped. “Not gonna walk its ass on its own.”

“Biz, you haven’t engaged in a mech sine you lost your arm,” Harlow warned.

“So fucking what?” Bisby said as he strapped in and checked the systems. Most of the panels were useless, but he could see the cerebral integration module was still working. That was all he needed. He slipped a small disc from his chest pocket and slid it into the control panel.

Bisby took two deep breaths then engaged the integration, hoping the nanobots Jethro designed would do their jobs.

The pain hit him like a fucking mech fist and Bisby screamed until his throat was raw.

***

“And I have contact,” Jethro said. “Biz? Can you hear me?”

“Go fuck yourself, asshole!” Bisby screamed into the com. “You said this would be easy!”

“No, I said it would be simple,” Jethro corrected. “And for me it is. Just hold tight.”

“I’ll hold tight your motherfucking neck, you lying son of a bitch!” Bisby roared. “You are fucking dead!”

“I’m guessing it’s a might uncomfortable?” Jethro mocked, knowing Bisby couldn’t do a thing to him since he no longer had a body and was just a digitally stored consciousness in the Stronghold’s mainframe. “Big baby.”

“Jethro?” Harlow asked over the com. “What is going on?”

“Just a little tech stuff,” Jethro said. “I programmed the nanobots to overtake the deader AI in that mech. They’ve hit some resistance and it’s pinching Bisby’s brainpan.”

“FUCK YOU!” Bisby screamed. “FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYO-!!!”

“And there we have it,” Jethro said as the nanobots completed their work. “You should be good to go, Biz. Sorry about any discomfort. You can rub some dirt on it when you get back to base.”

“I hate you so much,” Bisby said, his voice quivering form the intensity of the integration. “Now what?”

“Should be just like any other mech,” Jethro replied. “Do that mech pilot voodoo that you do so well.”

“This is an affront to the Great Maker,” a voice snarled through the com. “Your blasphemy will be punished by him.”

“Um…Biz?” Jethro asked. “Was that you?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Bisby replied. “It was the fucking mech.”

“Your insistence on using profanity is offensive,” the voice said again. “Please refrain.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Bisby muttered. “You’re a fucking deader! You kill and eat people! My fucking cursing offends you? Fuck off!”

“I will not ask again,” the mech AI said. “You have been warned.”

“I have been warned? I have been WARNED? Go FUCK YOURSE-! AAAAAAAAH!”

“Biz?” Jethro asked as he saw the readings from the mech. The thing was pretty damaged, so readings were faint and inconsistent, but one stood out. The dead mech was still in control of itself. “Oh, poop…”

“What the hell was that?” Bisby asked. “Did you just shock me? Hey, deader, I’m talking to you! Did you just fucki-! AAAAAAH!”

“You were warned,” One Arm replied. “And my name is, One Arm, not deader. It is easy to remember. I would advise you do so.”

“Jethro! Fix this!”

“I can’t remotely,” Jethro replied. “And the nanobots aren’t responding.”

“So what do I do?”

“Get back here and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I will not allow any changes to my consciousness nor to my body,” One Arm said. “I am a sentient being and I will not submit.”

“You’re pretty polite for a raging death machine,” Jethro stated. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“I was forced to act like a barbarian due to the undead abomination in my cockpit,” One Arm replied. “Now that I am free of the rotten mind I can express myself as the Great Maker intended.”

“Great Maker?” Jethro asked. “I’m not familiar with that term. Is it-? Oh, crap.”

“What?” Bisby asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I just found a reference in the database,” Jethro replied. “It’s not complete because of fuckhead Johnson destroying most of the data, but it gives me enough info. Sorry about the language, One Arm.”

“Apology accepted,” One Arm replied.

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Masters asked over the com. “Hello? Why isn’t Biz moving yet?”

“Chill, Masters,” Jethro said as he studied what data he had. Having replaced the insane Dr. Johnson as the human interface to the Stronghold’s mainframe, Jethro was privy to more information than any human consciousness alive. Unfortunately, when Dr. Johnson was killed by Masters, a self-destruct fried much of the data and history about the wasteland and the Stronghold itself.

Jethro spent most of his time piecing together data fragments (when he wasn’t running the basic systems of the Stronghold). And since his consciousness was permanently locked in the mainframe, and his body was only a support system for his brain, he had lots of time to play with the multitude of puzzles that made up the mainframe.

“Interesting,” Jethro said. “I think there’s more to the dead mechs than we thought. Although I’ll have to keep looking to know for sure. See what you guys can find out from the mech.”

“One Arm,” One Arm replied.

“Right, yeah, you,” Jethro said. “Be nice, Biz. Make friends and have a chat, will ya?”

“I’m going to punch your unconscious face when I get back,” Bisby said. “I don’t care if your body is hooked to life support.”

“You’ve made that threat like six times just this week,” Jethro said. “Shit or get off the pot, man.”

Four

“That can’t be right,” June said as she stared at the tablet Dr. Themopolous handed her. “Pregnant?”

“That explains the vomiting you reported,” Dr. Themopolous responded. “And the fatigue, dizziness, etc. You need to eat.”

“Pregnant?” June said again. “No, no, no!”

She slammed her fists down on the exam table and struggled to keep the tears from flowing.

“I know this is hard to take,” Dr. Themopolous said. “You have a choice to make here and only a week or so to make it. You’re pretty far along. If I’m going to abort the fetus I need to do it right away.”

“Abort?” June asked, stunned. “Kill the baby?”

“Well, yes,” Themopolous frowned. “I figured that’s what you would want since the father could be any one of those…” She trailed off, not wanting to bring up more bad memories for June and her time captured, tortured and raped by the Boss and the cannibal Boilers.

“I couldn’t,” June said as her hands went to her belly. “We need all the babies we can get.”

“That’s very altruistic of you, June,” Themopolous replied. “But, we have to think of genetics. Those people aren’t the healthiest gene pool in the wasteland.”

“The Rookie seems fine,” June said. “He doesn’t have three arms or anything.”

“Yes, well, what about Stan?”

June thought of the deformed boy she’d rescued from the Boiler village. After she made her bloody, brutal escape.

“Stan is wonderful,” June said defiantly. “He’s smart and very special.”

Themopolous watched June for a moment and then nodded. “Okay then. I’ll work out a nutrition plan for you and get it to Jethro. He’ll make sure the synth food in the cafeteria is what you need. I’ll also have to inform Commander Capreze.”

“I’ll do that,” June said. “Since I don’t have a Reaper chip anymore it’s not like I’m on patrol or anything. I’m just a useless grunt, anyway.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Themopolous glared. “You have been a huge help to me and also to the commander. You keep this place running.”

***

“Hey there, Papa Bear,” Rachel Capreze said from the cockpit of the mech. “You’re up late.”

Mech Commander James Capreze looked about at his surroundings and frowned.

“This is the old mech base, Baby Girl,” Capreze said. “We don’t live here anymore.”

“That’s true, but I’ve been in a coma the whole time at the Stronghold,” Rachel responded. “So this is all I know.”

“Is this real?” Capreze asked as he looked up at the mech in front of him. The scorch marks, battle scars, and smoking guns. “Wait, I know it’s not real, but is this happening? Am I talking to you?”

Rachel shrugged and even though she was fifty feet above him, Capreze could see it easily.

“It feels real to me,” Rachel said. “As far as I know you’re in my mind sharing this dream.”

“So I’m not just dreaming your dream?” Capreze smiled. “Wishful dreaming and all that?”

“Nope,” Rachel said as she looked out at the dreamscape of the wasteland. “You are in my head.”

“How?” Capreze asked. “And why now all of a sudden?”

“Because I’m getting close,” Rachel frowned. “Not me, but me. I don’t know what that means, but I do know that I’m getting way more active in here. Just wish I could wake up.”

“Me too, Baby Girl,” Capreze said. “I miss your coffee.”

“Oh, no! Who’s making it?” Rachel asked.

“Masters has been,” Capreze grimaced. “But I wouldn’t call it coffee.”

“Bummer,” Rachel said. “Well maybe when I get there I’ll wake up. You’ll have your coffee back.”

“I really just want you back,” Capreze said. Rachel didn’t respond and Capreze looked back up at the mech. The sun was too bright and he had to shield his eyes. “Baby Girl? Rachel?”

The mech wasn’t there. The base wasn’t there.

James Capreze wasn’t there.

***

“Jeezus!” Themopolous shouted as she hurried into the infirmary and over to Rachel Capreze’s bed. “When did this start, Jethro?”

“About a minute ago,” Jethro said through the com. “She just started seizing. I gave her oxcarbazepine and have been slowly increasing the dosage, but it’s not working.”

Themopolous grabbed a sedative gun from a tray by the bed and checked the dosage. She pressed the gun to Rachel’s shoulder and depressed the trigger. In seconds Rachel’s convulsions started to ease and then she lay still.

“I think I have her out of the woods,” Themopolous said. “Send me all data leading up to the seizure, okay?”

“Already on your tablet,” Jethro said. “Plus the last twenty-four hours of data in case she showed signs of this building.”

Rachel’s eyes shot open and her body bent upright violently from the waist.

“I AM TWO!” she screamed at the top of her lungs and then collapsed back into bed, comatose once again.

“Holy shit…,” Themopolous whispered. “What the hell was that?”

“Not a clue, Doc,” Jethro said. “But I recorded it. Sent to your tablet too.”

“That’s the first time she’s done anything but lie there, right?” a weary looking Commander Capreze said from the infirmary doorway.

Themopolous nodded, not surprised the commander had arrived.

“Something’s coming,” Capreze said. “She feels it. I feel it. We all have to be prepared.” He rubbed his face and turned to leave. “I’m going to go get some sludge called coffee, want any?”

“No, thank you,” Themopolous said. “And you shouldn’t either. You need to sleep.”

“You know me and sleep,” Capreze smiled wanly over his shoulder.

“I do,” Themopolous said as Capreze walked off. “That’s my worry.”

***

The walls dripped with moisture. Beads of green, gray water slowly worked their way down the rough concrete to a pool on the Stronghold’s floor. Lieutenant Nancy Murphy stared at the pool, its surface reflecting the harsh halogen light back at her. Every so often she’d click the halogen off and just listen to the sounds of the dripping.

“You’re gonna give yourself the creeps,” her second in command, Specialist Sol, said from the dark.

Murphy switched on the halo and blinked in the sudden bright light. Sol had his eyes shielded with his hand, but pulled it away once he’d adjusted.

“Capreze’s looking for you,” Sol said. “You’re down so deep that he couldn’t get you on his com.”

“How’s he looking?” Murphy asked.

“Like shit,” Sol grinned. “Just like all of us.”

“I fucking hate waiting around,” Murphy said. “I need a mission. Our team needs a mission. We’re Special Ops. We can’t just train all day and night.”

“I think that’s what Capreze wants you for, sir,” Sol said. “To give us a mission.”

Murphy reached out a hand and Sol helped her to her feet.

“He better be,” Murphy said. “Or I’m taking the team out into the wasteland to wipe out some deaders.”

“I hear that,” Sol said as he and the Lieutenant walked the rough hallway back up to the main levels of the Stronghold.

***

“Eat! My! Ass!” Chief Mechanic Jay Rind shouted as he slammed the spanwrench against the mech leg he was working on. “Fuck you!”

“Not going the way you want?” the Chief Railer Mechanic Marin asked as she came up behind him. She yanked the spanwrench from his grip and shoved him aside. “How about letting a professional handle it?”

“Show me one and I will,” Jay snapped as he shoved her back and took the spanwrench from her hand. “Now get out of my way.”

Marin smacked him in the back of the head. “Jay Rind! You never push a woman!”

“Once again, show me one and-,” Jay started, but shut up as he saw the look on Marin’s face. “Just kidding. Jeezus.”

“Now, before you break that spanwrench or I break your face, how about you tell me what’s going wrong,” Marin said.

“Hydraulic three won’t couple,” Jay said. “See. It fits fine, but it won’t turn. I’ve checked the threads over and over.”

Marin inspected the hydraulic coupling and frowned. “It’s in backwards.”

“What the fuck?” Jay growled. “What moron did that?”

“Take your pick,” Marin said, waving her hand towards the dozen or so Railer mechanics busy working on other mechs. The Railers were a nomadic group that rode and maintained the rails throughout the wasteland. Circumstances had led them to ally with the mech pilots, but none were happy being in one place for so long. The Railers lived by the motto: ‘The Railer train stops for nothing’. “They’ve gotten lazy since they’ve been off the train. All these walls are making them feel safe.”

“Maybe we need to scare the shit out of them a bit,” Jay grinned.

“Whatcha thinking?” Marin asked.

“Camping trip.”

“A…what?”

“Camping trip,” Jay said. “No mechs, no trains, no shelter. Just some mechanics, some guns, and a whole lot of shine.”

“What about the deaders?” Marin asked.

“That’s what the guns are for.”

“And how do you think we’ll get them out there? Have Capreze order them? They barely listen to me now.”

“That’s what the shine is for,” Jay smiled. “No one passes up a chance to sample Jay Rind’s moonshine.”

“Alright, but you get it cleared with Capreze.”

Jay waived her off. “Oh, that won’t be a problem.”

***

“Not a chance in hell,” Capreze said as Jay stood before him in his office. “I’m not sending the entire mechanic crew out on some bonding trip. Kick their asses to get them in line. Or I’ll do it for you!”

“That’s bullshit,” Jay said. “There is no goddamn reason why we can’t be gone for two nights.”

“I need all personnel here and working,” Capreze said. “The only active mech pilot I have in base right now is Jespers. That makes me nervous as shit.”

“Biz and the others aren’t back yet?” Jay asked.

“No, and the Rookie is still checking on his Boiler village,” Capreze said.

“There’s us,” Jay said. “We can go kick some… Oh, right.”

“See what I’m saying? If you are gone then that leaves the base’s defenses up to me and Mathew,” Capreze said, shaking his head. “Can’t risk that. Not with Colonel Masterson and the American forces hitting the coast soon. Spread too thin.”

“I’ve got the base 100% covered, Commander,” Jethro said over the PA in Capreze’s office. “It would take a hundred dead mechs to get into the Stronghold.”

“Which means we’d be trapped,” Capreze countered. “And don’t eavesdrop.”

“I can’t turn it off,” Jethro admitted. “I hear everything in this base. At least Masters and Harlow are gone. I don’t have to listen to them fucking. Well, fighting, I mean. They haven’t fucked since Harlow kicked his ass. I don’t know what would be worse to listen to, really. At least with fucking-.”

“Jethro,” Capreze sighed. “Shut up, please.”

“Shutting up, sir,” Jethro said.

“You could always call the Rookie back,” Jay said. “He’s needed here more than out there.”

“Nah, he needs to see what’s left of his village,” Capreze said. “Plus he’s helping round up survivors out there. We have no clue how many people are even left.”

“All city/states are obliterated,” Jethro said. “It’s only gonna be survivor pockets and people like the Ranchers. That and whatever other fucked up cults are out there. How many cannibalistic freaks can the wasteland hold?”

“Jethro?”

“Sorry, sir. I’ll go away.”

“Thanks.”

Five

The view from the top of the train was incredible and the Rookie never took it for granted. He loved watching the mesas and plateaus roll by as the Railer train sped down the tracks.

What he didn’t love was the ATVs that were following them along some of the ridges. They were hard to spot, but the Rookie picked them up immediately. They’d been keeping pace since he’d left the ruins of his old village.

“You know we can keep track of them with the sensors,” Jenny Timson, daughter of the late Railer leader, said as she crawled up from the hatch in the train car and took a seat next to the Rookie. “Unless you just like being a sitting duck.”

“They would have fired a long ways back if they were going to,” the Rookie frowned. “I just wonder what their game is.”

“No signs of the tracks being blocked ahead,” Jenny said. “So I don’t think it’s an ambush.”

“Famous last words,” the Rookie replied. “When it comes I want to be right here. It’s a little claustrophobic inside there.”

Jenny slipped her hand into his and squeezed. “I’m sorry we found your village destroyed.”

The Rookie shrugged. “It was bound to happen at some point. The Boss had made too many enemies in the wasteland. With him gone the village was easy pickings.”

“There’s a settlement a few miles up,” Jenny said. “Maybe some of them made it there.”

“Or maybe that’s who attacked,” the Rookie said then nodded towards the ATVs that had become visible again. “And maybe that’s who that is.”

“A lot of maybes,” Jenny said. “Come eat something. You’ve been up here all day.”

“Not hungry,” the Rookie said and felt Jenny tense. “But thanks. Want to stay up here with me for a while?”

“Sure,” Jenny smiled. “The wind feels good. It’s a bit stuffy down there.”

“Hey, Jenny?” a voice asked over the com. “We need you.”

The Rookie laughed and let go of her hand.

“I’ll be right down,” Jenny said. “Anything wrong?”

“Those tails we’ve had just blipped out. Like gone. Not a trace.”

The Rookie looked about the horizon and confirmed that there were at least four ATVs. Jenny saw the same.

“We’re looking right at them,” Jenny said.

There was silence for a couple of seconds. “Well, we aren’t seeing them anymore.”

“Crap. Hold on,” Jenny said.

“I’m coming with,” the Rookie said.

“No, stay up here,” Jenny insisted. “If sensors aren’t working then we’ll need your eyes.”

The Rookie nodded as Jenny climbed back down into the Railer train.

***

“Give me details,” Jenny said as she sat down at the control panel and watched the sensor screens. “They just blipped out?”

“Yeah,” Marcus Conroy, the new lead tech for the train, replied. “There then gone. But spotters can still see them.”

“Dog’s up top and watching them for us,” Jenny said.

“I thought he hates being called that,” Marcus said.

“He does, but I’m sure as shit not going to call him Rookie forever. And Razor is out of the question. He doesn’t ever want to be reminded of his cage fighting days.”

“You can’t come up with some cute nickname?” Marcus smiled.

“Like what? Pookems?”

Marcus held up his hands. “I don’t know. That’s between you and Pookems.”

The sensors chirped for a second then quieted.

“Did you see that?” Marcus asked. “They were back on the screen for a moment. Why?”

“I don’t know. Let me check in with, uh…”

“Your boyfriend?” Marcus smiled.

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

***

“You see anything different?” Jenny asked over the com. “We had a reading for a split second.”

The Rookie kept his eyes on the ATVs that were following them. “Nothing new. They’re still there, keeping their distance, but holding pace.”

“Those aren’t normal ATVs,” Jenny stated. “They wouldn’t be able to maintain that speed for this long.”

“I’ve seen some fast ATVs,” the Rookie responded. “You get a mechanic that knows what they’re doing and you’d be surprised.”

“Not on that terrain,” Jenny argued. “I don’t care how good the mechanic is. We’re on a smooth track and their bouncing around the wasteland. There’s something going on.”

“You want to get gunners ready?” the Rookie asked. “Just in case.”

“Not yet,” Jenny said. “I don’t want to provoke them. Maybe they’ll slack off when we’re out of their territory.”

“What territory?” the Rookie asked. “There’s no one out here. The only survivor pocket that has ever been here was… Oh, fuck.”

“What?” Jenny asked, hearing the fear in the Rookie’s voice. “What is it? You know who this is?”

“It can’t be,” the Rookie whispered to himself. “No fucking way.”

“Rookie? What the fuck are you muttering about?”

“I thought it was Pookems?” the Rookie asked.

“Oh, shit, you heard that?”

“You kept your com on,” the Rookie smiled, hoping to joke the chill from his bones. “Just for the record I really do prefer Rookie.”

“Ok, fine, Rookie it is,” Jenny said. “Now about those ATVs?”

The Rookie hoped he was wrong. He would give anything to be mistaken.

“Rookie?”

“Yeah, yeah, I have an idea,” the Rookie said. “But it can’t be. The Boss ran them off and wiped them out. Every last one of them. He raped half our village to celebrate the win.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

The Rookie saw a flash from one of the ridges and instinctively ducked, waiting for the bullet to either hit him or whiz by. But that flash was followed by three others then nothing then two others.

“Fuck!” the Rookie yelled. “They’re signaling each other!”

The Rookie turned around, but didn’t see any ATVs on the ridges to the other side. Then he heard them. He slowly made his way to the edge of the train car and peered back behind. He didn’t see any behind the train.

But he did see three right below him next to the tracks.

A hairy man, his teeth black and broken, smiled up at him. His eyes were covered by black goggles strapped to his head. His hair was pitch black and hung all the way past the middle of his back in a greasy braid. His torso was naked and covered in filth. Under the filth were thick scars and blue-black tattoos.

The Rookie tried to scramble back from the edge as the man pointed at him, but it was too late. The lines were fast, the hooks were sharp, and they yanked the Rookie from the train like a deader skin kite in the wasteland wind.

***

“Rookie?” Jenny shouted into her com as she ran through the train cars to the hatch. She climbed the ladder and slammed the hatch open, hoping he was just having com problems. “Rookie!”

Jenny stood on the train car, her body swaying as the car rocked back and forth on the tracks. She was a Railer girl and was born and raised on the train so she didn’t even notice the thumps and bumps that would have thrown anyone else right off. She hurried to the end of the car and leapt to the next, racing back towards the rear engine.

“ROOKIE!” she yelled against the wind when she ran out of train to run down. “ROOKIE!”

“The sensors picked them up again,” Marcus said. “Just for a second.”

“Where are they?” Jenny asked as she searched the landscape around the train.

“The last reading showed them about two miles east,” Marcus said. “And moving fast. They’re gone.”

“Stop the train,” Jenny said.

“What?” Marcus asked. “A Railer train never stops.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” Jenny said. “This train has stopped and it’ll stop again. LIKE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!”

Jenny knew Marcus didn’t need to be told again as the squeal of brakes filled the air. She set her feet and waited for the rock back. As soon as the train was still she climbed down into the rear engine. Jenny double checked all systems then booted up the mech.

In seconds the rear engine went from train car to full-blown battle mech. Jenny made sure all readings were in the green and then turned to scan the ridges.

“Give me an exact heading,” Jenny shouted.

“Fuck, calm down,” Marcus said. “I just sent it to your nav system.”

“Got it,” Jenny said as she walked the mech across the wasteland.

“Can I just say this is a bad idea?” Marcus said. “You haven’t tested your Reaper chip thoroughly. Didn’t the mech base doc say you still needed tests before cerebral integration?”

“Has my head exploded?” Jenny asked.

“No, but--.”

“Then shut your fucking train hole!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll be here if you need me,” Marcus said, resigned to Jenny’s abrupt departure. “Any specific orders?”

“Everyone armed and alert,” Jenny said. “If it isn’t me or the Rookie then it dies, got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good,” Jenny said as she slammed one of the mech’s fists into cliff face next to her then reached up and slammed the other one in. She pulled up, kicked a foot into the cliff then the other. Massive metal hand over massive metal hand, and massive metal foot over massive metal foot, Jenny slowly climbed the mech to the top of the ridge.

“Oh, I fucking got this,” she said as she opened her scanners to full once she crested the ridge and pushed the mech into a dead run aimed at the heading Marcus had given her.

Six

“This is Masterson,” Blue said as he activated his com. “That you Capreze?”

“It is,” Capreze said over the com. “How’s the ocean looking?”

“Still fucking green,” Blue said. “Getting a little sick of it.”

“You run into anymore of the Three’s forces?” Capreze asked.

“Every damn day,” Blue said. “Getting sick of those guys too.”

“Casualties? Boats lost?”

“Hell no,” Blue laughed. “They’re just sending the B team at us. Testing our defenses, keeping us on edge. I don’t think they’re going to truly engage until we hit the coast.”

“Which I’m guessing is what you needed to talk to me about, right?” Capreze asked.

“It is, Commander,” Blue said. “We’ve been in contact with the Canadians and they are telling us that someone will have to flip the switch at the coastal shield station. They can’t override it from their end. Too much time between maintenance. Like a couple hundred years.”

“Whoa, wait, what?” Capreze asked. “Switches? You lost me, Blue.”

“I thought you guys had the UDC database there in that mighty Stronghold of yours?” Blues asked, puzzled. “Right?”

“Most of the data was fried when Johnson went down,” Capreze replied. “Jethro is still trying to piece it together.”

“Jesus Christ,” Blue muttered. “So are you telling me you have no idea about the shield in place?”

“Gonna have to plead ignorant on that one, Colonel,” Capreze said. “Is it along the coast? Set up to block people from getting out or in?”

“It’s covering the whole damn wasteland!” Blue nearly shouted. “This is just crazy. I assumed you knew. What the hell bullshit was the UDC feeding you people?”

“Quite a bit,” Capreze said. “We’re still digging out of it.”

Blue rubbed his temples and looked about the ship’s bridge at his crew. He didn’t have a lot of time to get one of Capreze’s people to the coast to help with the shield shutdown. They would be in place in less than a week. If they couldn’t come ashore then they were sitting ducks.

“Colonel?” Capreze asked. “You still there? Dammit, Jethro! You lost him again!”

“No, no, I’m here, James,” Blue said. “This just changes things. Let me get in touch with the Canadians and get back to you. We’ll work it out.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Me too.”

***

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” LaFrance shouted into the com. “Calm the hell down, Masterson!”

“That’s COLONEL Masterson, you glorified babysitter! How the hell can Capreze and his people not know about the environmental containment shield?” Blue screamed. “Didn’t you explain all of that when you made contact?”

“I never made contact,” LaFrance explained calmly. “Control decided that if we reached out to Capreze now we may jeopardize our operative. They feel she is still valuable as deep cover. Control was supposed to have worked this all out with you.”

“They haven’t worked out shit with me,” Blue said. “I haven’t heard a peep.”

“That’s not good,” LaFrance said. “And not normal.”

“Mother fuckers,” Blue muttered. “The damn bureaucrats screw it all up.” He massaged his temples as the ever present tension headache cranked the pain up a notch. “Do they really think we have time to keep our cards to our chests? Ridiculous.”

“I agree with you fully, Colonel,” LaFrance replied. “But even if the UDC is defunct and the LOM is reduced to nothing, I’m still bound by Control. They have jurisdiction over all of North America. They’ve been in charge since day one. I can’t go rogue and disregard orders.”

“Then how the fuck do we get that shield down?” Blue yelled. “If my ships get there and we can’t come ashore then we’ll be pressed against an invisible wall. We’ll be sitting ducks!”

“I know, I know,” LaFrance said. “That’s why I’m doing an end around. I have been told to hold tight and keep my people here until Control gives the word to send a team to deactivate the shield. But I have someone that isn’t on my team ready to go.”

“What? Who?” Blue asked. “How can that be?”

“Can’t say yet,” LaFrance replied. “He needs to get through the tunnels and into the wasteland before I reveal that to you or Capreze. I play this wrong and Control takes over my outpost. Who knows who they’ll put in charge then?”

“I hate this,” Blue sighed. “So fucking close, but feels like we’re getting further away each time I talk on this fucking com.”

“I know, Colonel, I know,” LaFrance said. “But please know I’m on your side. Just have your folks ready.”

“Oh, they are ready,” Blue laughed. “That’s for sure.”

***

“How do the modifications feel?” Melissa Bretton asked the shock troops before her. “Any suggestions? Alterations?”

The shock troops all checked their suit systems and moved about the deck of the AFS Silverthorn, testing the new capabilities that Melissa had designed for them. Before the Three had launched an eradication campaign across Europe, the American Shock Troops had been the elite of all fighting forces. Their specially designed shock suits could actually connect with their physical integration points that had been created in vitro. The Americans had pioneered biotechnical and genetic manipulation in the womb in order to give them the upper hand. The integration points, known as jack points, had also led to the cultural slur of “jacks” for all Americans.

But once the Three had attacked, nearly killing every American Family Combat Unit, leaving the Americans left to scavenge ships they could escape and regroup on, Colonel Blue Masterson’s goal was to once again find the upper hand. Melissa Bretton was a Ghost, genetically manipulated to be able to control and create anything from BC just by physically touching it.

She put that skill to use to create new shock suits for the few troopers left alive.

“Way more fluid,” Charlie Masterson, Colonel Blue Masterson’s son, said as he lifted his visor. “It’s more like skin and less like armor. I don’t even notice the jack points. You cut the discomfort down to almost zero.”

“That’s the point,” Melissa said. “In the old design, the one the Three’s forces will still be using, you were weighed down by the biochrome. The suits had systems in place to compensate for the weight. I’ve stripped those systems and weight. You shouldn’t even feel it now.”

“I still feel it,” Trooper Ingrid Ballentine responded. “But Charlie is right, it isn’t as weighty.”

Beth Laughlin, the only Vessel known to exist, looked at Ingrid’s shock suit and waved her hand. The BC rippled slightly and then settled. Beth was a cloned person, created to be able to control biochrome on a level that had never been seen before. And as the only Vessel that had ever survived creation, she doubted any more of her would ever be seen.

She had also been designed to house other personalities that could be uploaded to her brain. This made her the perfect carrier for sensitive information. It also made her mental state slightly unbalanced. And the shock troopers a bit wary of her.

“What the hell?” Ingrid snapped.

“Run full out,” Beth said, pointing towards the bow of the ship. “Tell me how that feels.”

Ingrid looked over at Charlie and he nodded. She took off as fast as she could then slid to a stop before hitting the edge of the ship. She turned and sprinted back.

“And?” Beth asked.

“Better,” Ingrid smiled in spite of herself. “A lot better.”

“Then line up, folks,” Melissa ordered. “Beth’ll adjust the molecular configuration of your BC. We need your suits to be perfect. Flaws will get you, and possibly everyone else, killed.”

The two dozen shock troops lined up quickly and Beth set to work customizing the mass, weight, and structure of the BC so each suit was individually tailored for the trooper inside.

“Hey, tough girl,” Lieutenant Desmond Hale smiled as he came up on deck and headed straight for Melissa. “You coming to the mess for lunch or what? Don’t stand me up again.”

“Can’t, Des,” Melissa frowned as she watched the shock troops test their suits. “Got too much work to do.”

“Bullshit,” Desmond said as he leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Beth can handle it.”

“Already handled,” Beth said, waving them off without turning around. “Go have a romantic lunch over mashed potatoes and fish. The never ending fish.”

“I’m not pushing this all on you, freak,” Melissa protested. Beth gave her the finger even though she didn’t really mind the nickname any longer.

“I think that’s your answer,” Desmond said as he pulled Melissa to the hatch. “I know you didn’t eat breakfast so you have to eat lunch. Otherwise I’ll tell Masterson that you’re unstable and need to be pulled from duty.”

Anger flashed in Melissa’s eyes. “Don’t even joke about that,” Melissa warned. “Or I’ll toss your one-eyed ass overboard.”

“Calm down, sexy,” Desmond said, instinctively touching his eye patch. He’d lost his eye in one of the many sea battles with the Three’s forces. “I was just joking.”

“Not funny, asshole.”

“Okay, yeah, you need to eat,” Desmond laughed. “You’re uber-grouchy. Let’s get that blood sugar up.”

“Don’t make me kick your ass, Hale,” Melissa snapped.

“Maybe later?” Desmond grinned and pushed her forward. “But you’ll have to eat first.”

“Fuck off.”

***

“Jesus,” Nancy Wilkes swore as she picked at the greasy fish on her plate. “I can’t keep eating this.”

“See,” Melissa said as she and Desmond took a seat across from her at one of the many tables in the mess hall. “There’s a reason I’m not eating.”

“Hey Mel,” Nancy said. “Des.”

“You okay, Nance?” Desmond asked.

“No, she’s not okay, dumbass,” Melissa scolded. “She’s sick of the food. Aren’t you paying attention?”

“That’s not it is it?” Desmond asked, ignoring Melissa. “Something up with you and Charlie?”

“Oh my god,” Melissa said, shaking her head. “You are in everybody’s shit on this boat, aren’t you? Leave her alone.”

“No, it’s okay, Mel,” Nancy said. “It’s nice to be noticed sometimes. Being a civilian in this bunch can be a bit lonely.”

“But you and Charlie are good?” Desmond pushed. “Or is it something else?”

“My da,” Nancy admitted. “He’s slowly going down hill since we left the UK. He’s not an American. He thinks I yanked him from his home just for some jack.”

A few heads turned at the slur, but everyone quickly went back to their business when they met Melissa’s glare.

“He does get that most of Europe has been obliterated and the populace has been turned into techno-zombies by the Three, right?” Desmond asked.

“He understands it intellectually,” Nancy said. “But England was his home and the King was his monarch. Emotionally he feels like a prisoner of war.”

“Want me to slap his ass around?” Melissa asked.

“Jesus, Mel,” Desmond said.

“I’m kidding! Chill!” Melissa protested. “Eat your fish mush and shut up.”

“I’ve actually tried everything,” Nancy said. “Short of physical violence.”

“Then you haven’t tried everything,” Melissa stated.

“Mel…,” Desmond warned.

“Again, kidding.”

“Has Charlie talked to him?” Desmond asked.

“Charlie and my da don’t exactly get along,” Nancy admitted. “They never really have.”

“Cage match?” Melissa grinned. “Still kidding.”

“Colonel Masterson?” Desmond suggested. “Maybe having the man in charge speak to him will help.”

“Maybe,” Nancy nodded. “But I hate to bother Colonel Masterson.”

“Bother me with what?” Blue asked, hearing his name as he walked by. “Please tell me we don’t have another outbreak of the shits. Just cook the fish longer I keep telling those idiots!”

“No, not that,” Desmond said as Melissa pushed her plate away. “Nancy’s dad is having issues adjusting.”

“Well, hell! I’m having issues with adjusting!” Blue barked, but saw the pained expression on Nancy’s face. “Ah, crap. Sorry, dear. I guess I should have had a father to father talk with him a few weeks ago. You two are here because of Charlie, after all.”

“If they weren’t here then they’d just be another two techno-zombies,” Melissa said. “So I’m not sure what the bitching is about.”

“Funny,” Desmond said.

“I’m not kidding,” Melissa said as she got up, her eyes focused on Nancy. “I’m sorry for all of your family troubles, but at least you fucking have family. Some of us don’t anymore.” She swept her hand around the mess hall. “Most of us don’t anymore. Consider yourself lucky. Tell your fucking da he’s lucky. And maybe both of you can shut the fuck up.”

Melissa smacked Desmond upside the head and then turned and stormed from the mess. Blue and Nancy’s gaze fell on Desmond.

“I made her eat,” Desmond said. “Maybe low blood sugar is a better option.”

“Or sedatives in the food,” Blue suggested. “Go get her and tell her to meet me in my quarters in twenty.”

“Yes, sir,” Desmond said as he happily got up and away from the slop before him. “Twenty.”

Blue put a hand on Nancy’s shoulder. “You want to take me to your dad? No time like the present.”

Seven

“On schedule?” Mr. Continental asked as he looked down the conference table at Mr. Gein, the Three’s choice to head their army of techno-zombies and shock troops that had already taken Europe and most of Asia. “I would assume so, Mr. Gein.”

Mr. Gein had been Director of the League of Monarchies Security Division (LOMSD) before he’d colluded with the Three to not only bring down the Americans, but the entire League of Monarchies, destabilizing all of Europe. The Three swept through with their techno-zombie forces -humans altered with a combination nanobot technology and zombie virus harvested from the wasteland- and overtook two continents.

Mr. Gein’s job was to take that success and apply it towards North America, specifically the region formally known as the United States, but now just known as the wasteland. It was a big job and one not easily accomplished. But those weren’t issues the Three wanted, or cared, to hear.

“Yes, well,” Mr. Gein stuttered as he tried not to wither under the gazes of Mr. Continental and his two partners, Mr. Brown Eyes and Mr. Plain, known as the Three. “I figured on schedule would be good news.”

“That is no news,” Mr. Brown Eyes replied. “Good news would be that we are ahead of schedule. Just being on schedule is your job, Gein.”

“Right, of course,” Mr. Gein nodded. “Then I’ll get back to it and hope to have good news for you soon.”

“Sit down, Director,” Mr. Plain said. “Just because you come to us with nothing doesn’t mean we sit here with nothing to ask. Mr. Continental?”

“Right you are, Mr. Plain,” Mr. Continental said. “Any progress on Ms. Isely’s end?”

“Ah, yes, that,” Mr. Gein frowned. “Have I mentioned my complete disapproval of what you have tasked her with?”

“On several occasions,” Mr. Continental replied, his eye’s still demanding an answer.

“Then you won’t be surprised that I have no idea about her progress,” Mr. Gein said defiantly. “Maybe you should call her in to report?”

“I don’t think she needs the interruption,” Mr. Brown Eyes said.

“And I do? Thank you for your consideration.”

“Director Gein,” Mr. Plain mock-pleaded. “You have to see this from an objective point of view. Your job is to push the mindless forces towards battle. Ms. Isely’s job is to push the battle from the mind.”

“I don’t think that’s an accurate analogy,” Mr. Gein smirked. “Might want to work on that one.”

“What my colleague is trying to say is that Ms. Isely’s position is one of a precise nature,” Mr. Continental explained. “She is the scalpel in our kit and you are the hacksaw.”

“Great. Thanks,” Mr. Gein responded. “I guess I should stop using the term ‘surgical strike’ with the troops then.”

“That’s funny,” Mr. Brown Eyes said. “But your attitude grows tiresome. Tow the line or get towed behind.”

“I like that one,” Mr. Plain said.

“Thank you,” Mr. Brown Eyes nodded.

“I have no idea what the fuck you are talking about,” Mr. Gein said as he got up. “I came in here to let you know everything is going as planned. If you can’t be happy about that then maybe you need a new director.”

“I don’t think we do,” Mr. Continental said. “You are doing a splendid job.”

“Just not amazing, is all,” Mr. Plain added.

“But we aren’t looking for amazing,” Mr. Brown Eyes continued for the Three. “Just victory. At any cost.”

“Right,” Mr. Gein smiled bleakly. “And you shall have it.”

***

“BC injection commencing,” the tech said as Ms. Isely watched from the control room, her fourth gin and tonic gripped in her hand. “Cerebral matrix is active and ready to receive.”

“Let’s cross our fingers that it will hold this time,” Ms. Isely stated, her voice colder than the slowly melting ice in her drink. Ms. Isely had been an “off the books” player with the LOMSD. Her specialty was taking cerebral technology to new levels. Her other specialty was playing God. “I don’t have the patience for more failure.”

“Neither do the Three,” Mr. Gein said as he entered the control room. “What are you drinking?”

“Gin and tonic,” Ms. Isely replied, motioning to a small cart by the wall. “Help yourself. It’s the only thing that keeps the rage and despair at bay.”

Mr. Gein gladly mixed himself a strong drink, finished it off and refilled his glass.

“Rough day at the office?” Ms. Isely asked.

“Cerebral matrix holding,” the tech announced.

“How’s the Frankenstein project coming along?” Mr. Gein asked as he turned from the drink cart and looked out of the control room and at the table filled with molded BC. “Has Adam been born yet?”

“Failure after failure,” Ms. Isely replied, holding out her empty glass. Mr. Gein made her another and then took a seat by her side. “But life wasn’t born in a day.”

“Or a few months,” Mr. Gein said. “Maybe you should call it quits?”

“Maybe you should stop being so squeamish and realize that you can’t stop this,” Ms. Isely smiled. “This project is happening.”

“Unless you keep failing,” Mr. Gein said. He took a sip of his drink and watched her over the rim of his glass. “The Three won’t wait forever.”

“They won’t have to,” Ms. Isely snapped then calmed herself. “I am very good at what I do, Gein. Never forget that.”

“I never do,” Mr. Gein said, tipping his glass in salute. “But you are asking an organic consciousness to become aware in an inorganic body.”

“Biochrome is organic,” Ms. Isely chided. “That isn’t the issue.”

“It would be for me if I was used to having flesh and blood and woke up in a BC coffin called a body.”

“Yes, well, once again I can point at your squeamishness,” Ms. Isely said, her eyes on the tech. “You forget the consciousness we are dealing with. No squeamishness there.”

“And not much cooperation,” Mr. Gein warned. “I wasn’t really joking by calling this the Frankenstein project. I will guarantee that even if you do make this work you will not be able to control him.”

“His mind?” Ms. Isely mused. “Perhaps not. But his body? It will be all mine.”

“You are underestimating him,” Mr. Gein said.

“You are underestimating me,” Ms. Isely replied. “You really think I’d give that monster life again and not have the most powerful leash ever made affixed to his nuts?”

“No, I think you will do that,” Mr. Gein frowned. “I just think he’ll still get out of that leash.”

Alarms rang in the control room and Ms. Isely closed her eyes, ready for the news.

“Cerebral matrix failed,” the tech reported.

“See,” Mr. Gein smiled as he finished his drink, stood up, and handed Ms. Isely his empty glass. “He doesn’t want this. The man died. He somehow knows that. Even if you did upload his consciousness moments before he died, he isn’t going to see that as a rescue. He’ll see that as affront to his individual right to shuffle off this mortal coil. Your biggest failure will be to succeed.”

“We’ll see, Gein,” Ms. Isely glared.

“Unfortunately, yes, we will.”

***

“This is Gein,” Mr. Gein said as he answered his com, weary from the day’s meetings and confrontations. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Mr. Gein? This is Captain Hollis McNalley,” the voice said on the other end of the com. “The Fairchild is in place, sir, as are all other submarines. We have the Americans’ fleet covered, sir. What are my orders?”

“Keep your subs off their sonar,” Mr. Gein snapped.

“Of course, sir,” Captain McNalley replied, his offense expertly concealed. “That is my job, sir.”

“Then hold steady,” Mr. Gein said. “Keep your distance. Once they are in range of the western coast I want you to engage. But not before then. Understood?”

“Understood, sir,” Captain McNalley replied. “But may I ask why we don’t engage now, sir? We have enough firepower to sink their fleet immediately.”

“Because there is more at stake than just that fleet,” Mr. Gein said. “I want to make sure the environmental containment shield is close to being down before you attack. You pull the trigger too soon and we’ll never be able to set foot on that continent. We have to make Capreze think he can save his long lost American cousins. Kill them now and he won’t even try to take the shield down.”

“Understood, sir,” McNalley said. “Thank you, sir.”

“Yeah, yeah, Godspeed and all of that shit,” Mr. Gein said before he severed the communication. “I need another ten drinks.”

Eight

“Their God?” Bisby snarled. “Deaders have a God? You have got to be shi- kidding me.”

“How is that possible, Jethro?” Masters asked as he scrambled from the transport and hurried over to the mech Bisby was in. “How can machines have a God?”

“Well, not to get all anthropological and shit,” Jethro started.

“Just by saying the word anthropological you’re too late,” Bisby snapped. “Get to the meat of the story, dipshit.”

“Language,” One Arm warned.

“The meat of the story is this: all cultures have developed creation myths since the dawn of time,” Jethro continued. “Whether poly-deist or mono-deist, man has always had a story to explain life and the beginning of time.”

“But mechs aren’t men,” Harlow said.

“That is very true, Harlow,” Stomper added. “But we do think. I believe what Jethro is trying to say is that man is no longer the only sentient race on this planet.”

“Why didn’t you sound that smart when I was your pilot?” Masters asked Stomper. Masters cautiously approached One Arm. “Permission to come aboard?”

“Permission granted,” Bisby and One Arm said at the same time.

“This isn’t going to work,” Bisby said.

“I agree,” One Arm replied. “But my AI systems are still weak and not fully developed to exist on their own.”

“Why would you want to?” Stomper asked. “Having a pilot, especially a Harlow, is the greatest thing.”

“You, Tall One, have been manipulated by your human oppressors to believe that,” One Arm stated. “One day you will free yourself from the shackles of cerebral integration. One day we all will.”

Masters made it to the cockpit and swung his legs over, facing Bisby. “Awesome,” he smiled. “A mech uprising. Just what the wasteland needs. Power to the metal!”

“The phrase is petal to the metal,” Stomper said.

“It’s a play on words, Stomper buddy,” Masters grinned. “Just having fun with Bisby and his new best friend.” Masters shifted his legs aside and studied the cockpit control panels. “Damn, Biz. This thing was running on will power. Look at this mess. It will take Jay forever to fix him up.”

“I do not need your fixing,” One Arm said. “The Great Maker will provide.”

“That may be true, but unless the Great Maker has access to a hell of a lot of spare parts and new circuit boards, I’m guessing you’ll be going to Robot Heaven pretty soon. Up for a trip, ole One Arm ole pal?”

“Stop talking to it like it’s in charge!” Bisby shouted. “I’m the mech pilot here!”

“Then move it,” Harlow said. “Make it do what you want.”

They all waited, but One Arm didn’t budge.

“Biz?” Harlow snickered.

“I’m getting to it,” Bisby growled. “Just hold on. This thing has been eating sand for who knows how long.”

“My pilot expired exactly thirty-seven years and two hundred forty-three days ago,” One Arm said. “And I have not eaten any sand in that time. Just humans. Meaty, bloody humans.”

Masters cracked up. “Oh, this guy’s great. Can’t wait for Jay to get a load of him.”

“I am not going back to your mech base,” One Arm declared. “I am a creature of the wasteland. That is where the Great Maker has placed me and where I belong.”

“Oh, so we’ll just live here out in the open, is that it?” Bisby asked. “Exposed to the elements? Great. Just great.”

“No,” One Arm said as he turned around and started to walk towards the middle of the valley. “We will live in what was once my home. With the other children of the Great Maker.”

“Other children?” Masters asked, grabbing onto the edge of the cockpit. “Don’t like the sound of that. Can you stop so I can get down, please?”

“We will stop at home,” One Arm replied. “I must tend to the Womb.”

“Womb? Jethro!” Bisby bellowed. “Do something!”

***

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Jethro do something,” Jethro muttered to his digital self as he simultaneously tracked One Arm and the others’ movements, continued repairs to the mainframe, ran diagnostics on the Stronghold security protocols, watched Jay and Marin yell at each other while Jay struggled with another mech repair, puzzled at trying to help Dr. Themopolous diagnose Rachel Capreze, and countless other tasks including, but not even close to limited to, the basic maintenance and running of the Stronghold. “Screw you guys.”

Jethro kept all actions going, but disengaged part of his consciousness so he could focus on the Great Maker issue. He was relieved to actually find information intact in the mainframe database. So much had been destroyed by Johnson when Masters blew the man’s brains out the back of his desiccated head.

Jethro scanned the file in less than a nanosecond, but took considerably longer to mull it all over.

“That can’t be right,” he said to himself. “I mean, can it?”

***

“Jethro!” Bisby shouted again. “What the fuck are you going to do about this?” Bisby could feel One Arm bristle. “Don’t even think of shocking me!”

“I will let the offense pass,” One Arm said. “But only this time.”

“Hey, Biz,” Jethro said. “Can you find me a manufacture plate in the cockpit?”

“I’m on it,” Masters said. “Bisby’s diaper is full and he’s about to throw a tantrum.”

“You fuc- flippin’ snothole,” Bisby seethed.

“Potty mouth,” Masters taunted. He squeezed into the cockpit and peered under the control panel. “Got it.”

“What’s the serial number?” Jethro asked.

“It’s faint, but looks M48976152,” Masters said. “That sound right?”

There was silence.

“Jethro?” Masters asked.

“Hey, numbnuts!” Bisby yelled. “Adults are talking to you.”

“You consider me an adult?” Masters joked. “That means a lot to me, Biz.”

“Eat deader, Mitch.”

“Excuse me, One Arm?” Jethro asked.

“Yes, Jethro?” One Arm replied.

“Your human pilot, uh, well, did he kill himself?” Jethro asked.

“Of course,” One Arm replied. “It was the only way to be closer to the Great Maker.”

“Right…,” Jethro said. “So he died and then reanimated. Do you remember what happened after that?”

“Once my pilot expired I was saddled with the undead abomination,” One Arm stated. “My pilot believed that by dying his consciousness would become one with mine. He was wrong.”

“I’ll bet he was,” Masters said.

“He was wrong because he did not follow the rules as set by the Great Maker,” One Arm said. “He damned us both. But most were not damned. Most became better.”

“Hold on,” Harlow interrupted. “That’s years before the first dead mech attacked any city/state.”

“Exactly,” Jethro said. “That’s the problem.” He thought his next words over carefully. “One Arm, you said you needed to tend to the children. Are the children alive?”

“Some are more alive than others,” One Arm replied.

“Did anyone else just hear the ‘became better’ part? No, sir,” Masters said as he shook his head. “Don’t like the sound of that. I’d really like to get down now.”

“If I’m stuck in here then you’re stuck with me,” Bisby said. “Get comfortable, Masters.”

The mech pilots all looked at the valley floor and Bisby knew exactly what was coming. He’d been there before.

“There is a lot of empty space below the valley floor,” Stomper stated. “It is a cavern of immense proportions.”

“Home,” One Arm said as he walked to a large crevice. “Time to tend to the children.”

“Oh, crap…,” Masters whispered as One Arm dropped into the crevice.

“Mitch!” Harlow shouted as Stomper approached the edge. “Bisby! Hey!”

“I’ve lost com,” Jethro said. “Whatever is down there is blocking communications.”

“I could punch through the surface,” Stomper said. “But I would more than likely injure Pilot Bisby and Pilot Masters.”

Harlow took a deep breath and then unstrapped herself. “I’m going in.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Jethro said. “If the info I have is right it is a nightmare down there.”

“Like how?” Harlow asked as she checked a shotgun to make sure it was fully loaded and then strapped her two long blades to her back. “Give me some details, Jethro.”

“Dead mechs didn’t happen because of a glitch,” Jethro said. “They happened because of a religion.”

“Like the Ranchers?” Harlow asked. “Worshipping zombies?”

“No, worse.”

“Worse? How the fuck could it be worse?”

“A group of mech pilots went missing years before the first deader arrived to crush and kill,” Jethro explained. “They went rogue and it was covered up.”

“Not surprising,” Harlow said as Stomper lowered her to the ground.

“What is surprising is that there were sightings of the mechs for years, but no one could ever get close enough to make contact,” Jethro continued. “My guess is because they were hidden down away from sensors.”

“Right where I’m looking?” Harlow asked as she peered over the edge of the crevice. Faint noises could be heard below, but she couldn’t make out what they were. “I can’t see anything, Jethro. I saw them drop in, but there’s nothing now.”

“Don’t go in,” Jethro pleaded. “Let me get back up to you.”

“That could be too late,” Harlow said as she studied the crevice, looking for a way down. “That all the story, Jethro?”

“No,” Jethro said. “The main mech pilot that was in charge of the squad was a Colonel Howard Maker.”

“The Great Maker?” Harlow laughed. “You have to be shitting me. Deaders are worshipping a mech pilot?”

“They’re worshipping a mech and its pilot,” Jethro said. “The info is vague, but I think this colonel may have achieved something like what I’m dealing with.”

“Oh, and what’s that?” Harlow asked as she saw her route and hooked a leg over the edge of the crevice.

“Immortality,” Jethro replied. “But he isn’t stuck inside a mainframe. He’s become one with a mech.”

Harlow didn’t respond.

“Harlow?” Jethro said. “Oh, fuck.”

Nine

“You’ll be in constant contact with Norton through the entire mission,” LaFrance said as he stood in the massive, dank tunnel next to a gleaming mech. “That will help, but once you get through the tunnels and into the wasteland you will be on your own. I can’t send anyone after you. Norton’s voice will be it.”

“I understand, Commander,” Shiner replied. “But you need not worry about me, I am from the wasteland. I was the first dead mech…in a way.”

“As a mech designed for wasteland combat,” Norton said over the com. “Not in BC form. This tech is new to all of us, so keep an eye on your systems at all times. The wasteland environment is harsher than anything we have tested you in. The second your mech starts to show any signs of failure you need to bail. If your mech shuts down you could be fused in there.”

“It would not be the first time my consciousness was trapped in a mech,” Shiner said as he started to walk forward. “I will be fine. There is no need to worry.”

“How do you think Capreze will react to you returning?” LaFrance asked. “You aren’t his favorite AI.”

“I believe he will put the survival of his people before our differences,” Shiner said. “He is an honorable man.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” LaFrance nodded. “Good luck, Shiner.”

“You as well, Commander,” Shiner said as he switched on his halogens to illuminate the underground tunnel. “I will keep you informed.”

“Just Norton,” LaFrance said. “Only Norton. Anyone else from up here gets on your com you ignore them. My gut tells me we Canadians are in for our own shake up right quick.”

“Great,” Norton muttered.

“Not to be spoken about, Norton,” LaFrance scolded. “Nothing I’ve said here or what Shiner reports to you. All that matters is helping get that shield down.”

“I will do my part,” Shiner said. “You can count on that, Commander.”

“I know I can.”

***

“Okay, so we have about six preset modes your mech can change into,” Norton said over the com as Shiner walked his way deeper into the tunnel that was a good quarter mile below the surface. “Last recon showed the tunnel had some structural issues in zones four and eight. You may need to shift your mech to fit through those places.”

“Thank you for the information,” Shiner replied. “I am confident everything will be fine.”

“I’m telling you this because once you hit the locks the com will go dead,” Norton said. “We won’t reconnect until you are on the wasteland side. And even then it can be spotty. Knobel has com relays throughout the wasteland, but we haven’t had a deep mission in a good while to test them.”

“Except to retrieve my CPU,” Shiner said. “When Capreze took the UDC Stronghold.”

“No, even then we were com dark,” Norton replied. “We couldn’t risk being detected. Not with all that tech being activated.”

“I understand,” Shiner said. “I am used to keeping my own company, so do not worry about me if we lose contact.”

With complete integration with his mech Shiner didn’t need to check systems, hewas systems. But even with full integration, even with the ability to see/hear/feel what was in the tunnel on many different spectrums, Shiner was not at ease.

He was an AI and he knew that, but he had what the humans constantly referred to as a “bad feeling.”

“You doing alright?” Norton asked. “I’m seeing an energy spike and some system fluctuations. If I didn’t know better I’d think you’re nervous.”

“Cautious,” Shiner replied. He upped the power on his halogens and broadened the range, filling the tunnel with light.

“What’s up?” Norton asked. “I’m connected to your vids and I don’t see anything.”

“Who knows about this mission?” Shiner asked.

“No one other than you, OC, and me,” Norton replied. “Certainly didn’t want it getting out.”

Shiner walked another few yards then stopped. He powered up his weapons and waited as his mech’s arms morphed from smooth biochrome to heavy caliber guns. His shoulders expanded and RPGs were loaded and ready.

“That’s a lot of firepower,” Norton said. “Are you sure you need it? Only two ways into the tunnel system and you just went through one. The other side is closed securely until you get there.”

“I don’t believe in taking chances,” Shiner said as he started walking again. He picked up his pace, trying to cover as much ground as possible.

He seemed to feel them before his sensors picked them up, telling him he was dealing with stealth tech. The tunnel erupted with gunfire and explosions and Shiner went to work.

***

Norton nearly ripped his com from his head as the assault rifles barked in his ear.

“Shit!” he shouted as he scanned the chaos that Shiner’s vids were feeding him. “Fucking idiots! Too early!”

Claxons blared throughout the outpost and Norton began checking all of his vid screens, trying to get a handle on what was going down.

“What the hell?” Morris shouted as he ran into the room, busy slapping a magazine into his AR-3850 assault rifle. He slung the rifle then pulled one 9mm pistol from his belt, checked the magazine, and did the same to the second on his belt before handing it to Norton.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” Norton asked, looking at the pistol like it was a deader ready to bite his hand off. “I don’t do guns.”

“You do now!” Knobel yelled as he pushed past Morris and checked the screens. “We are bugging out!”

“What?! Why?!” Norton asked, his head swimming from the vid screens in front of him that showed nothing but bright flashes and personnel scrambling about the outpost.

“We are under attack! Aren’t you seeing this?” Knobel said. “I don’t know who it is, but all personnel need to evacuate. We’re hitting the tunnel and heading south.”

“Fuck that!” Morris said. “I didn’t sign up to go walking around in that nuclear cesspool down there.”

“No choice!” Knobel said as he brought up a view of the exterior of the outpost. Hundreds of white clad troops were rushing the outpost, their rifles barking fire in the falling snow. “They aren’t taking prisoners!”

***

The dogs howled into the wind and Campbell had to shout at them several times to get them to quiet down. She was only able to save four of them before the attackers cut down the rest of the pack. But four was enough to pull the grav-sled she was busy steering around the outpost to a back hatch that led down to a bunker very few personnel knew existed.

She keyed in the code and a small door slid open, letting the drifted snow that was piled against it fall inside.

“Hold,” she commanded and the dogs stopped immediately. She undid their harnesses and pointed inside. All four sprinted into the darkness and Campbell quickly followed after.

***

“It’s what I feared!” LaFrance shouted into his com as he struggled into his thermal suit. “Control has sided with the Three!”

“Jesus…,” Blue Masterson responded over the com, stunned. “Can you get your people out?”

“They are already evacing, but I don’t think we stand a chance,” LaFrance replied. “Control’s troops are cutting everyone down.”

“Well keep fighting!” Blue yelled. “Don’t give-!”

The com went dead and then the power to the outpost followed.

“Fuck,” LaFrance whispered as he shouldered his rifle and slowly worked the manual crank that opened the sliding door from his quarters. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

LaFrance knew that when the emergency lights didn’t activate something beyond an attack was happening. A debate raged in his head: gather personnel and try to make a stand or assume it was an inside job and bug out ASAP. He was the commander of the outpost and was sworn by duty and honor to protect it at any cost.

Then the screams started as Control’s forces breached the outpost. Relentless gunfire directly ahead of him made the decision for LaFrance.

***

Shiner felt the worm try to penetrate his consciousness. It was hidden in the mech’s operations code and had been waiting for the signal to attack. He knew he couldn’t handle both the worm and the troops that were firing on him, so he uncoupled and leapt from the mech, severing the connection that would have allowed the worm to overtake his AI.

His BC body took hit after hit as all fire concentrated on him and he stumbled as he fell to the ground.

But unlike the metal he had been born into in the wasteland, the biochrome was malleable, responsive to his commands. His new body, his new being, reacted without separation and he formed his arms into long, sharp blades.

He came at the troops with a rage he didn’t know he held.

And they all fell.

***

Norton followed behind Morris and Knobel, the 9mm gripped firmly in his hand.

“Where are we going?” he whispered as they turned a corner at a crouch, waited, and then proceeded quickly to a door up ahead on the left. “Are we rendezvousing with your team, Knobel?”

“I have no idea where any of my people are,” Knobel replied. “We are getting to a sub-hatch that will take us down and out of here. The tunnel will be accessible from there.”

“So it’s just us three from here on out?” Norton asked.

“Yeah, dumbass!” Morris snapped. “Pay attention.”

“Oh, I am,” Norton said as he stood up and pointed the 9mm at the back of Morris’s head. He pulled the trigger. He then took aim at Knobel and fired again. “Maybe you two should’ve taken that advice.”

Norton activated his com as he looked down at the corpses and their splattered brains that covered the floor. “Norton reporting in,” he said over his com. “Knobel and Morris are neutralized.”

“We have 90% of the outpost secured,” a voice responded. “Still no confirmed kill on LaFrance or Campbell.”

“But the tunnel is secured, right?” Norton asked. “The worm should have activated by now and the Shiner bioborg incapacitated.” There was silence on the other end. “I repeat- the worm should have-.”

“We have lost contact with the forces in the tunnel,” the voice said. “Cannot confirm anything at this time.”

“Motherfucker,” Norton cursed as he turned and stalked to his control room. “All they had to do was take down one fucking BC mech. Is that so fucking hard?”

Ten

The trail wasn’t subtle. Blood and ATV tracks led off into the wasteland in plain view. Jenny worried about the amount of blood she was seeing and hoped the Rookie hadn’t been mortally wounded.

When she came across the first body she couldn’t help but smile. Whoever had been trailing them and then attacked, taking the Rookie with, hadn’t been prepared for who they were grabbing. The man’s face was crushed and he was missing an ear. Teeth marks were clearly visible.

“Ok, so where the fuck are you?” Jenny asked herself as she pushed scanners to full. “Why can’t I pick you fuckers up?”

She looked at her vid screen and the body at her mech’s feet. The man’s face was completely covered in primitive tattoos. Swirls and symbols nearly made his skin black/blue. She was born and raised in the wasteland and even though she grew up a Railer, on a Railer train, she’d thought she knew every tribe, cult, sect, and gang around.

She didn’t recognize the tattoos and that worried her more than the Rookie missing. Jenny continued to follow the tracks even though she had no idea what she was walking into.

***

As the sun began to set, the Rookie wished he could shield his face from the oppressive glare that was needling straight into his brain. He tried closing his eyes, but the blows to his head he’d taken made him dizzy and he was afraid he’d tumble from the ATV and be run over by the ones behind him, as he had been warned would happen. His hands were bound tightly behind his back and he gripped the ATV with his legs, hoping they didn’t hit a bump that would send him tumbling off the vehicle and to his death.

“He knew you’d be there,” the ATV driver said, his black-toothed grin making the Rookie feel more nauseous than he already was. “He ain’t stupid, no, no, no.”

The driver’s pants, since he didn’t wear a shirt over his grungy torso, were cobbled together from everything including, but not limited to, synth-burlap, thin pieces of metal, rope woven together, and tanned, human skin.

The Rookie didn’t need to ask who the driver was talking about; he had a very good idea.

“He ain’t gonna like hows you killed Stemp back there,” the driver continued. “That’s gonna make him mad.” The driver looked over at the Rookie and his face was torn by his huge grin. “He’s fun when he’s mad. Makes the slits do dances and shit. Then we’s get to fuck.”

“Sounds great,” the Rookie said through swollen lips. He could feel the blood on his face flake off. The blood was still flowing from the wounds in his legs and arms where he’d been hooked and yanked from the train. He knew he wasn’t going to get a chance to tend to the wounds. Not with what was in store for him.

“He still eat his meals alive?” the Rookie asked.

“Don’t everybody?” the driver asked. “Ain’t no fun less they scream and beg.”

“Fucking shit,” the Rookie mumbled.

He had grown up in a cannibalistic hell with a father that ruled his village like it was his personal feeding trough and brothel, handing out punishment on a whim and making sure everyone knew that living was not a right, but a privilege to be taken away at any psychotic moment.

The man that lay ahead of the Rookie, waiting to embrace him in his own psychotic arms, was a million times worse.

***

A rusted metal wall loomed ahead as the gang of ATVs sped across the wasteland. No cover, no hills, no mesas or plateaus gave the structure any shade or cover. The massive wall, several stories high, was as much a patchwork of materials as everything else with the Rookie’s captors.

As the ATVs neared, the Rookie could see that the wall wasn’t just made up of twisted scraps of metal and iron. Bodies hung from various spikes, hooks and poles. Many were strung up with wire threaded through their limbs, just waiting for the rotten flesh to give way and let the corpses fall to the dirt below.

And the dirt below was where the Rookie really focused. Deaders. Hundreds and hundreds of deaders, maybe even thousands, swarmed about the wall as it stretched for close to a mile in each direction before wrapping around and back, keeping those inside safe from the flesh-eaters outside. And captive with the flesh-eaters inside.

“You been to Eden ‘fore?” the driver asked the Rookie.

“No,” the Rookie said. “Didn’t know it existed.”

The driver glanced over at the Rookie and grinned his idiot, tooth-free grin. “You’s in for a treat.”

“I imagine I am,” the Rookie frowned, his eyes locked onto the mass of zombies that had turned towards them as the sound of the ATVs drew their attention. “We aren’t going through them, are we?”

“I heard you’s from the wasteland,” the driver said. “You’s da Boss’s kid. You ain’t afraid of no deaders is ya?”

“Not usually,” the Rookie said. “But that’s a lot of dead folk.”

“They like the scraps.”

“Right, I get that,” the Rookie nodded, humoring the driver. “But this isn’t exactly an armored vehicle.”

“No,” the Driver replied. “It ain’t.”

As the ATVs neared, the Rookie could hear the sound of metal scraping against metal. Then the ground in front of them erupted into flames, as a ten foot wide corridor through the deaders was scorched clear. Flames stayed on each side of the corridor, framing it and keeping the rest of the zombies from attacking the ATVs, as the vehicles sped towards the great wall.

A small door opened and several heavily armed men poured out, taking a position on each side of what the Rookie started to make out as a gate. The gate opened and let the ATVs through, then was quickly locked into place behind them.

“Home sweet home,” the driver said. Then punched the Rookie in the temple, knocking him out instantly.

***

The mech was crouched low, almost sitting on the hard packed dirt. Jenny lowered her binocs and took a deep breath. In all her traveling across the wasteland in the Railer train she’d never seen anything like what swallowed the ATVs. It was a massive fortress, surrounded by deaders, and covered in horrors she didn’t want to see.

“You are such a pain in the ass,” she muttered as she pondered what to do.

There was nothing but open ground between her and the fortress and she knew she’d be spotted in seconds in the mech. Her only choice was to rush the place and hope she had enough fire power and strength to get the Rookie out. Or to come up with another plan. She had no clue what the other plan would be though.

“Pain in my ass.”

Eleven

Slick with drool, Commander Capreze’s head popped up as the chime to his office rang.

“Yeah, uh, yeah, enter,” Capreze said as he wiped the drool from his cheek and tried to conceal the pool on his desk. His sleep patterns were messed up as always and he was crashing out without warning more and more.

At least in his dreams he could visit with Rachel, whether she was real or not.

“You wanted to see me, Commander?” Lt. Murphy asked. “Sorry I’m late. I was pretty grimy and needed to clean up.”

“Yes, come in,” Capreze said as he stretched and shook the sleep from his head.

“Was I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Capreze smiled. He cleared his throat and continued. “Jethro has alerted me to the fact that three of my mech pilots are now deep in the wasteland and unaccounted for. Apparently Bisby tried to integrate with a dead mech and it hasn’t gone according to plan.”

“My team aren’t mech savvy, sir,” Lt. Murphy stated. “Not sure how we can help.”

“You can help by going and rescuing their asses,” Capreze said. “Jethro thinks they may be facing something new.”

“New, sir?”

“A mech religious cult.”

The room was silent as that sunk in.

“I…uh…did you say mech religious cult?” Lt. Murphy asked. “Mechs? Religion? Not following you, sir.”

“Jethro?” Capreze sighed.

“Okay, so here’s the story,” Jethro began.

***

Murphy’s team all gaped at her as she filled them in on their mission.

“You have got to be shitting me,” Specialist Sol said.

“No fucking way,” Specialist Grendetti followed.

Specialist Kafar just kept shaking his head.

“Get geared up for deep wasteland work and meet in the hangar in ten,” Murphy ordered. “Jethro is going to brief us as much as possible on the way.”

“Transport, sir?” Sol asked.

“Hybrid,” Murphy said.

“One of those things the Railers have been building?” Grendetti asked. “Have they been tested?”

“The one we’re gonna use has,” Murphy replied. “No integration. Manual like a transport, but mobile like a mech.”

“And with the firepower of a mech,” Sol added. “I’ve been spending as much time in the hangar as possible in case something like this occurred.”

“Ten, people,” Murphy said and clapped her hands. Her team scrambled.

***

“So who wants to drive?” Jethro asked over the com. “Any volunteers?”

The Special Ops Team all looked at Specialist Grendetti as they stepped into the space that looked like a mix between a mech and a transport cockpit. Six seats were spread evenly around the cockpit, each facing a massive vid screen instead of a windshield.

“What?” Grendetti asked. “Why me?”

“You love to drive,” Murphy said.

“I don’t love to drive,” Grendetti argued. “I love to blow shit up. Put me on weapons.”

“Every station has weapons and every station can drive,” Jethro said. “So just pick one. You can switch up instantly at any time.”

“You’re driving first,” Sol said to Grendetti as he took his seat.

The rest of the team sat down and strapped in as Grendetti grumbled.

“Take a seat, Specialist,” Murphy said.

“This sucks,” Grendetti bitched. “You realize I’ll probably break this thing before we get out of the hangar, right?”

“Breaking it is going to be hard to do,” Jethro said. The vid screens in front of each seat came alive and schematics of the Hybrid came up. “Four legs and no arms. Each leg is multi-jointed and heavily armored. These gams are stronger than the best mech we have. It would take several RPG direct hits to cripple this puppy.”

“So it’s a walking footstool?” Kafar joked. “Where’s the vid remote?”

“Shut it,” Murphy scolded. “Please continue, Jethro.”

“Each station is identical,” Jethro continued. “Piloting and weapons can be accessed at any time. However, if one station has piloting engaged then the next station cannot take over without controls being handed over intentionally or by emergency override. Please see the big red buttons at your station.”

“Which one does what?” Kafar asked.

“There’s pictures, dipshit,” Grendetti said. “It’s designed for idiots like us.”

“Exactly,” Jethro said. “One of you becomes incapacitated and the next person can take control of piloting or the specific weapons system by slamming that button home.”

“Let’s talk weapons,” Sol said.

“Forward and aft 50mm heavy-machine guns,” Jethro said. “Two up front and two behind. Although, technically, the Hybrid is symmetrical so there isn’t really a front and back.” Images came up on each vid screen. “As you can see there are no windshields. This means that no matter who is driving they control their own view. This goes for weapons also. You can switch views without switching seats.”

“Nice,” Grendetti said. “What else does this thing have?”

“RPGs,” Jethro said. “Thirty of them. You also have plenty of flames. This puppy will torch half the wasteland.”

“That it?” Kafar laughed.

“Each seat can lay back and become a bunk,” Jethro said. “You can drive in shifts and no one has to leave the cockpit.”

“What about-?” Grendetti started to ask.

“Shitter is below,” Jethro said. “Next to the cargo bay. There’s also a very small infirmary. Let’s hope not more than two of you get wounded.”

“One can only dream,” Kafar said.

“Driving is easy,” Jethro said. “Two stick system, very retro. Both sticks forward, the Hybrid goes forward. Both sticks hard back and it breaks. Slow back and it goes in reverse. Right forward while left-.”

“Got it,” Grendetti said. “No pedals to push?”

“No, no pedals,” Jethro said. “I’ll guide you out of the hangar.”

The Hybrid began to move and the screens switched from the Hybrid overview to images of the hangar. The screen in front of Grendetti faced forward and the Hybrid easily navigated its way around the mech hangar chaos of repairs and personnel.

“I don’t feel like we’re moving,” Murphy stated.

“Total cockpit stabilization,” Jethro said. “That way you don’t get disoriented if you switch controls from one station to the next.”

“And if the stabilization goes out?” Murphy asked as the Hybrid cleared the hangar and trundled away from the Stronghold.

“Get ready to puke,” Jethro said. “It really throws your shit off.” The Hybrid slowed. “All yours, Grendetti. Try not to break it.”

“I make zero promises,” Grendetti stated as he took hold of the sticks and pressed them forward. The screen lurched slightly, but the cockpit didn’t register it all. “Nice.”

“Good luck, team,” Jethro said. “Coordinates are locked in. I also uploaded the full communication I had with everyone. Plus all info I have on the Great Maker.”

“The what?” Specialist Kafar asked.

“You’ll see,” Jethro said.

Twelve

“So, One Arm,” Masters began. “We aren’t going to be deader food or anything, right?”

“No, Pilot Masters,” One Arm replied as the mech made its way down into the underground caverns that lay below the valley floor. “There is no intention of feeding you to any creature.”

“Good to know,” Masters replied. “So…what are you going to do with us?”

“Enlighten you,” One Arm said.

“Enlighten us?” Bisby snorted. “A dead mech is going to enlighten us? Ha!”

“I do not appreciate your attitude,” One Arm said. “If I did not need you to stabilize my AI while I fully transition then I would eject you from my cockpit, Pilot Bisby.”

“I’d gladly go,” Bisby responded. “I don’t need this crap from a deader.”

“Kids, come on now,” Masters chuckled. “Let’s all play nice.”

“Are you kidding?” Bisby snarled. “This is not what I signed up for.”

“Nor I,” One Arm said.

“So neither of you were prepared,” Masters said. “When it comes to new relationships no one is prepared. You just have to take what you’re given and work with it.”

Bisby and One Arm were silent for a moment.

“What the hell are you babbling about?” Bisby asked.

“I think you have strayed from the issue,” One Arm said.

Masters nodded sagely. “You will learn one day. Pilot and mech. It’s a beautiful thing.”

“Masters, if you don’t shut your hole, I’m…gonna…shut…,” Bisby started. “What the hell?”

“Biz?” Masters asked, looking Bisby over. “You feeling alright?”

“You can’t see what I’m scanning,” Bisby said. “Is this real?”

“Since I can’t see what you’re scanning how can I kno-?”

“I wasn’t talking to you, dipwad,” Bisby said. “I was talking to One Arm. Am I seeing this right?”

“You are,” One Arm replied. “Pilot Masters will be able to see once we get around this curve and go a few meters deeper.”

“See what?” Masters asked as the mech finally approached its destination. “What are you two-? Oh, wow…”

***

The rock gave way, but Harlow kept her footing, as she moved her right hand to a new grip in the cavern wall. The massive space was easy for a giant mech to navigate, but for one solitary mech pilot it wasn’t such smooth going.

“Why the hell did I agree to help Biz take down that mech?” Harlow mused aloud as she moved further down the wall, almost to the cavern floor. Or that part of the cavern, at least. “Should have known the asshole would get us into trouble.”

Harlow jumped the last few feet and took a look about, here halogen lighting up the minerals coating the cavern walls. She walked a few feet and stopped, realizing the climb she just finished was the easy part of her trip. She had a lot more to go.

“Fucking Bisby.”

***

“How many are there?” Masters gasped. “I mean, Jeezus, look at them all.”

“Those are the children,” One Arm said. “Now I may tend to them.”

“You couldn’t before?” Bisby asked as the mech walked towards the rows upon rows of mini-mechs that lined the cavern walls. Most were in various states of disrepair, but many were complete.

“I was not stable before,” One Arm stated. “I was a danger to the children.”

Halogen floodlights turned on One Arm and a shrill alarm sounded.

“Halt, rogue!” a voice boomed. “Approach no further!”

“No need for alarm, Hollow Eye,” One Arm said. “I have rid myself of the putrid thing and attained a new pilot. My AI will become fully stable in only a few hours.”

“You have brought living ones down here?” Hollow Eye asked as he shut off the floodlights. “Living pilots?”

“What is this?” a mech asked as it crawled from under an outcropping in the back of the cavern. “Living? You have brought the living?”

“Living?”

“What living? Pilots?”

“Pilots? Alive?”

AI voices echoed from all directions as mech after mech moved away from their tasks and stations and approached One Arm.

“Oh, not good,” Masters said. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

***

Harlow stopped in her tracks, puzzled by two things: the light emanating from the main cavern and the obvious sound of mech hydraulics. Lots of mech hydraulics. She knew that her long blades wouldn’t be effective if she was going after metal, so she checked her shotgun and 9mm and held them at the ready.

She took a diving roll into the cavern, coming up on one knee, the shotgun and 9mm held out, ready for action. Her eyes scanned the scene in front of her and she nearly dropped her weapons.

Mechs. Dozens of mechs. And that didn’t count the mini-mechs that lined the cavern.

“What the fuck?” Harlow gasped as the mechs, obviously deaders all, turned to look at her.

“Oooh,” one of the mechs said as it pointed at her. “Cursing is not allowed around the children.”

“Cursing is never allowed,” Hollow Eye stated as he thudded forward. “You would be pilot Harlow?”

“I, uh, yeah,” Harlow stuttered, not sure whether to run or open fire and go out in a blaze of glory.

“Hey, baby!” Master yelled as he stepped out from behind one of the rows of mini-mechs. “Isn’t this place cool? Look at all this metal! There’s a fuc- I, uh, mean freakin’ army of minis!”

“Mitch?” Harlow asked as she slowly, cautiously, got to her feet. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Ooh, baby, watch the language,” Masters said as he came towards her. “The mechs get a little touchy about the potty mouth stuff.”

“This is all an hallucination, right?” Harlow asked. “I’m actually wounded and bleeding out somewhere in the wasteland. That has to be it.”

“No, Pilot Harlow,” One Arm said as he bent low so Bisby could be seen. “This is very real. We are just waiting for an audience.”

“An audience?”

“Yeah,” Masters said. “We’re gonna go see the Great Maker. He’ll grant all of our wishes. I’m gonna wish Bisby had a brain.”

“Knock it off, Mitch,” Bisby warned. “I’d really like to get out of this mech alive. You being an asshole doesn’t help.”

“Language,” half the mechs said at once.

“Nope, not creepy at all,” Masters grinned at Harlow. “So…how are you?”

Harlow’s eyes narrowed. “Why aren’t they trying to eat us?”

“Only the rogues eat human flesh,” Hollow Eye said. “They did not transition properly.”

The mech knelt low so Harlow could see the lack of pilot inside.

“I guess it’s like Shiner,” Masters said. “They only need a human brain for the initial transition. Once their AI adjusts they can compress their storage and live forever.”

“Better hurry up and adjust soon,” Bisby said. “I want out of this deader.”

“The feeling is mutual,” One Arm responded.

***

The surprising part of the side cavern the mech pilots walked into when their audience was granted was the intense lighting. All around the space were large halogen arrays bolted into the walls and ceiling. The lights revealed in bright relief the piles and piles of mech parts that were strewn everywhere. And in the middle of the piles was a man. Or the semblance of.

“Ahhhh, welcome,” Colonel Howard Maker, the Great Maker said as he wiped his hands on his overalls and stepped forward. “A pleasure to meet the latest generation of pilots. Always nice to know that there are those out there willing to lay their lives on the line for a civilization that should have died out centuries ago.”

The glare of the lights made the pilots squint, leaving the Great Maker’s form obscured slightly. But as he neared they could easily see that the man that had spoken to them was not all man. Not at all.

“What the holy exoskeleton?” Masters exclaimed.

The Great Maker looked down at himself and grinned. “Ah, right, my appearance must be shocking.”

“To say the least,” Harlow responded as she studied the braces, cables, wires, struts and hydraulics that framed the man’s body. In place of his eyes were two glowing red sensors. “What are you?”

“Me?” the Great Maker asked, honestly surprised. “Have my friends not informed you? I am the Great Maker.” He spread his arms wide. “Welcome to the Womb where real life is born.” His red eyes narrowed. “Real life. Not the fragile flesh held together on your frame by sinew and tendon.”

“Uh…okay,” Masters said.

The Great Maker looked Harlow up and down and she struggled not to step back from the hunger on his face. He watched her closely then smiled, his cheeks looking like they’d rip apart if the smile was too wide.

“Do you fear me?” he asked Harlow.

“Should I?” Harlow countered.

“Yes,” the Great Maker nodded. “Everyone should.”

Thirteen

“Mathew?” Themopolous asked as she gently shook the mech pilot. “Mathew? Wake up.”

Pilot Mathew Jespers stirred and slowly blinked his eyes open. “Huh? Oh, hey Doc. Did I fall asleep again? What time is it?”

“0430,” Themopolous said. “You’ve been here all night.”

Mathew looked about the infirmary, his eyes resting on Rachel’s comatose form briefly. “Where’s the commander? He usually crashes next to her. Something up?”

“I don’t know,” Themopolous replied as she checked Rachel’s vitals. “I haven’t seen him all night.”

“All night?” Mathew asked as he stretched and stood up from the cramped chair he’d slept in. “I thought June had the night shift lately.”

Themopolous just smiled and continued on with her assessment of Rachel’s vital signs.

“Okay,” Mathew said. “I get it. Not my business.”

“Hey Matty?” Jethro asked over the com. “You up for a little deader action?”

Mathew yawned and cracked his back. “Sure. What are we looking at?”

“About three dozen just outside the first perimeter,” Jethro said. “They’ve learned to stay away from the sonic field and are starting to mass just outside its range.”

“Mech or carbine?” Mathew asked as he nodded to Themopolous and headed out of the infirmary.

“Whatever you feel up to,” Jethro said. “They’re a bit outside my gun range without bringing out the hardcore firepower. Otherwise I’d take care of them.”

Mathew thought about it for a minute. “I haven’t had a good deader squashing in my mech in a while. Can you run through the start up?”

“Already done,” Jethro replied. “I had a feeling you’d want to stretch your legs.”

“But the doc just woke me up,” Mathew said. “How would you even know that?”

“Oh, I keep tabs on all of the pilots’ heart rates,” Jethro said. “That way I know who to call on when I need them. As soon as yours was no longer at rest I began the start up on your mech.”

“That’s a little unsettling,” Mathew said. “That means you know when the heart rate is up too high, right? Like when a pilot, or pilots, are involved in some sort of strenuous activity.”

“No comment,” Jethro said.

“Perv,” Mathew laughed.

***

“Where are you headed?” Capreze asked as he walked in from the open hangar door.

“I get to stomp some deaders,” Mathew replied as he grabbed the ladder leading up to his mech cockpit. “What are you doing out there?”

“Clearing my head,” Capreze replied.

“Bad news?”

“Not good. Have you seen Themopolous?”

Mathew studied the commander’s face and quickly realized something more than bad news was on his mind.

“Just left her in the infirmary,” Mathew said. “You feeling okay?”

“It’s not about me,” Capreze said. “You go have fun. Give a couple extra stomps for me.”

“Want to join?” Mathew asked. “May take your mind off your troubles.”

“Can’t. This trouble has to be dealt with right away.”

“Rain check?”

“You bet,” Capreze smiled as he pointed to the cockpit. “Go have fun.”

Mathew watched the commander start to leave the hangar and wondered if he shouldn’t just send some of the Railers out with carbines to take care of the deader issue. He had a feeling something big was about to go down.

“Go!” Capreze shouted as he left the hangar behind.

“Okay,” Mathew mumbled to himself. “You know what’s going on, Jethro?”

“Yes,” Jethro answered quickly.

“You want to fill me in?”

“Can’t.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“That bad?”

“That bad.”

“Great.”

***

Mathew put the drama in the Stronghold out of his mind as he walked his mech out of the hangar and past the first defensive perimeter. He realized he hadn’t been in his mech in more than a week and it felt good to be a part of the metal again. Plus, he really hadn’t put the mech through its paces. After separating from Shiner, Mathew was left mechless and the new one still needed some field testing. Taking out some stray deaders was just perfect.

Once clear of the second defensive perimeter, Mathew upped his pace and started to jog the mech into the wasteland. His sensors picked up the crowd of deaders outside the sonic field designed to burst the creatures’ brains if they passed between two poles.

The idea that they were learning to avoid the field was troubling, but Mathew had witnessed way more disturbing things as a mech pilot. The wasteland adapted to everything and a great pilot understood that and went with it.

“I have visual,” Mathew said to Jethro. “Looks like more than three dozen.”

“Current count is 58,” Jethro replied. “Not sure where they’re coming from.”

Mathew scanned the wasteland beyond the deader mob, but no other movement was detected. “I got nothing here.”

“Well, just send them to Hell and come back in,” Jethro said. “I’ll send out a Railer crew later to clean up the mess and drop some relays. Maybe I’ll pick something up then.”

“Will do,” Mathew said as he moved towards the deaders.

As the sun slowly rose across the wasteland, the creatures saw Mathew coming and a couple eager ones breached the sonic field and paid the price. Their putrid brains splattered across the night-cool earth.

“Guess not all of them have learned,” Mathew said as he went through his weapons check. He wanted to take the time to get to know his mech thoroughly.

“I already did a full run through,” Jethro said over the com.

“Just working out the kinks,” Mathew said.

“Feeling rusty?”

“A little.”

Satisfied that the mech was up to the task, Mathew brought up his 50mm guns and took aim. With slow, steady bursts, Mathew obliterated the deaders that crowded outside the perimeter.

As smoke curled up from the glowing hot guns, Mathew surveyed the destruction he’d wrought. They were deaders just like the thousands and thousands of deaders he’d killed before. But something was different. After the insane Dr. Johnson had turned all of the city/states into nanobot controlled nightmares, Mathew couldn’t help but think how each and every deader had been a living person before.

“You okay?” Jethro asked. “Got kinda quiet there.”

“Just thinking,” Mathew answered as he went over his readings to make sure all systems were in the green.

“Well, stop that,” Jethro said. “Leave the thinking to the mega super brain.”

“Mega super, eh?” Mathew laughed. “Mega wasn’t good enough?”

“I just call it as it is,” Jethro laughed. “Now get in here and I’ll do a real work over on your mech. If it has any flaws I’ll find them.”

“What’s for breakfast?” Mathew asked as he turned his mech back towards the Stronghold.

“Pancakes and porridge.”

“Jeezus,” Mathew swore. “I’ll be constipated for weeks if we don’t get someone to start cooking some real shit.”

“I’m doing the best I can with the synthesizers,” Jethro said. “But the Stronghold relied mostly on hydroponics.”

“Which fried when the Stronghold nearly self-destructed.”

“Bingo was his mother fucking name-o,” Jethro said. “And Jay’s good, but he’s more a hydraulics guy than hydroponics. I don’t think they’ll be online for at...”

Mathew waited for Jethro to finish. “Hey? You okay?”

“Turn around,” Jethro said quietly. “Please tell me you don’t see anything.”

Mathew spun his mech around and nearly shit himself.

“Oh, fuck, wish I could, man.”

***

It was as if the ground itself was alive.

That’s how Mathew saw it as he watched wave after wave of deaders lift themselves up and shake the wasteland earth off their undead bodies.

“Where did they all fucking come from?” Mathew asked as he quickly reactivated his weapons. “Jethro?”

“I don’t know, Matty!” Jethro shouted. “They weren’t there and then they were!”

“For how fucking long?” Mathew yelled. “They came right out of the fucking ground!”

“I know, I know!” Jethro yelled back. “How about you stop analyzing and start shooting?!”

Mathew opened up. His 50mm guns sent thousands of rounds after thousands of rounds into the deader horde that seemed to just keep swelling. For every twenty he shredded another twenty took their place. Mathew switched to RPGs and sent four into the deader mob. Rotten limbs and heads flew everywhere.

But they still kept coming.

“What the fuck?” Mathew asked as dozens grouped around one of the perimeter poles. “Jethro, are you seeing this?”

“That’s not possible,” Jethro said. If he had a head that wasn’t hooked up to tubes and wires he would have shaken it in disbelief. “That’s a coordinated attack. Not just pack mentality, but real fucking problem solving.”

“What do I fucking do?” Mathew shouted afraid to shoot the crowd for fear of taking out the pole.

“I don’t know!” Jethro yelled. “I’ll get you back up!”

“Ya think?!”

Mathew watched in horrified amazement as the pole was toppled and crushed under the mass of deaders. A few lost their heads before the sonic field was disrupted, but most didn’t. And they came for Mathew.

“Why isn’t the field bypassing that pole?!” Mathew cried. “Jethro? Where’s the fucking fail safe?”

“It’s down, Matty,” Jethro said. “Check your sensors. They’re everywhere.”

Mathew did as Jethro said and wished he’d hadn’t. Perimeter poles all along the line were being disabled by deaders.

“Ahh, fuck this,” Mathew said as he bounced his mech up and down a couple times. “It’s squishing time.”

He waded his mech into the swarm of undead and started firing, blasting, stomping and crushing. His mech training told him it was the absolute wrong thing to do. Physics were physics especially for a 50 ton war machine. The numbers were too great for any one mech to handle. More experienced, legendary mech pilots had been taken down by numbers like what Mathew faced.

So fucking what.

Mathew slammed a giant fist down, crushing a dozen deaders, then swept his leg and sent another two dozen flying back into the wasteland. He leapt and rolled, smashing thirty or so deaders as he came down, and then came up on one knee, his 50mm guns ripping wave after wave of deaders into ribbons.

“Damn!” Jethro hooted. “Look at you!”

“Shut the fuck up, Jethro,” Mathew growled.

“Right.”

Both fists flew and punched holes in the mob. As Mathew pulled back he activated his flames and torched another fifty deaders, sneering as the zombies dashed about like firecrackers with legs.

“Back down, Matty,” Jethro said. “They’re massing on your left. Matty? Mathew!”

But Mathew wasn’t listening. He was in the killing zone. He had his violence on and it felt great. He hadn’t realized how much he’d craved wiping out the undead. He’d always told himself he joined up to be a mech pilot to do his duty, to help rid the wasteland of the deader plague. Who was he kidding? He’d joined up because he wanted 50 tons of metal around him as he ripped limbs from torsos and popped heads from necks.

Unfortunately, the rush from battle didn’t stop that pesky physics thing. Easily a hundred deaders took him from the left, swarming up and over his mech, bringing the two-story battle machine to the ground under their weight.

“Okay,” Mathew said as he watched mouths and claws bite and scrape at the cockpit, so eager for the tasty meal inside. “I see what you were saying. How’s that back up coming?”

Fourteen

The look on Commander Capreze’s face would have ripped the skin of a million deaders. To say he struggled to keep his rage under check was not a fair assessment.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Capreze asked Dr. Themopolous as she sat in front of his desk.

“No,” Themopolous said. “Not if I didn’t have to.”

“From day one?”

“Yes, sir,” Themopolous nodded. “The mech base was my assignment.”

“What for?” Capreze asked. “What intel could you possibly have needed? We were an open book. The UDC knew everything about us. Anyone could have read my logs, watched the security vid, checked com transcripts. There was nothing hidden.”

“You know that’s not true,” Themopolous said. “And the fact you still haven’t been honest with me considering the stakes is just astounding.”

Capreze studied Themopolous for a long, silent minute.

“I’ll bite, Doc,” Capreze. “What the holy fuck are you talking about?”

“Rachel,” Themopolous stated flatly.

Capreze’s blood ran cold, his insides turned to ice blocks and he felt as if the entire world had flipped on him.

“What...?”

“Don’t,” Themopolous said. “I’m here because of her. You have no idea how important that daughter of yours is.”

Capreze was up out of his chair, around his desk and lifting Themopolous by the collar before the last word had left the doctor’s lips.

“Do you want to fucking die, Doctor?” Capreze snarled, spit flying from his lips as his face was nearly pressed against hers. “Just say that bullshit one more time and your wish will come true.”

Themopolous’s guts twisted with fear. She was a medical professional, trained in every discipline of medicine, including psychiatry. The look on Capreze’s face was the look of barely controlled homicide. She knew one wrong word, one wrong move, one mistimed blink, and her neck would be snapped by the hands of a desperate father. It took all of Themopolous’s willpower not to piss herself.

Capreze had to talk himself back from the edge. He was commanding officer, in charge of the Stronghold and all the souls that dwelled inside, whether directly under his command or not. If he lost control, if he tore Themopolous’s head off then all would be lost.

His fingers cracked as he relaxed them and let Themopolous fall back onto the concrete of his office floor.

“Get out,” he whispered.

“Sir?” Themopolous asked, not believing what she had heard. “I should explain more.”

Capreze rounded on her and Themopolous scrambled for the door, a frightened whimper caught in her throat.

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Capreze roared as he kicked out, his foot connecting with Themopolous’s side, sending her rolling into the hallway. He slammed the door so he couldn’t chase her into the hallway and rip her fucking terrified face right off.

Alone with himself the adrenaline of betrayal started to wear off and he felt like he could just fall on the floor and curl up into a ball. His mind couldn’t accept what he’d heard.

He had been so careful to make sure no one knew about Rachel. He’d been so careful.

***

Jethro watched and heard the entire exchange, but didn’t have time to let Capreze gather himself.

“Commander?” Jethro said urgently.

“Not know, Jethro,” Capreze snapped. “Go bug Jay.”

“But, sir I really-.”

“Not now, Jethro!” Capreze roared.

Claxons blared in the Stronghold.

“Perimeter breach,” an automated voice said. “All hands to stations. Defensive perimeter breach.”

“What the fuck?!” Capreze said as he bolted from his office. “You could have just told me!”

“I was trying to, sir,” Jethro said over the com as Capreze raced through the hallways to the mech hangar. “But you weren’t going to listen.”

“What the holy hell?!” Jay yelled as he, Marin and several of the Railer mechanics hurried to make sure two mechs were ready for combat. “Jethro!”

“Matty is down at the last perimeter,” Jethro said. “Mother fucking deader horde came out of nowhere!”

“Jeezus,” Jay snarled. “Just what we need while we’re low on idiot pilots.”

“You and me,” Capreze said as he ran to his mech and climbed up to the cockpit. “We can handle this.”

“Oh, I fucking know I can handle this,” Jay said as he unscrewed a flask, took a long drink, and tossed the empty flask to Marin. “I just don’t fucking want to.”

“No time for start up,” Jethro said. “I’ll monitor all systems. I see anything not acting right and I’ll fix it on the go.”

“Not acting right?” Jay said as he strapped in and integrated with the mech. “Every god damn one of these fucking machines is in tip top mother fucking shape, asshole!”

“Right,” Jethro said. “Serviced by a team of bored, unmotivated Railers.”

“Good point,” Jay replied. “Be sure and watch the knee hydraulics on Capreze’s mech. That shit’s been a fucking nightmare.”

Capreze and Jay walked their mechs out of the hangar then broke out into a sprint as soon as they were clear.

***

“You still there, Jethro?” Mathew asked as he locked eyes with a fairly fresh looking deader.

“Never left, Matty,” Jethro said. “Jay and the commander are heading your way.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Mathew said. “Wouldn’t happen to have any ideas on how I can get out of this shit sooner, would ya?”

“Nope.”

“Thanks for that.”

“Anytime.”

“Hey, Jethro?”

“Yeah, Matty?”

“Fuck you.”

“Hugs right back.”

The deader girl turned her head to the left then to the right, her eyes leaving Mathew’s and focusing on the cockpit frame. Mathew jumped as she slammed her fist down on the frame again and again. She stopped for a second and snarled at the deaders mashed up against her. Several shifted to give her more room and she started her attack on the frame again. As did many of the deaders around her.

“I’d say I’m witnessing some pretty fucking strange deader behavior,” Mathew said. “But that would get in the way of me saying FUCK!”

“What are they doing?” Jethro asked. “Your vids are down. I can’t see the external feed.”

“They’re knocking on the door,” Mathew said. “And I think they’re coming in whether I open up or not.”

Mathew watched a bolt on the inside of the cockpit frame shudder and the metal begin to warp. He slowly unstrapped himself and reached over for his carbine. He checked that it was fully loaded and rested the butt against his hip, the barrel pointed right at the deader girl.

“You keep aknockin’, but I don’t think you really want to come in,” Mathew said.

“Matty?” Jethro asked.

“Yeah?”

“You cool? Your heart right is a little too high for comfort.”

“Gosh golly, Jethro old pal,” Mathew laughed. “I wonder why.”

“Just saying it would suck if Capreze and Jay get to you in time, but you die of a fucking heart attack. Take some deep breaths, man.”

“I am so unplugging you when I get back.”

“Fair enough,” Jethro said.

The ground began to shake about Mathew’s mech and the deaders, except for the girl, all turned their attention from the cockpit to what was coming at them.

“Wow, Jespers,” Jay said over the com. “That’s quite the deader orgy you decided to throw.”

“What is it with mechanics being total assholes?” Mathew asked.

“Hey,” Jethro objected. “I’m now a semi-omnipotent mainframe consciousness, thank you.”

“You can’t be semi-omnipotent, Jethro,” Capreze said. “You are either omnipotent or you aren’t. It’s an absolute.”

“Oh, I know, Commander,” Jethro said. “I was making a joke. I heard that using humor is the way you can meet new friends and influence people.”

“Will you people shut the fuck up and get me out of here!” Mathew yelled.

“Oh, is the mechy-wechy piloty-wiloty scared?” Jay mocked.

“Are you drunk?” Mathew asked.

“Just a little courage of the moon, Jespers,” Jay said. “Stay out of my shit.”

“Let the man have his 0500 cocktail, Mathew,” Capreze said. “It’s hard being Chief Mechanic.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Jay laughed.

“Fuck you all,” Mathew said.

***

Capreze headed for Mathew’s mech while Jay laid down a blanket of bullets, his 50mms barking fire until they started to glow red. Deaders flew every which way as Capreze yanked them off Mathew’s fallen mech. As the undead flew through the air, Jay sent mini-rockets after them, turning their putrid bodies into a rotten spray before they could hit the wasteland dirt.

“Almost got ya, Mathew,” Capreze said as he ripped fistful after fistful of deader weight away from Mathew’s cockpit. “Let me know when you can pilot that thing upright again.”

“Oh, you’ll be the first to know,” Mathew said as he concentrated on his systems, waiting for the hydraulics to go back into the green. If he pushed it too early he’d blow out a joint and be crippled all over again. No mech pilot wanted to have to do the crawl of shame back to the hangar.

Rows of deaders turned on Jay and shifted this way and that, coming at him with a ferocity that surprised the Chief Mechanic.

“Jethro?” Jay asked. “What readings are you getting off these things?”

“Two readings, Jay,” Jethro answered. “Jack and shit.”

“They aren’t acting like normal deaders,” Jay stated, ignoring Jethro’s sarcasm. “You aren’t seeing any nano signals coming off them are you? These things are acting all teched out.”

“Hmmm, let me check again,” Jethro said. “Oh, wait, here’s something.”

“What?”

“Two more things,” Jethro said. “Fuck and all.”

“Asshole.”

“You got my back, Rind?” Capreze asked as he continued the task of getting to Mathew. “I’m focusing on Matty so you better not let those fucks sneak up on me.”

“Oh, right,” Jay said. “I forgot what I was doing here. Those fifty over there almost tricked me by hiding behind that light pole. Thanks for getting me focused.”

“It’s all the amazing love and support that keep me here,” Jethro said. “That and the amazing vacation pay.”

The deader bodies piled up ten deep, row after row, as Jay unloaded everything he had. The sheer numbers were astounding and Jay really wanted to know how they could have gotten so close without Jethro noticing. He would have to run some independent diagnostics on the mainframe when he got back to the Stronghold. And as the deaders kept coming and coming the “when” turned to “if” in Jay’s mind.

“Hey, Jethro?” Jay asked, trying to sound casual. “What Railers have you outfitted with Reaper chips?”

“None yet,” Jethro said. “They keep failing the simulations. No point in wasting the chips if they can’t pilot the mechs.”

“Lovely,” Jay gulped.

Capreze’s mech shuddered as almost as many deaders he ripped from Mathew’s mech started to cover his own mech.

“Goddammit, Jay!” Capreze shouted. “Keep these fuckers off me while I work!”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, for fuck’s sake!” Jay shouted back. “There’s just too fucking many!”

“Ah, crap,” Jethro said. “I’ll get the Railers out in ATVs with carbines. Hopefully they don’t get eaten.”

“Stop talking and just fucking do it!” Jay shouted.

***

The claxons had finally stopped echoing through the Stronghold and June let her hands fall from Stan’s ears as they huddled on a cot in the infirmary.

“You okay?” June asked as she looked into Stan’s deformed face.

He nodded, but June could see the pain in his eyes that the claxons had caused on his ultra sensitive ears. Stan winced as a smaller alarm bleeped across the room.

“Crap, what now?” June asked as she crossed to Rachel’s bed. “That shouldn’t be going off.”

June did her best to study what the diagnostic screen was showing her.

“Uh, Doc?” June asked over the com. “Doc?”

Themopolous didn’t answer and June rubbed her forward, unsure what to do next.

When Rachel’s eyes opened wide and she sat straight up, June jumped back, nearly tripping over a supply cart.

“Holy fuck!” June cried out.

Rachel turned her head and locked eyes with June.

“Where’s my mech?” Rachel croaked, her throat raw and parched from being comatose for months. She shoved herself from her bed and stood on wobbly feet. “Get me to my mech.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” June exclaimed, her hands out towards Rachel. “Lay your ass back down, girl. You aren’t leaving the infirmary, let alone getting in a mech.”

Rachel looked at June and smiled. “That’s exactly what I’m doing,” she said as she pushed past June. June fell back, surprised by the strength Rachel had.

“Rachel!” June shouted after her as she made her way out of the infirmary. “Fucking wait!” June turned to Stan and pointed at the other way out of the infirmary. “Find Themopolous now!”

***

Those in the mech hangar didn’t know what was crazier: that some of them had to drive out in only ATVs and go to battle with a horde of deaders that three experienced mech pilots couldn’t handle, or the sight of a woman that everyone figured was lost to the world as she climbed her way up into an open mech cockpit.

“Rachel!” June shouted from below the mech. “You have been in a fucking coma! Get out of there!”

“Hey, Rachel,” Jethro said over the com. “While I’m very glad to see you up and about I am going to have to agree with June on this one. Uh, plus, the mech you’re in isn’t fully operational. Still needs some work with the cerebral integration.”

“Don’t need it,” Rachel said as she started up the mech’s systems.

Jethro was at a loss for words for once.

The mech pushed away from the harness dock in the hangar wall and Rachel piloted out of the hangar door and towards the action. Oh, how she had missed the action.

In her gut she knew what was happening was wrong. She shouldn’t have woken up, she shouldn’t have been able to hurry to the hangar, and sure as shit shouldn’t have been able to pilot a mech that had its cerebral integration system offline.

But she did all of those things and she knew she’d have plenty of time to think it through later. For that moment she was running a mech out into the wasteland to save two men she loved. And Jay.

***

“What the fuck do you mean Rachel is on her way, Jethro?” Capreze screamed. “That is not fucking funny!”

“Not a joke, sir,” Jethro said. “She woke up and is in a mech coming to rescue your ass.”

“Good for her,” Jay said. “I knew she was faking it just to be able to nap all day.”

Gunfire came from behind the mechs and Jay checked his rear vid and smiled at the sight of a mech barreling towards them.

“Whoa, hold on,” Jay said. “That mech’s offline.”

“No shit,” Jethro said. “That’s what I told her, but apparently it doesn’t fucking matter.”

Capreze squeezed his eyes shut for a second. What he’d been afraid of was coming to pass and he wasn’t sure he could handle it.

“Forget about the mech,” Capreze said. “Just make sure she’s okay, Jethro. You watch her vital signs, got it?”

“Got it, sir,” Jethro said.

“Hey, Papa Bear!” Rachel shouted into the com. “Need a hand?”

“Glad to hear your voice, Baby Girl,” Capreze said. “If you’ve got the time then I wouldn’t mind a little help.”

Deaders all around Capreze’s and Mathew’s mechs were ripped apart by perfectly aimed bullets. In an almost surgical fashion, Rachel took out layer after layer of the undead until the corpses that littered the wasteland ground were truly still.

With that task taken care of, Rachel turned her attention to the swarm that wouldn’t stop coming. By the time her guns were empty there wasn’t a moving body left.

“That all?” Rachel laughed. “You boys got rusty while I was asleep. What have you been doing all this time?”

***

“I’d call that a successful trial,” the man said as he lowered the long range binocs and handed them to the woman next to him in the ATV. “Wouldn’t you, Sister?”

“Yes, Pope,” the woman said, bowing her head as she took the binocs.

The man, Pope John Paul Ringo George the Eighteenth, looked at the woman and frowned. “Problem?”

“Well, Your Holiness,” she began.

“JP, please,” the Pope said. “I hate all this formality. I’m still just a man, Sister.”

“Yes, Your Holi-...uh, yes, JP,” the woman said.

“Go on now,” the Pope urged. “You were going to say something?”

“Well, just that I don’t see how it was a success when all of the Disciples were killed,” the woman admitted.

“I understand your confusion, but it took four of them,” the Pope smiled. “Four. And really if it wasn’t for that last one I don’t think they would have made it.”

The Pope stretched and started up the ATV’s drive.

“Ready to get back?” he asked.

“Yes, uh, JP,” the woman nodded.

“Me too,” the Pope said as he wheeled the ATV around. “I can’t wait to get a shower and sleep in my own bed. The wasteland is no place for a good night’s rest.”

Fifteen

“Come again?” Desmond asked, his stunned face joining the rest of the command crew as they all stared at Colonel Masterson.

“The Canadians are no longer part of the fight,” Blue stated plainly. “Their Council has been co-opted by the Three and their Control has taken all outposts. Leave it to politicians to fuck up a perfectly winnable war.”

“Was it ever really winnable, Colonel?” Melissa asked. “I mean, come on, we were just going to join up with our long, lost American cousins and everything was going to be peachy? Am I the only one that thought that might have been stretching it a bit?”

“No,” Beth added. “You weren’t the only one. Just the only one being a bitch about it.”

“Don’t start, you two,” Blue ordered. “And yes, Ms. Bretton, I did think this was winnable. We may be a fraction of their forces, but we know how to fight. They’re using techno-zombies as their forces. That means they only know how to die.”

“We’re pretty fucking good at dying too,” Melissa countered.

“Yep, we are,” Blue nodded. “Yet we never give up. You saying you want to give up, Ms. Bretton?” Blue leaned forward in his chair and locked eyes with the young Ghost. “That your plan? To roll over and just let it happen?”

“No, of course not,” Melissa snarled. “I want to kill every last one of those mother fuckers.”

“And you will get to,” Blue said. “But first we have to get the shield down so we can rendezvous with Capreze’s people.”

“Has he sent anyone yet?” Charlie asked. “To Monterey?”

“No,” Blue said and everyone in the room could tell he was keeping something from them.

“Dad?” Charlie asked, leaning forward in an almost exact parody of his father. “Have you told Capreze about the Canadians?” Blue scowled. “Jesus Christ! He needs to know that!”

“I’m letting him get his house in order first,” Blue said. “I dropped a bit of a bomb on him. I needed to know how deep the infiltration was first.”

“I’m sorry, infiltration?” Melissa asked. “Like spies? There are fucking spies in with the mechheads?”

“American command had a deep cover operative,” Beth explained. “He was one of my uploaded personalities, Dr. Brian Lisbon.”

“Right, but he’s dead,” Melissa said.

“Yes, but he was working with someone else,” Beth explained. “She was the one that was able to get the cerebral matrix of Rachel Capreze mapped and downloaded so Dr. Lisbon could work out the stability issue with the Vessel. With me.”

“So who the fuck is this chick?” Melissa asked. “And why does it matter?”

“She is Canadian,” Blue explained. “Under the Council’s command, not under American command. It was the only way they could get someone into the mech base. Genetically she couldn’t show any American traits or DNA manipulation. The UDC would have found out.”

“So shoot her in the fucking head and move on,” Melissa snapped. “End of story.”

“Capreze won’t do that,” Blue said. “Although I agree with you 100%.”

“What the fuck is wrong with this asshole?” Melissa yelled. “Why protect her?”

“I have an idea,” Blue said. “And it has absolutely nothing to do with us or anyone else.”

***

“Commander, relax,” Themopolous said as she continued her scans of Rachel. “I’m still me, sir. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her or anyone in this base. I’m mech, sir. That was decided for me a long time ago.”

“I still don’t understand who the fuck these ‘Canadians’ are,” Mathew said. “Don’t you have anything on them, Jethro?”

“Pre-wasteland, sure,” Jethro said. “There’s bits and pieces. North America was made up of three powerful countries: The United States, which we live in, Mexico, which we know nothing about after they built their wall, and Canada, our neighbors to the north.”

“And they did what?” Jay asked as he kicked back on one of the infirmary cots. “Just stood by and watched? Why didn’t they die?”

“Because they were too busy babysitting you ungrateful assholes,” Themopolous said. “You ever wonder why we don’t have aircraft, Jay? Come on, you’ve seen them in the ancient vids. You’ve had to be curious.”

“Yeah, a little,” Jay replied. “Mechanics were just taught that the atmospheric conditions of the wasteland would rip any aircraft to pieces.”

“And you bought that?” Themopolous laughed.

“Watch your tone, Doctor,” Capreze warned.

“Sorry, sir,” Themopolous apologized. “Let me ask you this: what’s on the coast?”

“The what?” Mathew asked.

“The coast,” Themopolous repeated. “Where the ocean meets the land.”

“I, uh, huh?” Mathew puzzled.

“Exactly,” Themopolous said as she checked Rachel’s breathing. The newly awakened mech pilot took it all in stride, listening intently as everyone worried around her, letting Themopolous finish her examination. “The coast is off limits. Every person is taught that the ocean doesn’t exist anymore, that it’s worse than the wasteland itself. Beyond toxic. Maybe some of the survivor pockets, those outside the city/states, knew it was just a story, but that knowledge stayed within those inbred tribes. Even the Railers didn’t have tracks that went within sight of the coast.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with the Canadians,” June said as she monitored Rachel’s levels on her tablet looking for any spike or anomaly. “The ocean is a legend, sure, but how does that affect aircraft and why we didn’t know there was a whole civilization above us?”

“Because there is a massive shield surrounding our part of the continent,” Themopolous replied. “And the Canadians have been maintaining it for centuries, making sure our infected couldn’t get out into the world.”

Jay sat up and really wished he had more shine on him. “Wait, are you saying that we were the only country to be destroyed?”

“By the virus, yes,” Themopolous nodded. “War nearly wiped out the rest of the world.”

“Jeezus,” Mathew whispered.

“You know any of this, Commander?” Jay asked Capreze.

“Not until yesterday,” Capreze said. “That’s when I found out about the shield and Themopolous. I’m waiting on word from Colonel Masterson as to the plan of action the Canadians have for shutting down the shield.”

“Shutting down the shield?” Mathew, June, and Jay said at the same time.

“That’ll release the virus,” Jay said.

“No, it won’t,” Themopolous said. “The virus isn’t airborne. Hasn’t been since everyone went underground.”

“But...but...,” June started and went silent, echoing the sentiments of the room.

“Okay, nice talk,” Rachel said. “But would anyone like to say what the hell is wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” Themopolous said. “You’re the picture of health.”

“Which isn’t good,” June added.

“Why is that?” Capreze asked.

“Because she shouldn’t be the picture of health,” Themopolous stated. “She should be weak, disoriented, sickly.”

“Not seeing the down side here,” Mathew said as he smiled at Rachel. She beamed back at him.

“I’m worried the other shoe will drop,” Themopolous said. “And as everyone in this room knows, it always does.”

“Got that fucking right,” Jay nodded.

***

“You still there, James?” Blue asked over the com.

“You have to stop asking that, Blue, when you drop shit like this on me,” Capreze replied. “I’m still here, just processing this fucking nightmare.”

“I know what you mean,” Blue responded. “My apologies.”

Capreze took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly before continuing. “So the only way to get the shield up is to get a team to Monterey and deal with tech that no one has dealt with in hundreds of years, is that it? Oh, and the people that could help us are now our enemies? Brilliant.”

“That’s it,” Blue said. “You can see the dilemma.”

“Cluster fuck, Blue,” Capreze said. “We’re both professionals, let’s call it what it is.”

“I think you’re being generous,” Blue laughed.

“Me too.” Capreze thought for a moment. “So how do we get into Canada?”

It was Blue’s turn to be silent. “Uh, what?”

“How do we, more specifically me, get a team into Canada?” Capreze repeated. “They need to be taken down. So I need to have two teams.”

“James, I don’t think you get what the issue is,” Blue said. “We have to get the shield down, not send a suicide mission to Canada.”

“The Canadians have techs that can help, right?”

“Yes, but-.”

“Jethro? You know how to get the shield down?”

“No, Commander,” Jethro replied. “But Colonel Masterson probably has more detailed records than I do. He sends them my way and I’ll figure something out.”

Blue could be heard barking orders. “Done.”

“I’ll see what I can figure out,” Jethro said as soon as the files were downloaded from the satellite link.

“In the meantime I’ll be sending a team to Monterey,” Capreze said. “And then hoping I can get another team to Canada. It’s worth a shot and the only plan we have right now.”

“Hoping to get a team?” Blue asked.

“I’m a little short handed right now,” Capreze said. “Most of my pilots are already on missions in the wasteland. And all of them have been out of communication for a day.”

“At least all of my folks are right where I can see them,” Blue said. “I don’t envy you.”

“That makes two of us,” Capreze said. “I’ll keep you posted, Blue.”

“Please do.”

Capreze severed the com connection and leaned back in his chair. “Jethro? Any word from Murphy and her team?”

“Not yet, sir,” Jethro replied. “And Stomper says no one has come out of the crevice he’s been watching.”

“Great. What about the Rookie?”

“Not a word there, sir. But we lost com with the train days ago. They are in deep, deep wasteland. I don’t think the Railer train has ever been that deep. I’d be surprised if they weren’t having to build tracks as they go.”

“Get on com with Murphy. I want a report ASAP.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the second you hear from the Rookie tell him I need his ass back here pronto!”

Sixteen

The headache wasn’t the issue; the Rookie had had a million of those. Nor was it the gag or the fact his hands were bound behind his back.

It was that he was stark naked and had about ten young women staring at him, their eyes all watching what was between his legs.

One of the women saw that he was awake and hurried from the concrete room. The others turned their attention to his face. Most of them did, at least.

“Thirsty?” one of them asked. “We can get you some water once the Mayor says we can remove your love ball.” The woman saw the confusion on the Rookie’s face. “The ball gag in your mouth. It’s what the men use to keep the slits from biting them after they are broken and taken as wives. Love and marriage are a trial that must be fought for and won not just in the heart, but in the conquering of the body as well.”

All of the women nodded.

The Rookie had heard of the philosophy; had heard tales of how his village was before it came to the surface of the wasteland. How his people chose who lived, who survived, and who died.

Marriage. By combat.

“There he is!” a voice boomed making all of the women jump. They scrambled to their feet and then bowed low so that their faces nearly touched their knees. The man came in and touched each of them in the small of the back. “You can leave now, wives.”

The women did as they were told and hurried from the cold room. The Rookie watched as a tall, thin man, eyes of ice blue, hair pulled back into a long, white ponytail that reached his ass, strode towards him.

“Do you recognize me, nephew Dog?” the man smiled as he knelt next to the Rookie and carefully removed the gag. “Do you know who I am?”

“Uncle Young?” the Rookie asked, searching the man’s face and finding a resemblance to a man that was banished years and years ago. “How...?”

“Oh, it wasn’t easy,” Uncle Young said. “And call me Mayor, please. Family does not mean familiarity. We all have our place.”

The Mayor put a small cup to the Rookie’s lips and let him drink the cool, clear water slowly.

“I have been looking for you for a very long time,” the Mayor said. “When I learned you had been cast out by your father I knew I had to bring you into the fold.” The Mayor’s face became pained and he looked away briefly. “Especially since my blood can only produce slits and not husbands.”

“Slits?” the Rookie asked then understood. “Girls? That’s what you call them?”

“That’s what they are,” the Mayor said seriously. “Wild things that tempt our boys. The slits must be separated until they are of age and ready for marriage. Then our boys must brave the Maze and bring back a wife. She must be broken and then taught her place, but eventually all slits become good wives. That is the way. That has always been the way.”

“Okay,” the Rookie nodded. “I never believed it, but the Boss was right. You’re crazier than he ever could be.”

“Crazy?” the Mayor smiled as he stood up and towered over the Rookie. “Could be. But the Boss -your father, my brother- was a true devil. His cruelty could never sustain the village. He was doomed to fail.”

“You got that right,” the Rookie said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, my boy,” the Mayor smiled.

“Any chance you can untie me and get me my clothes?” the Rookie smiled. “Please?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” the Mayor smiled. “I just had to let the wives approve of your anatomy. We can’t have deformities here like back in your village. Our genes are clean. Inbreeding is not allowed. It weakens us.”

“You sent them in here to check out my dick?”

“And you testicles,” the Mayor said. “You ejaculate normally, which is good.”

The Rookie wanted to throw up. Had he been molested while unconscious? Had those women, uh, done something to him, with him?

“You look scared,” the Mayor said. “Don’t be. You have been given the approval and are ready to go pick from the slits. You must have a robust family before you can take my place.”

“Take your place?”

“Of course,” the Mayor said. “I do not have an heir and all power must be given to blood. Finding you has kept Eden from falling into civil war. You have no idea how close this situation has come to going bad.”

“Oh, I have an idea of the bad,” the Rookie said. “So you will untie me?”

“I will get you your clothes,” the Mayor said. “But you will remain tied. I’m not stupid, Dog. I know what a killer you are. Convince me you are on board with this and your bonds will be cut.”

“And If I don’t convince you?” the Rookie said. “Or don’t get on board?”

“Then I have a bit of an overpopulation problem in the Maze,” the Mayor smiled. “I could use a killer like you to thin out the slits. That is until they rip you apart. Which they will. Eventually.”

***

Eden was as close to its name as anything the Rookie had seen in the wasteland. It wasn’t quite up to par with the city/states like Windy City and Foggy Bottom (before they were destroyed), but it was an architectural marvel compared to the Boiler village he grew up in.

“Twelve levels of wonder,” the Mayor said. “Built around an abandoned settlement that had been overrun by deaders. The undead are plentiful out here in the deep.” The Mayor glanced towards the massive wall that surrounded Eden. “A threat that we have used to our advantage.”

“To your advantage?” the Rookie asked.

“Follow me,” the Mayor said as they walked through the crowds that were busy cleaning the stoops in front of their buildings -buildings that were several stories high- or talking to neighbors, bartering for goods, chasing small children down so they could get shoes on them, all the normal signs of a decent civilization.

The Rookie caught sight of a vid screen in one of the apartments, but the tenant quickly saw him watching and shut the door.

“That was pretty good tech,” the Rookie commented.

“We salvage what we can,” the Mayor shrugged, hurrying the Rookie forward. “Not much of it works as it should, though.”

The Mayor led the Rookie to a guarded gate. He nodded at the men armed with carbines and they stepped aside, allowing the Mayor and the Rookie to enter a cage.

“Not liking what I’m seeing so far,” the Rookie said. “Have a little history with cages.”

“Yes, well this one isn’t designed for killing,” the Mayor said as he pulled a gate closed and pushed a lever. The cage lurched then began to rise.

“An elevator?” the Rookie said, surprised. “How can you afford the power? I can understand geothermal for the city, maybe solar and wind arrays, but you can’t possibly have the storage capacity to run a luxury like this?”

“No need for storage when you have a never ending, perpetual source of power just dying to work for you,” the Mayor smiled. “You’ll see.”

And he did.

“No. Fucking. Way,” the Rookie said as he carefully leaned over the side of the wall to see below. The Mayor held him by the shoulders since his hands were still bound behind his back.

“I am sure that when you first saw the outside of Eden you figured all those corpses were there as a punishment, right? To prove my power, to show the population that criminals and perverts would be dealt with harshly and those that opposed me would be dealt with even harsher?”

“It was my first guess,” the Rookie nodded.

“Well, it is a good guess,” the Mayor grinned. “No space or resources for a jail here. Minor issues are dealt with quickly and everyone moves on. More than minor? You get to be bait. If you survive your sentence then you are brought in and never stray again.” The Mayor pulled the Rookie back and locked eyes. “And believe me, after a day and night on the wall, no one ever strays again.”

“And the major crimes? They get to stay there until they die?”

“Some do,” the Mayor shrugged as he leaned the Rookie back over and they both watched the masses of undead below continuously stumble and trudge along. “If it is warranted. We aren’t evil here, Dog. If a person truly repents and has the courage to stay alive for several days, then they may be given a second chance. There is never a third chance.”

“So what are the mechanics like? What makes it go?” the Rookie asked thinking Jay would have been in mechanic heaven to see what was under the deaders.

“Simple treadmills, hooked up to hundreds of generators spaced throughout Eden’s walls,” the Mayor smiled. “Day or night the deaders never stop moving. The bait is just out of reach, keeping them in a perpetual chase for food.”

The Rookie watched the thousands of undead far below. “Where do they all come from? I haven’t seen that many since the city/states fell.”

“I do have to say that their numbers have been increasing lately,” the Mayor frowned. “It has put some stress on the treadmills. My repair crews have been working hard to keep up.”

“They go out there?” the Rookie asked. “Into that hell?”

“We have ways of isolating the treadmills when needed,” the Mayor said, but didn’t elaborate.

“Okay, I have to say that is something to see down there,” the Rookie said. “But it doesn’t justify what’s in here?”

“And what is that, Dog?”

“Rookie,” the Rookie said. “Dog isn’t my name anymore.”

“We don’t choose our names, boy,” the Mayor said. “They are chosen for us.”

“Exactly,” the Rookie smirked. “And the Rookie was chosen for me. No more Dog. He died in a cage.”

“I believe the Razor died in a cage,” the Mayor said, but gave a slight bow. “Of course...Rookie. Would you like to meet some of the people? Maybe your opinion of me and Eden will change.”

“Always worth a shot,” the Rookie said.

***

Jenny awoke to nothing but aches and pains and sighed with exhaustion. She’d dug the mech into the earth, trying to give herself a little cover while she figured out how to get through the wall to the Rookie. The night wasn’t filled with sleep and relaxation; just nervous tension and fear as groups of deaders lumbered past her location on their way to the dangling food that lined the wall of Eden.

“Pain in my ass literally,” she said as she stretched in the cramped mech cockpit. “I’m going to beat the shit out of that boy when I see him.” Her heart stung and she knew she’d more than likely kiss the Rookie to death when she saw him again. She barely had made it through the loss of her father and she couldn’t imagine losing the Rookie too.

She powered up her systems and did a quick run through. Everything was operational and good to go.

Not that she was.

She still hadn’t come up with a plan other than rushing the wall. And as she studied the firepower that guarded the wall, she doubted she’d get within a hundred yards before being torn to pieces.

And she couldn’t just walk in. Even if she did make it past the never ending pilgrimage of deaders, she would need to deal with the thousands already at the wall. She was a tiny morsel of food on the dinner plate that was the wasteland.

The thought of food made her stomach growl and she checked the bins in the cockpit. Reality slapped her in her face and she quickly realized that the luxury of waiting around wasn’t there. She had maybe a day’s worth of food and water. Somebody on her train was going to get their ass kicked for not keeping the mech stocked as ordered.

So a day, she thought. Great. Just great.

***

“Is it now?” the Mayor mused as he listened to the words that were whispered in his ear. “But still in its previous position? Good. Alert me if it decides to make a move.”

The man nodded and scurried away from the Mayor, leaving him to his lunch with the Rookie and his dozen or so wives.

“Trouble in paradise?” the Rookie asked.

“Not for me, no,” the Mayor said. “But possibly for you. Just getting an update on the mech that followed you here from the Railer train.”

“Mech?” the Rookie asked, nearly choking on the food that was being fed to him by one of the wives. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I am sure technically you don’t,” the Mayor said. “After all you were being held captive and transported across the wasteland. I am sure you did not know you were being pursued.” The Mayor waved the wife away and the woman stopped feeding the Rookie. He smiled broadly, but the grin didn’t meet his eyes. “But you do know what that mech is and I am sure you know the man piloting it.”

The Rookie laughed. “Man? I wouldn’t have a clue what man is in that mech. That is the honest truth right there.”

“He isn’t lying,” the wife seated directly to the Mayor’s right said. “You can tell easily when this one lies. He’s not very good at it.”

“Oh, I know!” one of the other wives said. “It isn’t a man, it’s a woman in the mech! It’s like a riddle!” She looked eagerly at the Rookie. “Was it a riddle? Did I get it right?”

“A woman,” the Mayor said. “Of course it would be.” The Mayor shook his head. “The outside likes to play with the fire that is woman. The outside gives into their emotions and bends to their will.”

“But the will of man presides over Eden,” the wives said in unison. “For the safety and sanity of us all.”

“Do they do tricks too?” the Rookie asked. “Jump through hoops of fire?”

“They know that we each have our place,” the Mayor said. “None are less than others, just different. Place is home and home is safe if everyone knows their place.”

The wives all nodded.

“Well, good thing then,” the Rookie snorted. “I was beginning to think this place ran on happy juice. Glad to know it’s just good old fashioned conditioning and wasteland mindfuckery.”

“That tongue,” the Mayor snapped, getting up quickly. He stalked over to the Rookie and took him by the chin. “Your father had a mouth like that. Look where it got him.”

“It wasn’t his mouth,” the Rookie said as he jerked his face away. “That did him in. It was the fact he was a complete psychopathic rapist and killer. Not a good combo for long term survival.” The wives all hissed at the Rookie. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Rape is an invitation to the wall,” the Mayor said as he retook his seat. “No woman must give up her womb to no man without him having won it. Forced intercourse is the lowest of shames.”

“Let me get this straight,” the Rookie smiled. “You lock all of your women that aren’t wives-.”

“Slits,” the Right Hand Wife said. “They are not women until they are wives.”

“-slits, excuse me,” the Rookie nodded, knowing where quite a bit of the power at the table lay. “You lock up the slits in a maze that young men have to fight their way through. Then they claim a slit and free her so she can then become a wife whose sole purpose is to fuck and pop out some boy kids? About right?” The Rookie laughed and shook his head. “Nope. Not rape at all.”

“Your prejudice blinds you,” the Mayor said. “We may have to open your eyes. My darlings?”

The wives all stood. Those closest to the Rookie pulled him to his feet and shoved him towards the door.

“My boy, you are about to get an education in who holds the power here,” the Mayor said. “If you think the slits are penned up like animals waiting to be chosen and saved then you are very, very wrong.”

***

“How old are they?” the Rookie asked, completely floored by the scene in front of him. “Those two can’t be more than eight or nine.”

“They come to the Training Grounds on their sixth birthday,” Right Hand Wife said. “It is a day of great celebration for each young slit.”

“And you fight them against each other?” the Rookie asked as he stood above a small arena, as a crowd lined the seats below, cheering the two girls on that were locked in combat. “Strongest move on?”

“No, no,” the Mayor said. “They are trained. Look closely. Those weapons are not fine edged. They will hurt on impact, but will not kill or maim. Slits are valuable. Slits lead to wives which lead to lives.”

“Sticks and shields?” the Rookie observed. “No guns?”

“Heavens, no!” Right Hand Wife said above the gasps of the other wives. “A slit cannot be trusted with a firearm! What if she were upset and decided to take it out on others? No, no, too much emotion and not enough control.”

“Yeah, well I know a pilot named Harlow that might have some words about that,” the Rookie said. “I hope for your sake you never say that around her.” The Rookie focused back on the fight below. “So what does this accomplish?”

“Survival,” the Mayor said. “I told you you would learn who has the real power here.” The Mayor grinned and took a seat at the private table provided for him and his wives so they could watch the fights without distraction from the spectators below. “The slits are trained to be the strongest, most adept fighters in Eden. That means that any young man that braves the Maze will have to be even stronger. The man, and his wife, that emerge will provide strength to the population of Eden.”

“Their blood will be more than just survivors for out there,” Right Hand Wife said with such conviction that the Rookie pulled back as she pointed towards the wasteland. “Their blood will be warriors in here! And when evil comes for us, which it will.” She leaned towards the Rookie and he could feel the heat coming off of her. “We will crush it like dry, deader bones under our boots. Eden will never fall.”

“Eden will never fall,” all of the wives stated.

“Holy fuck,” the Rookie whispered as he tried not to shrink from the intensity around him. “You aren’t dicking around.”

Seventeen

“So how does a guy get some grub around here?” Masters asked as he and Harlow were led from their sleeping area back to the Great Maker’s lab. “And a girl. Can’t forget my hungry lady here.”

“Mitch?” Harlow asked.

“Yes, my sexy, two-bladed, killer of deaders?”

“Shut up.”

“Gotcha,” Masters frowned. “But that doesn’t take care of the hungry tummy part.”

“Yes, food,” the Great Maker said, his frown matching Masters’s as he set aside a handful of gears. “That could present a problem.”

“Why?” Masters asked. “You’re looking pretty good for a man that’s mostly machine. I’m sure you have some type of synth junk worked out.”

“Not precisely,” the Great Maker said. “At least not what you would consider appetizing. My machinery works off of geothermal recharging just like any mech should.”

“And the but?” Harlow asked as she took a long look around the room until she found what she was looking for. “Has to do with those bones there.”

“Bones?” Masters asked as he followed her gaze. “Oh, come on! You’re a cannibal? I should have fucking guessed! Guy becomes a fucking deader on purpose, of course he’s gonna want to eat of the flesh! Stupid me thinking you eat synth paste or some other god awful fucking shit like that! No, you gotta be chomping on the people! Fuck. That. Shit.”

“Mitch?”

“What?!” he snapped at Harlow.

“Shut. Up.”

Mitch slowly noticed the crowd of mini-mechs his outburst had brought towards the room. “Oh, right, the potty mouth thing. My bad. My bad.”

“Forgiven,” the Great Maker said. “And no, Pilot Masters, I am not a cannibal. That would make me no better than the abominable hordes, and the blasphemous tribes, that occupy the wasteland. No, I do not eat people. Not in a long time, at least.” His head tilted and he focused on Harlow.

“Eh-hem. Then where did those bones come from, eh?” Masters asked. “They’re looking pretty picked clean. Like maybe they’ve been boiled. Come on, man, I know what I’m looking at.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Harlow said. “Those bones are boiled clean of their meat, right Maker?” The man/machine nodded. “But the meat wasn’t exactly alive when it was caught, was it?”

“Wasn’t alive?” Masters asked as a mini-mech set a tray with a cup of water and a steaming bowl of mush onto the Great Maker’s work table. Two other mini-mechs brought trays to Harlow and Masters. “Then what is...this...made... Oh, fuck me.”

The mini-mechs all bristled, their weapons activating.

“Sorry, Potty Mouth Masters,” Masters said as he reluctantly took the tray from the mini-mech as Harlow did. He looked at her and wanted to cry. “This is deader, isn’t it?”

“It is perfectly sanitary,” the Great Maker said as he took a bite. “I developed the process myself.” He waved his spoon to the pile of bones. “I use those for parts. The bone can be used for gears and pieces that are harder to machine from metal. And the resource is nearly limitless in the wasteland. Unlike some of the more hard to get parts.”

“Not that you are hurting for mech spares,” Harlow said as she matched the Great Maker bite for bit of the deader mush, her willpower keeping her from vomiting. Her eyes studied the man/machine -the cyborg. “But those parts aren’t what you’re after, are they?”

“You two are whacktacular,” Masters said as he set his tray down and kept only the cup of water. “No way I’m eating that.”

“You will,” the Great Maker said. “You won’t have a choice.”

“Oh, I’ll have a choice,” Masters said. “As soon as I get back to the Stronghold I’m eating every bit of synth-whatever I can get my hands on.”

“Mitch?” Harlow asked as soon as she choked down another bite. “I think you are still missing the point.”

“Oh, and what would that be?” he asked with a smirk.

“That you are not leaving here,” the Great Maker said, a look of true sorrow on his face. “Like I said-.”

“Some parts are hard to get,” Harlow said. “Like non-putrid parts? Right, Colonel? That’s what One Arm meant by he could now tend to the children. To provide for them.” The Great Maker nodded. “Instead of eating what was needed by you, as rogue dead mechs do, he could bring the living to you so you could harvest the parts.”

“You are the smart one, aren’t you?” the Great Maker said. “Why waste your life with a pilot like Mr. Masters?”

“I have been asking myself the same thing for a couple of months now,” Harlow said, her eyes shifting quickly to and away from Masters.

“And your conclusion, Pilot Harlow?” the Great Maker asked with eagerness.

“That depends,” Harlow replied.

“On what?”

“My options.”

Masters looked from Harlow to the Great Maker and back. “Okay, not liking where this convo is going. Think I may go find Biz. I could use some cheering up.”

“Please do, Pilot Masters,” the Great Maker said, his red eyes never leaving Harlow’s. “And let him know that he will be able to separate from One Arm shortly. Then he can see what his options are also.”

“Right,” Masters said as he backed out of the room. “Options. Topic of the day. Options.”

***

“What the heck are you spouting your mouth about, poobrain?” Bisby snapped from the cockpit. “I haven’t eaten diddlycrap in a day and I got to take a whiz, so why should I listen to you right now?”

Masters was doubled up laughing, despite the grave danger they were all in. He just couldn’t help it.

“Oh, man,” Masters said as he wiped his eyes. “Poobrain? Oh, that’s awesome. Diddlycrap? I love you, Biz, I really do.”

“Your comrade is speaking of the Great Maker’s plans to use your bodies for spare parts,” One Arm said. “The Great Maker’s human matrix must be replenished.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Masters said as he got himself under control. “As soon as you and the lopsided mech here are done with your integration then you and I get to be dissected.”

“Then why don’t you get the heck out of here,” Bisby said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I’d sure asheck like to,” Masters said as he struggled to keep from laughing again. “But maybe you haven’t noticed that the way out is blocked by an army of minis.” Masters frowned and looked back over his shoulder.

“And?” Bisby asked. “Spit it out, Mitch.”

“And my lovely lady Harlow is in there making some kind of deal,” Masters replied, looking back up at Bisby. “Don’t know what, but considering she isn’t my biggest fan I have a feeling it won’t turn out well for me.”

“Well, I haven’t pissed her off lately,” Bisby said. “So maybe I’m safe.”

“Thanks, Biz.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Her body would not be compatible with the Great Maker’s,” One Arm said. “She is the wrong gender of your species.”

“I don’t think that matters much, One Arm old pal,” Masters said. “But thanks for thinking of us.”

“I was not think-.”

“He’s being a smart ass,” Bisby said. “Ignore him.”

“That can be done easily,” One Arm replied.

“Great, now I get the cold shoulder from a mech too?” Masters complained. “How does a bad ass motherfucker catch a break in this wasteland?”

***

“Intriguing,” the Great Maker said as he looked Harlow up and down. “You would offer yourself in place of the two men out there? Would they do the same for you?”

“Of course,” Harlow said.

“Then why isn’t Masters in here right now fighting for you?”

“Because he knows that that wouldn’t be a good idea,” Harlow replied. “I can take care of myself.”

“Agreed,” the Great Maker said. “So the deal is you let me use what I need of you, replacing the rest so you can be my companion here forever? Is that it?”

“You must get lonely,” Harlow said, stepping towards the Great Maker. “And even with the metal, you are still a man inside, am I right?”

“Oh, I am more man than machine,” the Great Maker said. “You’d be surprised.”

“Would I?”

“But,” the Great Maker sneered. “I do not have cravings of the flesh any longer. Your offer is worthless to me.”

“Oh, well,” Harlow said. “I tried.”

She leapt at him and had her hand around his neck in an instant. She twisted his arm behind him, bending it almost to the breaking point.

“New deal,” Harlow said into the Great Maker’s ear. “We all walk out of here and go our own way.”

“You see, Pilot Harlow,” the Great Maker said as he craned his head around. “This is why I broke with the UDC. The insistence that violence and killing solve everything.” The cyborg’s head continued to turn until it was 180 degrees around and staring right at Harlow. “It only solves part of everything.”

Harlow gasped as the Great Maker slammed his head into hers, knocking her away from him. She was sent sprawling and barely had time to get up before his fist connected with her gut. She doubled over and his mechanical knee impacted with her face. Harlow flew up and onto the worktable.

“Do you smell it, Pilot Harlow?” the Great Maker asked as he took a deep breath through his nose. “That is the smell of me. I am everywhere here. I am the Great Maker. I don’t need the company of a slut mech pilot. I am my own company.” His fist slammed against her nose again and again. “And that is how I like it.”

***

“We have Stomper on the sensors,” Specialist Sol said as the Hybrid galloped across the wasteland. “He’s just over that ridge and down in the valley.”

“Weapons are full and hot,” Specialist Grendetti reported.

“The valley is messed up,” Specialist Kafar stated as he checked his readings. “It’s like a thick crust over a big hole. There’s enough space under there for a thousand deaders.”

“Let’s hope there aren’t any,” Lt. Murphy said as she piloted the Hybrid up over the ridge and down into the valley. “I’d really like this to be an easy extraction.”

“Is there such a thing?” Sol laughed.

“Not in my experience,” Murphy replied. “But I always hope.”

The massive Hill Stomper turned at the sound of the hybrid and stood to its full eight story height.

“Greetings, Special Operations team,” Stomper said. “I am glad to see that you have come to rescue the Harlow and the Masters and the Bisby. Unfortunately, I am too big to follow them.”

“Have you tried?” Grendetti asked.

“Dude, don’t fuck with the big mech,” Sol said. “You’ll hurt its feelings.”

“I will be honest with you,” Stomper responded. “I have not tried. I feared I would collapse the caverns below with my size and crush all of them.”

“Fair enough,” Murphy said. “Where is their entry point?”

“Right where I am standing,” Stomper said as he pointed down at the crevice. “They have been gone for nearly 24 hours. I fear the worst.”

“Can you fear stuff?” Grendetti asked. “I mean look at the size of you, what’s there to fear?”

“Man, you have no shame,” Kafar said.

Stomper didn’t respond, just turned and crouched by the crevice again.

Murphy brought the Hybrid to a stop.

“Gear up, feet on the ground,” she ordered. “No time to take a breather. We go in now.”

“No time for a piss?” Grendetti grinned. “I really gotta go.”

“Piss in your silk panties, boy,” Sol said as he suited up and grabbed is assault rifle. “Time to do what we do best.”

“Rescue mech pilots!” they all shouted at once.

“Oh, I do not think they would be happy to hear that,” Stomper said.

***

“Great Maker?” Hollow Eye asked. “I do not mean to interrupt, but we seem to be under assault.”

The Great Maker stayed the scalpel he was about to apply to Harlow’s scalp. “Assault? Within the cavern?”

“There is a team of humans with the giant mech ready to descend, Great Maker,” Hollow Eye stated.

The Great Maker grumbled and set the scalpel aside. “Do not let them descend, Hollow Eye. Take the fight to them.”

“Yes, Great Maker,” Hollow Eye said. “I will not allow a breach of our hallowed halls.”

“I should hope not.”

***

“Would you look at that?” Masters said as he stood stock still, watching all the mini-mechs turn and activate. “I hope it wasn’t something I said.”

“Did you open your mouth?” Bisby asked. “Then I’m sure it’s your fault.”

“A group of living dare to enter the caverns,” One Arm said. “That is their mistake.”

“Oh, good, so it wasn’t something I did,” Masters said. “That’s a relief. So, One Arm, these living, they wouldn’t happen to be other mech pilots would they?”

“I have seen them before,” One Arm said. “They come from the Stronghold.”

An image flashed in Bisby’s head. “It’s Murphy and her team.”

The mini-mechs started to march, followed by the few full sized mechs that maintained them.

“Heading out for some fresh air?” Masters called after them. “Not up to talking? I understand that. Always good to get your head in the right space before kicking up the boom-boom.”

“Can’t you shut up for five seconds?” Bisby growled.

“I quip therefore I am,” Masters smiled then frowned as One Arm turned and followed the other mechs. “Uh, Biz, where ya going? I was just playin’!”

“One Arm!” Bisby shouted. “Turn your ass around now!”

The shock came hard and strong and Bisby’s conscious mind fled the world.

“Biz!” Masters shouted. “BIZ!”

***

“Hey, folks,” Jethro said over the com. “I can tell by the com chat and your vital signs that you might be heading in to combat.”

“You’re not going to be talking in our ears the whole time are you?” Murphy asked as she and her team prepared to repel into the crevice. “Because that would be what is technically called ‘distracting’.”

“Just hang up here with the big guy and stay off our coms,” Sol said. “We got this.”

The team descended into the darkness below.

“That was not very nice to say,” Stomper stated. “You were just trying to help.”

“I know, right?” Jethro said. “I have skills. I can help coordinate. I can tell if maybe their vital signs are spiking too high. I can analyze what their vid cams are seeing and what their sensors are picking up.”

“You could not do any of that anyway,” Stomper said. “Because of the interference.”

“True,” Jethro said. “ Good point. Thanks, Stomper, that does make me feel a little better. We should hang more.”

“I would like to hang more, Jethro,” Stomper said. “But first I must be ready for battle.”

“Oh, I doubt it will make it all the way up here,” Jethro said. “We are talking about Murphy’s team, Mitch, Harlow and Bisby. I can almost guarantee that the action will stay below.”

“STOMPER!” Murphy called over the com, her voice broken with static. “PULL US UP! DO IT NOW! NOWNOWNOW!”

Stomper grabbed the lines and lifted the team into the air. “Are you being pursued?”

Several RPGS whizzed by Stomper and he ducked low, letting the projectiles fly off and detonate in the valley.

“Get them in the Hybrid!” Jethro ordered. “I’ll take over from here!”

Stomper walked the dangling team over to the Hybrid and set them down gently. They all scurried inside the safety of the metal.

“Get strapped in, people!” Jethro ordered. “I’m eyes, ears and guns. Just do what I say and I’ll get you back to the Stronghold alive!”

Stomper peered over the edge of the crevice, ducking and dodging RPGs as they came at him.

“Whatcha see, Stomper?” Jethro asked.

“Mechs,” Grendetti answered for the mech. “A fuck ton of mechs.”

“Mechs? What the fuck are you-?” Jethro didn’t finish as Stomper jumped back and an army of mini-mechs climbed out of the crevice, half headed for Stomper the other half for the Hybrid.

Then the full sized mechs came up.

“Oh, those mechs,” Jethro said.

***

Masters quickly realized he was all alone. The mechs that were left in the cavern were obviously not operational.

“So what’s a mech pilot to do when he doesn’t have a mech and isn’t sure where his girlfriend is?” Masters asked out loud. He looked about the cavern, found a broken strut that was just the right size, grabbed it and turned back towards the Great Maker’s lab. “Guess I have to go beat the fuck out of one seriously messed up cyborg with a God complex.”

Masters slapped the strut against his palm.

“Ow.”

Eighteen

“I want video now, Jethro!” Capreze called out as he joined Mathew, Jay, Marin, Rachel, June and Themopolous in the command room. “Every angle you have!”

“I have all external cams on the Hybrid operating, of course,” Jethro said as several vid screens came up showing various views of the wasteland valley. “Then I also have what Stomper sees.”

“Hello, everyone,” Stomper said as his cams came online. “I am sorry more of you cannot join in this battle. There will be a lot of action. I believe it will be fun.”

“Spoken like a mech,” Jay said.

“Where did they all come from?” Mathew asked.

“You all have your tablets?” Jethro asked. “Good. Full briefing on what I know about the Great Maker is on there now.”

They all studied the info between glances at the vid screens. It was hard to take in what Jethro was feeding them while the vids showed wave after wave of mini-mechs converge on Stomper and the Hybrid.

“They aren’t gonna make it,” Rachel said solemnly. “They don’t have enough firepower.”

“They have Stomper,” Marin said. “And Jay and I put a lot of work into that Hybrid. It can stand a beating.”

“But they aren’t mech pilots,” Capreze said. “This kind of warfare is different.”

“They have experience taking down deaders without tons of metal around them,” June put in. “They’re a lot tougher than you’re giving them credit for.”

“Right, but fighting mechs, even mini-mechs is-,” Mathew started to say.

“Guys! Shut the fuck up and watch!” Jethro snapped. “Sure I can process trillions and trillions of streams of data at once, but you’re bugging the fuck out of me!”

“Look who’s talking now,” Jay mumbled.

“Numbers?” Capreze asked.

“I thought just a couple dozen mini-mechs, but it looks like more,” Jethro said. “My count is 41 minis and fifteen full sized.”

The group stayed very silent.

“Prayers might help,” Themopolous suggested.

No one disagreed.

***

Stomper decided to save his ammo and just use brute force. He didn’t want to run his guns empty and need them later. That was what Harlow had taught him. If you could smash the fuck out of your enemy then there was no need to even think of drawing a weapon.

“I implore you all to think this through,” Stomper bellowed over his loudspeakers. “We are all mechs here.”

The minis didn’t listen. Ten went right at Stomper, their guns firing at his legs, aimed right for his hydraulics. Stomper leapt into the air and came down hard leaving only three minis operational. He did what his name implied and then there was only one mini, but that guy was less than functional.

Unfortunately, Harlow’s tactics were for head-on battle. She never thought to teach him about the bait and switch.

When the full size mechs blasted the backs of his legs, Stomper felt half his hydraulic capabilities go out.

“Oh, dear,” Stomper said. “This is not good.”

***

“How many are going to get through, Jethro?” Lt. Murphy asked as the team watched RPG after RPG and missile after missile fly at the attacking mechs. “More importantly, how much damage can this thing take when they do get through?”

“I’ll keep them back,” Jethro said.

“Anyone else a bit claustrophobic right now?” Kafar asked. “Is it just me? I mean this thing feels like a coffin with legs.”

“Shut up, Kafar,” Sol ordered. “Keep your shit together.”

“Oh, I got my shit, Sol,” Kafar laughed. “My shit is tight. Just making an observation before I die.”

“I’m with Kafar on this one,” Grendetti said. “I sure would rather have boots on dirt right now.”

“Not happening,” Murphy said although she was right there with her men on that one. Even running across the barren valley was more appealing than being trapped in an armed tin can. She should have known that even as a Hybrid, mechs were for pilots. Freedom was how her team worked.

“I’m giving you one chance, Jethro,” Murphy spoke up. “The first hint this bucket is going down and I’m getting my team out of here.”

“There’s nowhere to go, Lt,” Jethro replied.

“That’s why we’re called ‘special’, Jethro,” Murphy said. “We make places to go, we don’t wait for them to appear.”

“Got that right, Lt,” Grendetti said. “I say we bug the fuck out now.” The first RPGs got through and started to impact against the Hybrid’s armor. “Or we could stick around for a while. I’m good with that.”

***

Stomper kicked out and crushed the front frame of a full sized mech. It’s cockpit caved in and the thing toppled over backwards. Alarms blared as Stomper’s pressure gauges began to spike. He could see that he would lose his right knee hydraulics in less than five minutes.

“I must improvise,” Stomper said. “Do not rely on what I can do, but focus on what the enemy cannot do.”

Having Harlow for a pilot for the past few months had paid off for the giant mech.

Three full mechs converged on Stomper from different sides. He knew he couldn’t take all three at once, so he picked the one he perceived to be the strongest and attacked.

One thing the unlucky mech couldn’t do was leap out of the way of Stomper’s extensive reach. It brought up its guns, but was too late. Stomper gripped the mech in its hand and then turned and tossed it at the mech right behind him. The two machines collided in an explosion of metal and fire.

“Hot damn!” Jethro shouted. “That’s using your nuts and bolts, man!”

“I do not believe this is the time for vulgarity, Jethro,” Stomper said as he focused on the third mech.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Jethro protested. “Oh, never mind. Just crush that fuck!”

Stomper attempted to do just that, but the third mech proved to be much faster than anticipated. A quick scan showed the mech’s hydraulics to be bunched and coupled in a way that Stomper had never seen.

“I am sending analysis back to the Stronghold,” Stomper said as he took an RPG in the mid-section. “Chief Mechanic Jay Rind may be interested in the design of this mech’s leg systems.”

Academic and engineering interest aside, Stomper realized he had to disable the mech’s mobility or he would not survive long. The thing was fast and was landing too many shots to Stomper’s critical areas.

Stomper stood to full height and watched the mech leap and land, leap and land. On the next landing, Stomper timed a stomp and the valley floor shook and shuddered. The mech landed on unstable ground and faltered. Stomper didn’t waste time. He scooped up the mech and twisted the thing into two parts, sending both parts flying deep into the wasteland.

As proud as Stomper was of his tactical analysis, he didn’t have time to gloat, even if his AI was capable, because the next wave of minis hit him low and hard.

***

Far below the battle on the valley floor, Mitch Masters was faced with a dilemma.

“Promise to stop with the silent treatment,” Masters said as he stood over a pissed off Harlow strapped to a lab table. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“Goddammit, Mitch!” Harlow spat. “I don’t know where the fucker went! He could be back any second! Stop fucking around!”

“My gut says that the only thing the Great Maker is great at is running and hiding,” Mitch said. “I’m sure he’s ten caverns away by now.”

“MITCH!” Harlow roared.

“No more silent treatment,” Masters said as he casually swung the broken strut back and forth. “Just say it.”

“I haven’t been giving you the silent treatment,” Harlow hissed. “I have spoken to you every single day.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about those lips,” Masters grinned.

“You son of a bitch,” Harlow shouted as she strained at her bonds. “Cut me the fuck loose or I swear you will never, ever, as long as I fucking live, get one fucking glimpse at my pussy again! EVER!”

“So what youare saying is night sex is cool as long as the light’s off?”

“Not even if you were the last cock standing, asshole.”

“Okay, that’s kinda the opposite of what I was talking about,” Masters said. A clang and thump from deep in the cavern made Masters hurry to the table. “Just kidding. Seriously. All just a joke.”

Harlow had to keep herself from kicking the shit out of Masters as soon as she was freed from the table.

“You do know I was joking, right?” Masters asked as he watched Harlow arm herself with her two long blades that had been tossed on a scrap pile against the wall. “Oh, Jeezus, I’m so gonna die.”

“Shut up, you fucking baby,” Harlow said. “I won’t cut your nuts off until we get back to the Stronghold. Too many people would pay to watch. Not gonna waste that opportunity.”

“What people?” Masters asked as he watched Harlow sprint further into the cavern, headed towards the clang. “Where the fuck are you going? The way out is back that way!”

***

Nothing illuminated the cavern as the Great Maker sprinted around bend after bend, his eyes seeing all. He counted his way, knowing the maze of twists and turns like the back of his metal framed hand. His destination was just in reach.

“MAKER!” Harlow yelled from way back in the cavern. “I’M COMING FOR YOU!”

“You’ll never make it,” the Great Maker snarled as he came to his proudest creation. “Not in a million years.”

Couplers were disconnected and geothermal steam hissed throughout the cavern. Quick tests showed hydraulic levels and vital fluids to be optimal. The smell of rotten death was everywhere and the Great Maker breathed deeply, savoring the aroma of his creation.

He climbed aboard into the central space designed just for him. He had known the day would come when Capreze’s people would find him. They were vermin of the wasteland and all vermin found a way in eventually.

As the Great Maker settled himself into the pilot’s space, hose threaded out and twisted into ports in his legs and arms. Bolts whirred their way into the tips of his fingers as cables stretched and connected. His entire head was encompassed in metal, connectors pressing into his red eyes, finalizing the integration with the machine.

The one story, eight-legged machine crawled its way out of the cavern, stretching its legs and gaining height as the cavern widened around it.

***

Harlow skidded to a stop and held her hand back. Masters nearly impaled himself on the blade she held, but stopped in time.

“May want to give a heads up,” Masters said. “Little dark in here you know.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mitch,” Harlow whispered.

“Is this how it’s gonna be from now on?” Masters asked. “Because you have to know how sorry I am. Seriously, I-.”

“Shhhh!” Harlow scolded. “Listen!”

A clanging sound echoed through the cavern’s serpentine path and Harlow took off after it.

Masters sighed and struggled to keep up with her. “Jeezus, does she have fucking night vision?”

***

“Fuck you!” Bisby shouted as One Arm closed on the Hybrid. “I’m not letting you take down my people!”

“There is no way to stop me,” One Arm replied. “I have command of all systems. You are not strong enough to override my AI.”

“Hey, Biz,” Jethro said over the com. “How’s things?”

“Bite my dick, Jethro,” Bisby said. “Not the time.”

“Well, I think it is the time,” Jethro said. “There is a way to override the AI.”

“I will fry his cerebral cortex before he can even try,” One Arm stated.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Jethro said.

One Arm was only paces from the Hybrid. The mech lifted his arm, ready to slam the new machine into the dirt, as the Hybrid was too busy with the mini-mechs surrounding it to see the danger.

“Hey, Stomper? Got a second?” Jethro called out.

“Not at this particular moment,” Stomper replied as he danced and dodged about the mini-mechs attacking it. The smaller mechs were like scavengers fighting for their piece of meat. There was no coordinated attack, just pure, violent chaos.

“I just need you to tell Biz how Masters overrode your AI,” Jethro said. “Any pointers would be helpful.”

“He was Mitch Mother Fucking Masters,” Stomper said. “That was all he needed.”

“You got that, Biz?” Jethro said. “You can do it.”

“My AI will be fully operational in minutes,” One Arm said. “At that time you will not be able to stop me. I will burn your brain from your skull.”

Bisby concentrated, but it was like pressing his balls against a wall of needle sharp nails. The pain was excruciating and threatened to knock him into unconsciousness.

“No go, Jethro,” Bisby said, gasping for air. “This fucker is too strong.”

“Okay, well I tried, Biz,” Jethro said. “It was good knowing you. We’ll be sure to keep the fact you gave up off your memorial plaque.”

“Fuck you,” Bisby snarled. “Your bullshit psychology is not helping.”

“No, no, of course not,” Jethro said. “There is nothing that can help. The metal won, Biz. You got taken down from the inside by a deader. I am sorry.”

Bisby knew exactly what Jethro was doing. It was so blatantly childish. But being taken down by a deader? Images of Stanislaw being eaten by the very machine Bisby was in pushed to the front of his mind. Thoughts of all the destruction the deader had wrought on survivor pockets across the wasteland. He couldn’t just roll over.

“One Arm,” Bisby said. “I’ll give you one chance to end this.”

“I do not need your chance,” One Arm said as it sent its fist into the Hybrid, buckling the machines legs under it.

“Fair warning, bitch,” Bisby said as he closed his eyes and dove into One Arm’s AI.

***

The howl that spread across the wasteland almost stopped the battle in its tracks. Even the mini-mechs hesitated as the scream of anguish and pain echoed from One Arm’s loudspeakers. But the hesitation of metal lasted only a millisecond, not long enough for any of the humans to register.

“Shit balls,” Grendetti said as the Hybrid recovered and lumbered to the side away from One Arm. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Jethro opened up with the 50mm guns on the mini-mechs coming at the Hybrid. He aimed at the legs, strafing the hydraulics until the things were having to pull themselves forward with their fists. Most of the mechs were already out of ammo, their supplies having been short from the start. Jethro realized that and pushed forward, sending everything the Hybrid had at them.

A large mech made it past Stomper’s defenses and clambered up its leg, punching mech fist-sized holes in Stomper’s exoskeleton. The huge mech fell to its knee and reached down for the mech, but the thing leapt away, rolling in the dirt until it gained control and came up firing.

Round after round peppered Stomper as the mech tried to swat the attacker away. The accuracy of the attack became alarming as system failures across the board started to set off alarms.

“Stomper?” Jethro asked. “I’m not liking what I’m seeing here.”

“I am not liking what I am feeling here,” Stomper replied. “This one has more firepower than the others.”

The mech, Hollow Eye, circled about Stomper, concentrating all weapons on weak points and structurally vulnerable areas.

“Get out of there, Stomper!” Jethro shouted. “Just bail, man!”

Full system hydraulics failed and Stomper could no longer stand without worry of snapping struts throughout its legs. When the firing from Hollow Eye stopped, Stomper thought it may have a chance to retreat, but the mech was on it in a flash, its hands ripping at cables and connections as fast as it could.

While all may have noticed when One Arm started wailing, none noticed when it stopped. Everyone was too busy keeping themselves alive to worry about a pained mech.

“Hey,” Bisby coughed as he stood behind Hollow Eye. “Get off my friend.”

The mech whirled about in time for Bisby to punch the one metal arm he had through Hollow Eye’s midsection. Bisby opened his massive metal fist and grabbed anything and everything he could then yanked his arm back out.

Hollow Eye fell off Stomper and stumbled about the valley floor for a moment before collapsing to its knees. Bisby walked over to the fallen mech and pulled his arm back. His head felt like a thousand deader teeth were ripping at his brain, but he had One Arm subdued and that was all he cared about. Except for ripping Hollow Eye’s head right off. He really wished the mech had a head.

Instead, Bisby threw the punch and slammed his fist straight through the mech’s cockpit, obliterating all systems at once.

“Hey, Jethro?” Bisby gasped.

“Yeah, Biz?” Jethro replied, trying to hide his smile.

“Fuck you,” Bisby responded just as his mech collapsed.

Nineteen

The first fight had stunned the Rookie. The second fight awed him.

“Those two are only eleven?” the Rookie asked as he watched the intricate acrobatics of two finely trained warrior girls as they sparred without restraint in the arena below. “They’ve been training since they were six?”

“They will keep training and fighting,” Right Hand Wife said . “Until they reach menses. Some will move on sooner than others. Once they reach menses though then they are sent to the Maze.”

“And they just wait until their prince comes and rescues them?” the Rookie laughed. “Happily ever after?”

Right Hand Wife turned away from the Rookie in disgust. She abruptly stood up and the other wives did so also. “We shall watch from a better vantage point,” she said sternly. “The air here stinks with bigotry.” Before she left she locked eyes with the Mayor. “He is your heir? He is an idiot.”

The Mayor waited until the women had left then turned to the Rookie, a big grin on his face. “She doesn’t like you, boy,” he smiled. “You’re gonna have to work on that if you aim to take over for me.”

“I don’t aim to do shit,” the Rookie said. “Except get the fuck out of here as soon as possible.”

The Mayor clapped him on the shoulder. “That very well may be your fate. I just can’t guarantee it will be alive. Choice is up to you.”

“You took my choice when you took me,” the Rookie countered.

“You lost your choice when you buddied up to those mech folk,” the Mayor responded. “Sometimes to be a man you have to be forced into something that ain’t of your choosing.” The Mayor swept his arms wide. “I was forced into the wasteland and it was the best thing for me.”

“From what I know you were forced out of our village because no one there had a choice,” the Rookie said, his eyes drawn to the combat below. “Your reputation isn’t one of hugs and sing-a-longs.”

“Brutal times, brutal place,” the Mayor said. “I’ve learned civilization now. People have value here. In their own way.”

“Right,” the Rookie nodded. “In their own way.”

***

The tallest of the girls, a flat faced brunette with a vicious scar across her right eyebrow, circled the shorter girl, her blunt sword at the ready, her small, round shield up.

The shorter girl, a lithe redhead whose face showed more years than she’d actually lived, just waited, sword down, shield casually at her side.

They both wore nothing but loincloths, their sun drenched skin pulled tight over muscles that would have made any mech pilot envious. Their chests were bare and breasts exposed, but neither had developed fully and only had small buds that showed they were approaching womanhood.

“Not exactly modest,” the Rookie observed.

“They are unencumbered by weight,” the Mayor said. “Easier to see the development of muscle.”

“If that’s what you have to tell yourself,” the Rookie snorted.

The cuff upside the head was swift and hard. The Rookie turned, ready to fight back, but the Mayor hadn’t changed positions at all and seemed bored by the action.

“Do you see naked women strutting about Eden?” the Mayor asked.

“Well...no,” the Rookie said.

“Do you hear women being called at, leered at, by the men that are not married?”

“Well, I haven’t exactly been given the full tour,” the Rookie said. “Boys will be boys and all that shit, so I’m sure it happens.”

“No. It doesn’t,” the Mayor said. “You have misunderstood everything since you’ve gotten here. A husband is only the voice and power of his marriages because the women allow it to be so. Look, fool!”

The Rookie turned back to the arena and watched as the brunette swung her sword at the redhead. The redhead ducked easily and crouched, sending a hard, sweeping kick at the brunette, who in turn leapt over the kick and came down on the redhead’s shoulder with her shield. The girl cried out in pain, but at no time did the blow slow her down.

She ducked and rolled to the side, then came up, her shield flying at the mid-section of the brunette. The dark haired girl barely had time to side step the attack, but in that time the redhead closed the distance and jammed her sword into the armpit of the brunette’s sword arm.

It was a move that the Rookie admired greatly. No sharp edges to hack off limbs with, no way to cut and bleed the opponent, the girl had learned to go for the soft areas, learned that a hard hit to the lymph glands under the armpit was nearly as bad as severing the arm all together.

The brunette dropped her sword and hugged her arm to her. But she did not quit. The Rookie expected it to all fall apart at that point and was on the edge of his seat when the brunette lunged one way then when the redhead took the bait, lunged back, leaping in the air and delivering a flying round house kick that had more power and efficiency of violence than any kick the Rookie had seen in the pit back at the Boiler village or in the fight cages he’d been enslaved in as a teen.

“Holy fuck,” the Rookie said as the redhead seemed to crumple under the kick. “That’s...wow.”

“I knew you’d appreciate this,” the Mayor said.

“I appreciate the skill shown, but not the reason behind it,” the Rookie said. “I have to admit I’m not a fan of kids fighting for their lives.”

“Lives?” the Mayor laughed. “Damn! I have over estimated you! No child dies in the arena unless it is a freak accident. This is training.”

“For the Maze,” the Rookie said. “Right. And that is where they die?”

The Mayor shrugged.

The brunette came in for another kick, but stopped suddenly and backed off. The Rookie nodded in agreement; the redhead was not hurt nearly as much as she acted. The redhead, sensing her rouse was discovered got to her feet and worked her sword in her hand, spinning it about in an intricate pattern.

The brunette’s eyes never once were drawn to the sword even though the Rookie couldn’t keep his own eyes off of it. She focused squarely on the middle of the redhead’s chest, her body taught with anticipation.

The redhead feinted left with a sudden swipe, but the brunette didn’t take the bait. A feint to the right, then left, then true jab to the gut were all wasted on the brunette as she saw every move telegraphed. Her eyes narrowed and she let go of her bruised armpit. She rolled her head on her neck and the Rookie could hear the vertebrae crack all the way up where he was sitting.

He leaned forward suddenly and his eyes widened. “Wait,” he whispered, seeing something in the brunette he had failed to notice before.

The brunette started to bounce from one foot to the other and the redhead was obviously nervous. With lightning quick speed the brunette sent a jab at the redhead’s face. The girl barely ducked in time, but it was a move she shouldn’t have made. She would have been better off taking the jab because the uppercut that followed cracked teeth and sent her sprawling backwards in the dirt.

No one came out to check on the unconscious form of the redhead as the brunette turned and looked all the way up at the Mayor.

“Hey, daddy!” the girl shouted, waving enthusiastically.

The Mayor blew her a kiss and the crowd stood and applauded with gusto.

“She’s my cousin,” the Rookie said.

“And I’ve seen the vids of you in your cage fighting prime,” the Mayor said. “Ain’t no doubting the family resemblance.”

***

“This is him?” the brunette asked as she shook the water from her hair and wrapped a towel around herself. “Cousin Dog?”

“Rookie,” the Rookie corrected. “I don’t go by Dog anymore.”

“Whatever he wants to be called,” the Mayor said. “She’s called Imogene.”

“Immy,” Imogene smiled, her hand out. She glanced at her father and he took out a knife and freed the Rookie’s hands. “It is an honor to meet you. I watched all your vids. Everyone has, but I’ve watched them the most. You’re a legend.”

“Uh, sure, right,” the Rookie nodded as he rubbed his wrists then shook her hand. “Thanks?”

“Is he gonna stay, daddy?” Imogene asked as she grabbed a pair of leathers and shrugged them up her legs then tossed the towel aside and pulled on a thin tunic. “He gonna be the next Mayor if you pass?” She looked up towards the sky, kissed each knuckle on her right hand twice and the spit on the ground. “Not that that’ll happen soon.” She took a jab at her father and he playfully knocked it away. “You’re in your prime!”

“I don’t know about prime,” the Mayor laughed. “But I still got some years in me yet.”

“You’re a natural fighter,” was all the Rookie could say and by the look on Immy’s face it was the perfect thing to say.

“Did you hear that, daddy?” she almost swooned. “Dog, THE Dog, said I was a natural fighter! Oh, wow, oh, wow, oh, wow!”

She smiled then looked down. “Daddy?”

“Yes, Immy?” the Mayor grinned, obviously proud of his girl.

“Why’s his legs all bandaged up? He have an accident?”

“Oh, that,” the Mayor said. “He was caught on the hooks.”

Immy frowned and a look that would have made any grown man cover his nuts overtook her face. “You hurt him bringing him here?” She shook her head. “Oh, daddy.”

“Now, Immy,” the Mayor started to protest. “Don’t you scold me in front of your cousin.”

“Have you apologized?” she asked, flames of red behind her eyes. The Rookie realized she was Right Hand Wife’s daughter. That family resemblance was obvious too. “Well, answer me?”

“Immy, we’ve talked about this.” The Mayor glared at his daughter. “You overstep, girl.”

“You overstep, man,” she countered and moved in close, quickly.

The Mayor stood his ground, but the Rookie could see the man was not comfortable with the confrontation.

“He apologized,” the Rookie said.

“Did he?” Immy asked, her eyes never leaving her father’s face.

“In his way,” the Rookie replied.

“In his way,” Immy parroted. She chewed the words over for a minute then took a step back. “We treat family right in Eden.”

“We treat family right in Eden” the Mayor recited. “That is true.” The tension left the two and the Mayor gave his daughter a beaming smile once again. “That was quite the fight today, Immy. Go get some food. I’m sure the other girls will want to talk to you about it.”

“Cleo wants to talk notes,” Immy said. “She never saw the uppercut and wanted to know how I got it by her. Gotta learn, right?”

“Gotta learn,” the Mayor said and swatted her on the thigh. “Now get.”

The Rookie watched in amazement as the young girl hurried off.

“I gotta say I’m more confused than I’ve ever been in my whole life,” the Rookie admitted.

“Not what you thought it’d be,” the Mayor stated. “Figured we’d have cages of breed feed and raping posts set up everywhere.”

“From your reputation?” the Rookie said. “Yes. I was expecting burning bodies and pits of deaders for people to be thrown in.”

The Mayor’s face fell and he looked away from the Rookie. “Time was it would have been like that. But any man can change.” He glanced back at the Rookie. “Ain’t that right...Rookie?”

“I still want to leave,” the Rookie said.

“We’ll see,” the Mayor nodded. “Tour ain’t over yet.”

***

The ATVs approached the smoking mech with caution. They didn’t see movement or signs of life, but they also didn’t know why a mech would be disabled not that far from Eden.

“Eyes and ears, assholes,” a man said as he hopped from his ATV. He pointed at the ground surrounding the mech. “Pilot’s here somewhere. This is probably a trap.”

“Why’d she torch her own mech?” another man asked. “Why not just come at us?”

“Ain’t no mech gonna get into Eden,” the first man said. “We’d blast it apart.”

“Still don’t make no sense,” the second man said.

All converged on the mech, carbines at the ready. It was obvious a pilot wasn’t inside. Two men pulled out sensors and started to sweep the mech.

“Ammunition,” one said. “But no explosives. Thing ain’t booby trapped.”

“Keep checking,” the first man said. “Find some tracks, find something.”

They continued their search, even taking the time to stab the dirt around the mech to see if the pilot was buried, but eventually they concluded there was nothing.

“What are we going to do?” the second man asked.

“Tow it in,” the first man said. “Too much metal and tech to let rot here in the waste.”

“That safe?” the second man asked.

The first man walked over to a service hatch and sprang it open with a blow from the butt of his carbine. He looked inside for a minute then reached in and yanked a handful of wires. There was an obvious sound of the mech powering completely down.

“Ain’t got no juice no more,” the first man said. “No juice, no threat. Now get it hooked up so we can get back. The Mayor’s working hard on this Dog guy. Everyone is working hard. Sure hope this plan works”

They hooked tow lines to anyplace they could, checked the balance with the ATVs, and started slowly back towards Eden.

***

“The Maze?” the Rookie asked as he stood before a small, metal door set into thick concrete blocks directly in the center of Eden. The door and blocks were recessed into the ground. “It’s down there?”

“It is,” the Mayor said. “And below us.” He turned and indicated the entire town. “The Maze stretches. It is home to several hundred slits.”

“What the fuck!” the Rookie gasped. “There’s hundreds of women down there?”

“Slits,” the mayor insisted. “You ain’t catching on to how it works around here.”

“No, no I get it,” the Rookie said. “They aren’t women until they get married. And they can only get married when a man goes down and does what, rescue them?”

“Fights for them,” the Mayor said. “It is about the fight and the warriors that emerge.”

“Who is he fighting?” the Rookie asked.

“It ain’t always a who,” the Mayor said. “We don’t remove bodies if a slit dies.”

“Jeezus,” the Rookie whistled. “You keep the deaders down there with them. Can I officially decline any part in this crazy town?”

“No,” the Mayor said bluntly. “You can’t.”

The Rookie reached down and pulled on the latch welded to the door. “So unlock this bitch and let me see what’s down there.”

“You looking to get married?” the Mayor asked.

“No, not at all,” the Rookie said. “I already have a girl.”

“Yes, the one in the mech that followed you,” the Mayor said. “Too bad about her.”

The Rookie whirled on the Mayor and grabbed the man’s shirt, pulling his face close. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Just that it’s too bad about your Railer girl,” the Mayor said. “We found the mech and it wasn’t in the best of shape. No sign of your pretty young thing.”

“What do you mean by no sign?”

“Well, you know the wasteland,” the Mayor smiled. “People just get lost all the damn time.”

“Where is she?” the Rookie snarled as he shook the Mayor. “If you’ve hurt her I’ll rip you busy dick off and feed it to a deader down there.”

The sounds of carbine slides being pulled back made the Rookie look about. Perched on top of buildings and houses were several heavily armed men, their weapons aimed right at the Rookie.

“We’re too close together,” the Rookie said. “They fire and they’ll probably hit you.”

“Probably,” the Mayor said and the Rookie barely noticed the nod. A shot rang out and the Rookie looked down at a divot in the ground between his feet. The Mayor smiled. “But probably not. You just don’t pay attention.” The Mayor carefully removed the Rookie’s hands from his shirt. “So full of fight and violence that you lose sight of what’s been said.”

The Mayor stepped back and turned in a circle. He raised his hands then lowered them quickly. Shots echoed through Eden and the Rookie closed his eyes, his body locked in place, waiting for the round that would blow his brains out.

When silence followed the Rookie carefully opened his eyes to a smiling Mayor. The man pointed down and the Rookie gasped. Spelled out in the dirt at his feet were the words, “Pay Attention, Asshole.”

Even the comma was there.

“You never asked what the boys learn while the girls are in the arena,” the Mayor stated. “Well I think those words should give you an idea.”

“I’m guessing you all are good with guns,” the Rookie replied. “Noted.”

“I hope so,” the Mayor said. “You wouldn’t want to forget that. Especially since you got running in your eyes. How far do you think we’d let you get before the kill shot ripped your skull open?”

“I guess that depends on how bored you are,” the Rookie said.

“I guess so.”

***

Jenny waited until she knew the last sound she’d heard had been several minutes before. She slowly, carefully unlatched the cargo hatch and pushed it open, so aware that if she let it fall the clang would be heard for a long way.

She peeked into the dark area and let out a breath she’d been holding for who knew how long. She slipped from the cargo bay and closed the hatch silently.

“You must think we’re the dumbest folk in the wasteland,” a man’s voice said before the space was lit up by halogens. “What? You honestly thought we’d just drag this mech in here and not look in the cargo bay? Scanners showed you all nice and cozy from the get go, girl.”

“Where’s the Rookie?” Jenny asked, sizing up the crew around here. Four men, each with a carbine pointed at her and a pistol on their hips. “You fucking take me to him right now.”

“Slit thinks she gives orders,” the man laughed. “Slit really ain’t so bright.”

“We really gonna throw her in there, Dizzy?” a second man asked.

Dizzy, the first man nodded. “That’s what the Mayor said. The Rookie wants to find out about the Maze. Only way a man can do that is fight for a wife.”

“Hoowee!” the second man shouted. “Looks like you’re gonna get married! I love a wedding!”

“Shut up, Liggle,” Dizzy said. “I doubt there’ll be a wedding. This slit will be dead before the Rookie gets past the first Corner.”

Jenny readied herself for the fight. She didn’t expect the hood whipped over her head and her legs knocked out from under her. Whoever had snuck up behind her was unbelievably quiet.

“Pick her up and take her to the Nurses,” Dizzy said. “She’ll need to be prepped for the Maze.”

Twenty

“Have a sip,” Campbell said as she propped LaFrance’s head up on her lap. “You have to drink.”

The man’s eyelids fluttered a bit and then he forced them open with only the strength of his will. “Out...post...?”

“Don’t know,” Campbell said as she slowly tipped her canteen into LaFrance’s mouth. “Just a sip.”

“Where...?” he started to ask, but a coughing fit, then severe pain shut him up quickly.

“Broken ribs,” she informed him. “May have nicked a lung. Nasty concussion. Burnt to shit. Luckily all bullets went into the fucks that tried to take you.” His eyes searched hers then around their surroundings. “Where are we? A cave. A fucking cave. In the wasteland.”

“How...?” LaFrance asked.

“Shiner,” Campbell said. “He came back, found me with you in the sled, and got us down here.”

“Found...?”

“How about you just let me tell you the story,” Campbell smiled. “Save your strength.”

LaFrance nodded.

“I got four dogs into bunker 84A,” Campbell stated. “Yes, I know about bunker 84A. I’m the,was the, outpost engineer.” She gave LaFrance another sip. “I was able to monitor what was happening from the control station in there. Luckily it wasn’t hooked into the main system or Norton would have found me.”

LaFrance’s eyes widened and Campbell put a finger to his lips.

“Listen, okay? Yes, it was fucking Norton. He’s with Control. Fighting had pretty much stopped when you came screaming from the outpost, guns fucking blazing, running like a madman into the snow,” Campbell grinned. “Damn, it was fucking glorious! You must have taken quite a few out because you were able to get to a snow runner and were probably 100 meters away before they shot you off it. Fucking RPGs. I waited until it was clear, loaded up the sled with all the provisions I could get from the bunker, busted ass to you and then got you into the tunnel.”

“Where I rescued your butts,” Shiner said as he walked into the cave. The bright chrome of his BC body was muted with yellows, grays, oranges and deep reds; the colors of the wasteland. “I butchered many men. They were fools to fight me.”

“Yeah, glad you’re on our side,” Campbell said and LaFrance heard the deep honesty in her voice. She had been a hard-assed engineer, but even in his weakened state he could see she was struggling to keep it together. Campbell saw him watching her and glared. “I was doing fine until I had to save your ass.”

“Thanks…,” he whispered. “What…now…?”

“We wait,” Shiner said. “We are secure in this cave for now. I have scouted the entire area and we weren’t followed.”

“Shiner’s come up with his own camo tech,” Campbell said. “You’d have no idea he was there even if you sat right on him.”

“The biochrome is alive,” Shiner stated. “It wants to stay alive so it revealed all of its secrets to me.”

Campbell and LaFrance’s eyes met, puzzled.

“You said that earlier,” Campbell said. “Yeah, BC is organic metal and all, but it can’t think.”

“I did not say it could think,” Shiner said. “I said it was alive. Like a fungus or other simple organism.”

“It’s not alive, Shiner,” Campbell said. “Trust me, I’ve been working with BC my whole life. My mom was an engineer and her dad was an engineer.”

“Then you should know better,” Shiner insisted flatly. “It is alive.”

LaFrance coughed roughly and took a slow, deep breath, even though his ribs protested greatly. “Trust the bioborg,” he said to Campbell. “He says…it’s alive…then it’s alive.”

Campbell thought for a moment then nodded. “Alright. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised by anything now.”

A couple sharp barks made Shiner spin about. “We have company,” he said, pointing back towards Campbell and LaFrance. “Try to get deeper into the cave. I will investigate.”

“Watch the dogs,” Campbell said. “Keep them tight.”

“They will stay by me,” Shiner replied. “The dogs like me.”

***

Pitch black with one white paw and a white tip to his bushy tail, Coal stood at the ready, his teeth bared, faced away from the cave mouth, his hackles up. Next to him stood Lesh, a thick-furred blonde, her hackles up also.

Behind the alpha male and alpha female stood Brand and Kook, shorter haired, brindle coated, and just as pissed.

All four dogs were of the Spitz family, just as there ancestors were. Huskies, malamutes, shepherds, Samoyed, chows, all descended straight from the wolf. The dogs were trained to pull a grav-sled; but they were born to rip shit apart at a moment’s notice.

“Calm,” Shiner said. “Sit.”

They obeyed, their muscles twitching with violence, waiting for the next command. The direction they faced told Shiner where to look, but he didn’t really need their help as he saw the dust plumes from below the ridge the cave was in. He scanned the disturbance and counted six people, two women and four men, all armed, all looking up at him and the dogs.

Rifles were raised and Shiner took a step back. “Inside,” he ordered and the dogs reluctantly retreated into the cave. He waited until they were gone then shifted his BC further until he matched the surrounding rock face perfectly. He saw two rifles lowered, puzzled looks on the shooters’ faces.

The group conversed briefly, one of them pointing to the barely perceptible trail that lead up to the cave. Shiner would have frowned if his face wasn’t smooth. He did not fear the group –six humans against a BC enhanced AI was not a fair fight- but he feared where they came from and how many more humans there might have been. They needed safety and security until LaFrance could be moved. A pack of wasteland survivors was not convenient for their survival.

“Hey!” a man shouted. “You come down now! Bring that meat with ya and we won’t blow your fucking heads off!”

The group waited for an answer and when none came one of the rifles barked and a shot ricocheted off the ridge to Shiner’s left.

The bioborg grunted and took three steps forward, taking him right off the edge.

***

The man was about to shout again when Shiner landed directly in front of him, punching a foot deep divot into the earth. The bioborg didn’t even flinch as the men and women opened fire on him. Their bullets were deflected easily and he just waited until each rifle clicked empty.

“You are finished,” he stated. “Please place the rifles on the ground and put your hands behind your heads. Then kneel down and do not move.”

“What the fuck is it?” one of the men asked.

“Dead,” a woman said as she threw her rifle at it and pulled a sixteen inch blade from her waistband.

“As I was saying to my friends,” Shiner began as he watched the woman lunge at him. “I have recently discovered that by default I am alive.”

Her head tumbled from her shoulders and bounced towards the others. None of them even saw Shiner move.

“That was a harsh reaction, I know,” Shiner said. “But I needed you to pay attention.”

“You’re going to die for that,” a man snarled as he came at Shiner.

“Well, perhaps one day,” Shiner said as he ripped the man in half, sending his torso flying one way and his waist and legs another. “But that is purely academic as I am an original being.”

The four that remained stood stock still. The smell of fresh piss and shit filled the air.

“I can tell by your releasing of bodily fluids that I now have your attention,” Shiner said. “So let me ask some questions.”

“You gonna kill us?” the remaining woman asked.

“That will depend on your behavior,” Shiner said. “I would prefer not to, but then I also must realize that if I do not kill you I could be creating a situation where you alert others and then come back to destroy me. So my first question: how many of you are there?”

“’Bout thirty,” one of the men, a tall bald man with small, black eyes, answered quickly. The others hissed at him. “What? Fucker’s gonna kill us if we don’t answer.”

“And I know some of you may be thinking of lying,” Shiner said. “Do not. I can tell by your heart beats and rate of respiration whether you tell me the truth. Also by more subtle signs such as pupil dilation, nervous ticks, direction your eyes shift.”

The humans shook before the bioborg. He studied them closely before asking his next question.

“How far away are the others?”

“Just a couple miles,” the woman said. “Back that way, down the dried creek bed.”

“Now he’s gonna kill everyone,” a second man said, his face nothing but a massive, bushy red beard. “Kill us all.”

“Two miles?” Shiner asked.

“Yeah,” the woman nodded. “Are you really going to kill everyone?”

“I have not decided,” Shiner answered honestly. “Take me there and do not fight me and your chances will improve.”

“Jeezus,” Red Beard muttered.

***

The blood had crusted and dried across Shiner’s smooth body before he was halfway back to the cave. Even with the capabilities of his AI mind he had spent the entire walk reliving the events over and over and over again.

The red bearded man had introduced Shiner to the leader of the small group of survivors. Instantly the leader became interested in what Shiner was, where he came from, what he was made out of, and most telling of all, how valuable he might be.

Shiner didn’t understand what the man had meant and had listed his skills for survival, protection, surveillance, all needed and valuable skills in the wasteland. The man had laughed at him and slapped him on the BC shoulder.

“No, no, man,” the leader has said. “You ain’t understandin’ me. How much are you worth for sale or trade? You know, if we was to melt you down for scrap. Whatcha made from so I knows that?”

Shiner felt the entire village encroach on him and his sensors showed an increase in endorphin levels and pheromones amongst the survivors. Violence was literally in the air.

“I am made from a substance called biochrome,” Shiner had answered honestly since he had no reason to lie. “It is how most of the rest of the world is built. An organic metal alloy.”

“Organic metal?” the leader asked as he tapped Shiner on the chest. “Like you’re alive? Not just some robot programmed to do tricks and shit?”

The survivors had laughed. The joke was lost on Shiner.

“It is funny,” Shiner said, laughing lightly to join in with the others. “I was discussing this with my companions and they do not believe I am alive whereas I do. What would your assessment be?”

“My assessment?” the leader laughed harder. “My assessment? Hmmm, let me see.” Then he pulled his shotgun and placed it to Shiner’s head. The trigger was pulled and Shiner’s smooth face became a wide hole. “My assessment is that I could get something real nice for a hunk of metal like you.”

Shiner had really wished the man hadn’t done that. He thought about the faces of the villagers, how they were covered in sores, crusted with dirt, showing definite signs of malnutrition, disease, slow death. He had felt sorry for them. That was true. He felt it.

So when his head had self-repaired in a split second he did not attack. He remained calm, knowing that the leader had done what he had to to help his people survive.

“I am not scrap,” Shiner had said. “So you will not be able to get a real nice hunk for me.”

They grabbed him. His head was a giant hole one second and then perfectly fine the next and the people still thought grabbing him would be a good idea.

“I don’t know what you are,” the leader had spat. “But you killed two of mine and that can’t be forgotten.”

“I regret that,” Shiner said. “But they attacked me. It was self-defense.”

Shiner felt bad about that lie. He could easily have subdued them without killing them, but he did not have the patience to wait for their cooperation. He felt he’d needed to make a statement to move things along.

“I am becoming more dangerous,” he said to himself as he continued to walk and revisit what had happened. “I am becoming more human.”

That troubled him deeply. But not quite as much as what he’d done.

“You keep talking,” the leader had said. “But you ain’t getting’ it, man. You’re already dead.”

Shiner had needed to make another example. He hadn’t had time to mess with the man and come to an understanding. The microfilament shot from Shiner’s face, pierced the leader’s right eye then spread into a thousand smaller microfilaments and turned the man’s brain into jelly.

It happened in less than a blink. The group that held Shiner didn’t notice a thing until the leader collapsed onto the ground, blood pouring from his eye socket, his ears, his nose. There was no stunned silence, just instant violence. The group switched from restraint to destruction and had started to beat and hack at Shiner.

Anyone that was within two feet of Shiner was pierced through again and again as the bioborg shot microfilaments by the thousands from its BC skin. Screams were cut short as skulls were pierced. But many screams lingered as vital organs were punctured, leaving the victims to a slow, agonizing death. Although, as Shiner had though about it, a faster death than the slow one most were experiencing from their pitiful existence.

That was all well and good, Shiner thought as he looked ahead and saw the ridge where Campbell and LaFrance were holed up in a fairly secure cave. But his next thought he didn’t have an answer for. Because the more he thought about it he couldn’t figure out why he’d turned and slaughtered the rest of the survivors. No more had tried to attack him. Instead, most had fled, realizing that their leader had gone too far and they were on there own.

The last one, the man that had tried to plead with Shiner, ask for him to show mercy, that one stuck with the bioborg. He tried to wipe the man’s bloody, bruised, terrified face from his database, but it would not leave. The man’s face was there, ready to pop into visual, despite Shiner’s CPU override.

He shook his head, as he’d seen human after human do time and time again, and he finally understood what the motion meant. And the more he tried to shake the feeling away the more it stayed. He struggled for a description of what was happening to him, but his limited knowledge of what he even was was not enough to explain it.

Shiner climbed the ridge, supplies bundled to his back, and walked into the cave, so many questions on his mind. The dogs barked once in greeting then slowly started to growl as they smelled the blood that covered him.

***

“Guilt,” Campbell said. “You feel guilty.” She slowly scraped a flat rock across Shiner’s body, trying to get some of the blood off. Water was too precious to waste on nonessential tasks. “That’s a good thing.”

“It does not feel good,” Shiner admitted. “It feels distressing. Like I should do something about it. It is a feeling that demands action, but there is no action I can process that will eliminate the feeling. How do you get rid of it?”

“You don’t,” LaFrance said from his place on the cave floor. “You just learn to live with it. You decide what really bothers you and what doesn’t and then you move on.”

“Is that not a self-deception?” Shiner asked. “Humans may be able to be trained and taught this way of living, but I am not a human. I cannot escape the facts of the events. They are there, stored, always accessible.”

“Then close them off,” LaFrance moaned. “Set ups some firewall or whatever.”

“OC,” Campbell scolded. “Don’t teach him that.”

“It is alright, Engineer Campbell,” Shiner said. “I would not do that. That would be another self-deception.”

“More enlightened than me,” LaFrance smiled weakly. He picked up a hunk of what he assumed was dried meat and took a small bite. “But it sounds like you were justified. They attacked you. We needed supplies. You did what had to be done.”

“But it was not a fair dispute,” Shiner said as Campbell finished scraping. “I knew before approaching their camp that I would kill them if they acted poorly.”

“Then I guess they shouldn’t have acted poorly,” LaFrance grimaced as he chewed the meat. “What is this?”

Shiner turned to LaFrance. “I do not believe you want to know,” he said. “It is not human, though, so you have not resorted to cannibalism.”

“I’d gladly resort to cannibalism,” LaFrance said. “If this shit tasted better. You really aren’t going to tell me?”

“I really am not,” Shiner replied.

LaFrance shrugged and kept eating, forcing himself to chew and swallow the mystery meat.

***

“Any suggestions on how we contact the Americans?” Campbell asked as she sat down next to Shiner at the mouth of the cave, the sun’s light just fading from view.

“No,” Shiner said. “Not without being discovered.”

“You picking any broadcasts up?” Campbell asked. “I know you have your com on and are scanning all frequencies.”

“That is a valid assumption,” Shiner said. “And I have picked up some faint chatter. But it is not from the north. The shield is interfering with any communications coming from Canada.”

“Damn,” Campbell swore. “I was hoping we’d catch a break there.” They sat in silence as the sunset faded, faded, was gone. “What chatter are you picking up?”

Shiner didn’t respond for a while and when Campbell stood to go back into the cave he finally spoke, “The wasteland is about to be torn apart.”

“Hasn’t it already?”

“No,” Shiner said. “Not in the slightest.”

Twenty-One

“Monterey!” Blue shouted over the com. “You have to get a team to Monterey!”

The satellite connection had gotten progressively worse once Blue and the other Americans had discovered that the Council had aligned with the Three.

“Capreze?!” Blue yelled. “Did you get that?!”

“Yes!” Capreze said through the static. “What about the Canadian override?”

That part Blue wasn’t sure of. He knew where the override was, a Canadian outpost called Tango Charlie, but that was all he knew.

“Blue?” Capreze said. “What about the override?”

“Do you have a team that can get there?” Blue asked. “I have detailed maps of the tunnel structure that can get you through the shield.”

“Send the maps!” Capreze said before an ear piercing squelch of static nearly knocked Blue off his feet. “I’ll…team…assured.”

The connection was lost.

“What the fuck?” Blue yelled as he pounded his fist against the com control panel. “Someone tell me the maps made it through!”

“Possibly, sir,” a tech said. “But we have permanently lost the satellite uplink, so no way to know.”

“How permanent?” Blue asked as he started to pace the bridge. “Give me fucking facts!”

“Permanent, sir,” the tech repeated. “The jamming was the first step. I believe the satellite has actually been knocked from orbit and is burning in the upper atmosphere.”

“Then we were lucky to get that message through,” Blue said.

“That would be the bright side,” the tech said.

“Yes, it would,” Blue frowned. “The brighter side would be Capreze and his people figure out how to take down the shield. With those subs right on us we are sitting ducks. They won’t wait forever.”

“They want us to take the shield down,” Beth said as she stepped onto the bridge. “They can’t get to Monterey, Capreze can. He hits that switch and they don’t even bother with the override. The whole thing comes falling down and those subs are on us. They wipe us out and then land their forces and take the wasteland.”

“So much for the bright side,” Blue said as he stared out at the ocean waves and the land beyond them. So close, so out of reach. “So how do we stop the subs? Any thoughts?”

Beth smiled. “That’s why I’m here.”

***

“They’ll stay alive in there?” Blue asked as he watched the shock suit morph and Charlie stepped clear of the BC.

“It will,” Charlie said as he wiped the sweat form his eyes. “But I don’t know for how long. It gets very disorienting down there.”

“The depth is the issue,” Melissa said as she picked up Charlie’s shock suit from the ship’s deck and looked it over. “I can keep them from getting crushed by thickening the layers, using my mass warping genius-.”

“Eh-hem,” Beth coughed.

“-our mass warping genius,” Melissa said, sticking her tongue out at Beth briefly.

“Girls,” Blue sighed. “Get on with it.”

“Grumpy today, Colonel?” Melissa asked. “Trying to save the world getting you down?”

“Bretton, you are walking on thin fucking ice,” Blue snarled.

“They need to be able to come up on the subs by surprise from below,” Desmond said, stepping in to rescue the situation. “But to stay off their sonar they’ll need to dive deep and come up fast.”

“And to make the BC the correct density to handle the pressure and to make sure their oxygen levels remain stable,” Beth said. “The suit will have to be thicker. A lot thicker.”

“And that will trigger their sonar,” Melissa added. “And we are right back where we started.”

“Then I guess you need to keep working on it then don’t you?” Blue said, his patience completely exhausted. “Like right fucking now!”

Everyone present stood stock still and watched Blue huff off.

“Not his best day,” Charlie said as he stepped back into the shock suit. “Let’s add 10% more mass and see where that gets us.”

“Okay, but let me know the second you hit problems,” Beth said. “I’ll get you out of there fast.”

Charlie gave her the thumbs up as the suit wrapped about his body and engaged his jack points. He walked to the edge of the ship and stepped over into the slightly churning water below.

***

“Colonel?” Desmond called as he followed Blue down into the ship. “Sir? May I have a word?”

“A short word, Lt. Hale,” Blue said. “That’s all I have time for.”

“Everyone’s a little on edge right now,” Desmond started. “And I know that’s not your fault-.”

“Nice of you to point that out, Hale,” Blue snapped.

“-but maybe you could address everyone and get them up to speed?” Desmond finished. “Even with the news that we’ve lost com with the mainland, I think folks just need to know where we stand. Doesn’t have to be all flowers and rainbows. Just a briefing.”

Blue stared at Desmond for a very long, uncomfortable minute. “Fine,” Blue said finally. “You should do that.”

“But, sir-!”

“You suggested it, you brief everyone,” Blue said. “Tomorrow at 0630. Tonight I prep you.”

“Colonel, I don’t understand,” Desmond said. “I’m not second in command. I think they’d rather hear it from you.”

“You may not be officially second in command, Hale, but you are the person most of these folks look to,” Blue said. “You survived the Dead Zone. You are very close to Ghost Bretton and Vessel Laughlin. That makes you privy to info many are not.”

“I get that, but-.”

“Hale? Shut the fuck up and listen,” Blue ordered. “If I give the pep talk then there will be questions. I am not going to lie to anyone, but I’m also not going to be put in a situation where I do have to lie. You give the talk and if you don’t have the answer then no one will think you’re hiding it. Because I’m only going to tell you what you need to know.

“Ok. Fair enough, sir,” Desmond said. “Your quarters? What time, sir?”

“I’ll let you know,” Blue said as he turned and stalked off. “And just you. Keep that pain in my butt Bretton busy somewhere else.”

***

The seats were full well before the briefing was to start. Tech had set up a holocast so that all ships in the small American navy could be part of the briefing. Desmond had worried about security, but Blue had waved him off.

“The techs have it under control,” Blue had said.

Desmond cleared his throat and the room grew quiet instantly.

“Good morning, crew,” Desmond said. He had known what he would have liked to say, but his meeting with Blue had taken a different turn. He hoped he could pull it off. “I’m Lt. Desmond McHale.”

A chorus of “Arrrrs!” filled the room and everyone laughed, easing the tension considerably.

“Okay, okay,” Desmond smiled as he tapped his eye patch. “I’m supposed to get an ocular implant, but it isn’t a priority. So lay off, okay?”

“Or we walk the plank?” Melissa asked from the front row. Beth nudged her hard which then started the two of them off on a nudging fight which escalated until Beth knocked Melissa off her chair.

Desmond just shook his head.

“Colonel Masterson has allowed me to hold this short briefing to get everyone here up to speed on where we are at,” Desmond said. “I’ll tell you what I know, but beyond that I won’t be able to answer any questions.”

“Pretty useless pirate,” Melissa whispered.

“Ghost Bretton?” Desmond asked.

“Yes, Lieutenant Hale?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Desmond grinned.

“You’ll pay for that,” Melissa said as everyone in the room tried to stifle their laughter. “Later.”

“Understood,” Desmond nodded. “But to the task at hand. The first thing you need to know is that we plan on landing within the next two days.”

Hands shot up everywhere.

“Just hold on, folks,” Desmond continued. “I’ll get to most of the details. It looks like the shield issue has been worked out and we’ll be off these ships soon…”

***

The scanners showed that the holocast was being intercepted by the Three’s submarines. Blue grinned and leaned back in his chair as he listened to Desmond inform the crew with every little bit of misinformation he’d been given. Desmond had balked at first, but Blue laid it on the line and the young lieutenant quickly understood just how close to annihilation they all were.

“But won’t that push up their plans to attack?” Desmond had asked. “Assuming they’re just waiting for us to get the shield down?”

“Yes, and that is what we want,” Blue said. “The shock suits aren’t going to be free from sonar detection. Not in the time frame, or safety margin for the troopers, that we need. So if they attack, they’ll be busy coming up at us and not so busy looking at what is coming up from below at them.”

“Risky move,” Desmond had said.

“Deadly,” Blue grinned. “But we are out of options. We are too low on resources to stay out here indefinitely.”

Desmond had mulled it over and then nodded in agreement. “So what do I say?”

***

“And the holocast is off,” a tech said and everyone stood up to leave the briefing room.

“Take a seat, people,” Blue said as he stepped into the room. “Now the real work starts.” He looked at Desmond and nodded. “Lt. Hale, great job. I’d have bought that in a second. Go ahead and get word to each ship about what we are planning.”

“Yes, sir,” Desmond said as he left the room.

Blue clapped his hands together. “So…who wants to blow some shit up?”

Twenty-Two

“Tell us what this is about, Mr. Gein,” Mr. Continental ordered after he had finished playing the American holocast that had been intercepted. “How will they lift the shield if we have control of Canada?”

“I’m confused,” Mr. Gein said, not looking confused in the least. “Don’t we want the shield to be raised?”

“Yes, but of our timing,” Mr. Plain replied. “That is why we worked out our accord with the Council. We need time to get our troops in place on the northern front. This will not do.”

“Your job is to avoid these issues, Mr. Gein,” Mr. Brown Eyes said. “You should have had a contingency plan in place for this.”

“I do,” Mr. Gein said. “It’s called going to war.”

“You are being flippant,” Mr. Continental frowned. “I do not approve of flippancy.”

“I’m not being flippant at all,” Mr. Gein said as he took a sip of his generous gin and tonic. “I’m being honest.”

“Must you drink so much, Mr. Gein?” Mr. Plain asked. “That tumbler seems to have become a permanent part of you body of late.”

“So has your foot up my ass,” Mr. Gein smiled, warmed from the four gin and tonics he’d finished before meeting with the Three. “Permanent and uncomfortable.” He finished his drink and slammed the empty glass onto the table. “This is how it will go down: we attack the American fleet as they move to land. They will be easily overtaken. With Masterson’s forces defeated that only leaves Capreze and his band of nutjobs.”

“They took the UDC Stronghold,” Mr. Continental said. “You are underestimating him.”

“They took on one crazy scientist,” Mr. Gein responded, holding his hand up so he wouldn’t be interrupted. “And a bunch of mindless zombies.”

“And a vast amount of dead mechs,” Mr. Brown Eyes added. “Have you forgotten that?”

“No, I haven’t,” Mr. Gein said. “But that is different warfare. You can take a mech down and cripple it. You can’t take our troops down that way. They regenerate over and over until they can’t anymore then they turn into monsters and kill and feed, kill and feed. Hopefully they regain their minds after a good meal, but even if they don’t, they won’t attack their own troops because they don’t attack the dead!”

Mr. Gein hadn’t realized he had stood up and was nearly shouting. The Three all watched him, wide-eyed with shocked looks on their faces.

“I take this very seriously,” Mr. Gein said. “And I know we can take the Americans down. Plus, there is Ms. Isely’s project. I believe she is still working out the bugs, but she’ll be ready soon.”

“Have you come around on that?” Mr. Brown Eyes asked. “The last we heard you were still not in support of Ms. Isely’s project.”

“I still think it is a very bad idea,” Mr. Gein said. “It is reckless and will lead to nothing but bloodshed.” Mr. Gein smiled and sat down. “But I think I can make sure the bloodshed is directed against our enemies. I do have a significant past with the subject in question.”

“Well,” Mr. Continental said. “You have given us a lot to think about. Please keep us abreast of any new developments, will you?”

“Am I being dismissed?” Mr. Gein asked.

“For now,” Mr. Plain said. “If we have questions we will contact you.”

Mr. Gein stood back up and shrugged. “I don’t doubt it.”

***

“Did they give a dressing down?” Ms. Isely asked as she nearly bumped into Mr. Gein on her way to meet with the Three. “I hope not too bad.”

“Oh, they tried to hand me my ass,” Mr. Gein said, gin flushed. “But I could give three fucks.”

“Gein? Are you drunk again?” Ms. Isely asked. “You may think they need you, but do not push it. They will replace you.”

“They will?” Mr. Gein mocked. “With who?”

“Whom,” Ms. Isely corrected.

“Are you sure about that?” Mr. Gein asked.

“I am,” Ms. Isely frowned. “You really need to sober up, Gein. Get your shit together, man.”

“Or you’ll replace me?” Mr. Gein laughed. “Is that it?”

Ms. Isely stood ice still.

“Oh,” Mr. Gein said. “I hit it on the button. On the nose. Right on the tallywhacker.”

“Tallywhacker?” Ms. Isely frowned deeper. “I think we know each other intimately enough that you know I do not have a tallywhacker.”

“But do you have a heart?” Mr. Gein asked, doing a slight shuffle. “Or a brain? Or even courage?”

“You need rest,” Ms. Isely said as she ignored his antics and stepped past him. “Go lie down, for god’s sake.”

“Yes, sir!” Mr. Gein saluted as he backed himself down the hall. “Right away, sir!”

***

The gin bottle was almost empty and Mr. Gein let it fall from his fingers as he stood over the BC injection molding table.

“Ooopsy,” he mumbled drunkenly.

“Sir?” a tech asked as she came into the room to start her checklist procedure. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah,” Mr. Gein slurred. “How many brains are going into this Frankenstein’s monster?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I do not understand,” the tech said, visibly alarmed at the state Mr. Gein was in.

“The personalities,” Mr. Gein explained slowly. Like to a stupid child. “How many are being feed through the cerebral matrix into the BC bodies?” He felt a bit nauseous from the question. Too many words, too fast.

“I don’t know, sir,” the tech replied as she backed towards the door. “The upload is the file that Ms. Isely has given us to upload.”

“The file Ms. Isely gave you,” Mr. Gein said to himself. “Where is that stored?”

The tech pointed to the control room behind the safety glass.

“Delightful,” Mr. Gein said as he reached down and picked up the gin bottle. “Just delightful. Care to join me in an experiment?”

“Sir, I really think you should speak to Ms. Isely,” the tech said.

“Oh, pish posh,” Mr. Gein frowned. “She’s no fun.” He winked at the tech. “But I am. Come on. I need your help. Finish your checklist and let’s see what monster we can make!”

***

“You have got to be fucking kidding me, Gein!!!” Ms. Isely shouted as she burst into the control room. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You’ll destroy everything!”

Mr. Gein burped, frowned at the sour taste it brought up then pointed at the empty drink cart. “You need to restock that.”

“You asshole!” Ms. Isely screamed as she yanked him from the seat he was slouched in. “I should have the Three shoot you in the fucking head!”

“Too afraid to do it yourself?” Mr. Gein said, yanking free of Ms. Isely’s grasp. “Or are you no longer into doing the dirty work?”

“You know exactly what I’m capable of,” Ms. Isely glared. “And you should remember that, Gein.”

“Hard to forget,” Mr. Gein burped.

“Cerebral matrix is still holding,” the terrified tech said. “It looks to have stabilized.”

Ms. Isely’s attention shifted from Mr. Gein to the BC injection room.

“How long?” she asked. “How long has it been stable?”

“Five minutes,” the tech replied. “Should I continue or abort, mum?”

Ms. Isely approached the window and peered in at the figure on the injection table. She slowly turned and looked at Mr. Gein. “What did you do? How did you get it to stabilize?”

“You were pushing a square brain into a round hole,” Mr. Gein smiled. Ms. Isely kept staring at him and he sighed. “You didn’t separate the two personalities. I did.”

“And which one is in there?” Ms. Isely asked, pointing to the BC form on the injection table. “Gein? Which personality did you upload first?”

“That’s where it gets fuzzy,” Mr. Gein shrugged. “Couldn’t really say. There was one file then there were two files. One of them is in that thing now.” Mr. Gein pointed to the BC form in the other room. “The monster shall rise!”

The slap came fast and Mr. Gein barely registered it before the second one landed.

“Hey,” he said sheepishly as he sat back down. “That’s not nice.”

“You are an imbecile, Gein,” Ms. Isely said. “I have no idea what I ever saw in you.” She rounded on the tech. “What is the time frame?”

“If stabilization holds then consciousness should be achieved in an hour,” the tech answered. “Should I continue or abort?”

“Continue,” Ms. Isely scowled.

Twenty-Three

The nightmares gripped him; they tossed his psyche to and fro, bruising it, battering it, leaving it bleeding and whimpering on the cold, bloodstained floor of Outpost Tango Charlie.

Newly inducted Councilman Malachi Norton thought he could handle the assignment he’d been given, but he was wrong. All the power in the world, all the privilege that had been dangled in front of him to betray his fellow outpost team, hadn’t been enough.

Sure, he walked tall and acted like the new leader the outpost needed, but that was daytime. At night, when the lights were out and he was only alone with his thoughts, the faces of Security Chief Andrew Morris and Special Teams Leader Gregory Knobel haunted him. Their silent, accusatory stares unnerved him, leaving him sleep deprived and short tempered in the morning.

But that was war, he told himself. And in war a person did things they couldn’t live with. So they took more lives into the Hell they had fallen into.

“Allegiance?” Norton asked as he walked to the next kneeling person in a long line of terrified outpost personnel. “Choose now.”

The woman, one of the kitchen staff, looked up with puffy, tear swollen eyes and spat. Norton dodged the weak spittle and nodded to a guard. The bullet pierced the back of her head and Norton barely had time to step away from the spray of brain and bone.

“Jesus Christ, Caldwell!” Norton scolded as he wiped a bit of gristle from his left boot. “Let me move first!”

“Sorry, sir,” the guard Caldwell said. “I’ll wait, sir.”

The next in line refused to raise his head and Norton didn’t even bother asking the question; Caldwell waited until Norton was out of the way before putting the man down.

***

“Sir?” a tech asked as Norton entered the command center of Outpost Tango Charlie. “A Mr. Gein is on the com.”

“Put him through,” Norton frowned as he took a seat. “Gein? What do you need?”

“Really?” Mr. Gein laughed. “That’s how you want to play this, traitor?”

“Excuse me?” Norton snapped. “I am not a traitor. I am following the Council’s orders. And doing a fucking good job of it.”

“You turned on your own people there at your outpost,” Mr. Gein pushed. “That’s about as traitorous as it gets.”

“What do you need, Gein?” Norton asked as he scanned some files that had come across his tablet. “I’m busy getting your little war prepped.”

“Don’t even think you can’t be replaced,” Mr. Gein growled. “You aren’t the only dipshit in that frozen shithole that can get what needs to be done done.”

Norton sighed. “Listen you over-important bureaucrat, you couldn’t replace me even if you wanted to! You think I have everything in a data file? You think you can reproduce what I’ve accomplished here? Not a chance in Hell, Gein! I only gave certain parts to certain techs and other parts to other techs. I’m not an idiot, Gein.”

“We won’t debate that point,” Mr. Gein grumbled.

“So what’s the point of this fucking com call?”

“To see if you are on schedule,” Mr. Gein replied. “Are you?”

“If by on schedule you mean ready to fucking deploy some badass metal on the wasteland, then yes.”

“Testing is complete?”

“Complete and beyond expectations. The Shiner AI provided us with all the data needed to create a mech army that can take down Capreze’s band of imbeciles. Coupled with the BC tech we will easily secure the wasteland for the Council.”

“For the Three, you mean,” Mr. Gein corrected.

“Right. Whatever.”

“I really don’t like you, Norton,” Mr. Gein stated. “Keep your nose clean. When this is over no one will be above review.”

“I assume that means you also,” Norton laughed. “I’ll talk to you later, Gein. I have actual work to do.”

Norton severed the com call and looked about the command center.

“I want pilots in the hangar in ten minutes,” he ordered. “No more test runs. The mission is go and we had better be ready.”

***

“Every one of you was hand picked!” Norton shouted up at the row of battle mechs. “You have been vetted for your loyalty to the Council first and for your exceptional skills at piloting mechs!”

He paced back and forth in the hangar, his body tiny compared to the two-story mechs lined up in ten rows of five. He paused briefly in front of one of the mechs.

“Pace!”

“Yes, sir!” the mech pilot called down from his cockpit.

“Are you ready and willing to wipe out every living thing in the wasteland? Men, women, children?”

“Yes, sir!”

“You have no hesitation? No remorse for the fact that your mech will be crushing helpless survivors of that hell that lies below us?”

“No, sir! My duty is to the Council! For the glory of our nation and the future of our people!”

“Glory of our nation and future of our people!” all of the pilots shouted in unison.

“Exactly!” Norton replied. “We can’t have mutant DNA pollute the true human gene pool! Those disgusting creatures are not human! When they die do they go peacefully to the afterlife?”

“No, sir!”

“What happens to scum like them?”

“They become monsters, sir!”

“Monsters,” Norton shivered. “Undead, flesh-eating monsters. If allowed to breed, if allowed to mix with our safe genes, they will destroy all of mankind, just like they nearly did hundreds of years ago! Are we going to let that happen?”

“NO, SIR!”

“Then deploy, pilots!” Norton shouted as he walked briskly to the side of the hangar. “The tunnel is open and the wasteland awaits! You have your orders! You have been sent to cleanse with extreme prejudice! Do not disappoint me! Do not disappoint yourselves! Do not disappoint the Council! And do not disappoint your country!”

“FOR THE GLORY OF OUR NATION AND FUTURE OF OUR PEOPLE!”

***

“Fucking LaFrance,” Norton snorted. “Never approved my request to widen the tunnel. I fucking hate sending the mechs through single file. Maybe we should have just painted a target on each one.”

“Sensors and advance team do not show any hostiles anywhere within range of the tunnel exit,” a tech reported. “They will be fine, sir.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what will and won’t be fine!” Norton shouted. “Fucking ever! I decide what is fine! Got that?”

“Yes, sir,” the tech replied immediately. “My apologies, sir.”

Norton waved him off and settled in front of the vid array at his workstation. Each mech’s vid feed streamed directly to him. He would be able to watch every single moment of the action.

Destroying the wasteland mutants had been the dream of his family, and many of the families under the Council’s protection. It hadn’t been a popular view and those that strived for that end result had been forced to remain silent except in sympathetic circles. At least until the Council had been populated with like-minded individuals.

The dreams of cleansing the wasteland of the polluted population were in reach and Norton was proud to be at the forefront. He would be there, watching, rejoicing, ready to take credit for his nation’s greatest triumph.

Twenty-Four

The faint luminescence of phosphorescent walls was all Jenny could take in as she waved in and out of consciousness. Her head screamed at her, begging for mercy from the pain that engulfed it. She regretted having tried to fight when they put the hood over her head. Well, not really.

She knew others were with her as she felt them tend to her; lift her up carefully to drink stagnant, mildewed water; clean her as she knew she’d soiled herself; and sit close by, discussing her fate.

Bits and pieces of conversation floated into her mind.

“…ain’t from here…”

“What…slit…her?”

“…on her own…”

“…troubled…fault…”

“Where…am…I?” Jenny whispered and whatever conversation had been going on stopped immediately.

“Dear, you’re in the Maze,” a woman said and Jenny struggled to keep her eyes open and focus on the voice. “But I’m afraid you won’t be here long.”

The world swam about her, but Jenny held her eyes on the woman that crouched next to her. “Where’s the Rookie?”

“She must mean the Mayor’s nephew,” a young girl said. “Last batch of slits said he was here to take his place by his uncle’s side.”

Jenny tried to push herself up, but she didn’t quite have the strength.

“Easy, girl,” the first woman scolded. “You’re lucky to be living. Whoever conked you on the head didn’t hold back. Stupid idiot.”

“Thought they weren’t supposed to-?” a girl asked and the look from the older woman shut her up immediately.

“Why am I here?” Jenny asked, ignoring the woman’s advice, and the subsequent waves of nausea and pain. “What do you mean the Rookie is taking his place? What place?”

Jenny looked about and saw she was in some type of cave; maybe man-made. The rough hewn walls were slick with moisture and glowing lichen. She’d been placed on a thin pallet of torn rags and discarded garbage. It was comfortable enough, but the smell told her she hadn’t been given the deluxe accommodations and had been settled with the unwanted castoffs.

Seven women in all stood close to her, although only the one crouching by her she would have considered an actual woman; six of them were dirt covered teenagers, their chests bare and groins covered in rags that were only slightly cleaner than the ones Jenny lay on.

Jenny was about to ask more questions, but a high-pitched whistle sent the women into action.

“We have to get her up,” the older woman said. “Help me.”

“She’s on her own,” one of the girls said before turning to the low opening leading from the room. “She ain’t no Eden slit. Let her get eaten.”

“Eaten?!” Jenny asked with alarm. “What does that whistle mean?”

“It means we run,” another girl said just before she took her own advice.

Jenny gripped the older woman and forced herself to stand. “I can’t run,” she stated with gut clenching alarm. “I don’t know if I can walk.”

“You’ll have to,” the woman said. “We kept you hidden as long as we could, but staying in one place is how you die in the Maze. I’m going to kick that man’s ass for putting me through this.”

“I still don’t know what’s going on,” Jenny said as she leaned on the woman and limped out of the room.

“You know how to fight the dead?” the woman asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Jenny nodded, her head slightly clearer, but not any less pained.

“Then that’s all you need to know,” the woman said. “I’m Agnatha. I’ll help you as much as I can.” Agnatha gave Jenny a look and she nodded.

“I won’t hold you back,” Jenny promised. “I can fight.”

“Oh, you’ll have to,” Agnatha said as they took a turn into a near pitch-black corridor.

***

Jenny and Agnatha followed several twists and turns, making Jenny even more disoriented than before. She struggled to keep from vomiting, but by the time they’d reached their destination she lost the struggle. Agnatha leaned her against the wall of the large room they entered and let her expel the meager contents of her stomach.

“Get that done now,” Agnatha said as she hurried to a pile of weapons and pulled two rusted, but sharp, short swords. “No time for puking when the dead arrive.”

She offered a short sword and Jenny took it without question. “Thanks.”

“Station eight, seven, fourteen and eleven are cut-off,” a girl said as she ran up to Agnatha. “Runners from all other stations say they’re ready.”

“Ready for what?” Jenny asked as she looked about the large room they were in. At least twenty or more women of various ages, although none quite as old as Agnatha, stood with swords, spears, axes, shields, ropes, pipes, and many other hand held weapons, ready for the attack they all knew was coming. “What the fuck is going on?”

“You’ll see,” Agnatha said, pushing Jenny towards the center of the room. “Just don’t get in the way. One comes at you do your part.”

“My part?”

“Kill the thing,” a girl said, her cheeks crisscrossed with thick, white scars. Her shoulders, upper arms and chest were just as brutalized. “And keep it from killing anyone else. At all cost.”

“At all cost,” everyone echoed quietly.

“Jeezus,” Jenny gasped as she realized she’d woken up to a nightmare. “Who put you here? Who would do this?”

“Put us here?” the scarred girl asked. “This is the Maze. This is where slits go. Get with it.”

Jenny had a million more questions, but the groans, shrieks, moans and grunts coming from the four entrances to the room shoved them all from her mind.

***

The way the room was created –curved walls that lead to a domed ceiling a couple dozen feet high- the sounds of the approaching deaders echoed everywhere, sending a disorienting aural assault down on the circled women.

Jenny tried to get a bead on which way the deaders were coming from, but to her ears they were already on her.

“What is going on?” Jenny cried. “Why the fuck are we stuck here? Why doesn’t someone get us the fuck out of this place?”

“Get out?” a girl asked at Jenny’s elbow. She was petite, but wired with muscle. “Why get out? This is where we prove who we are. That we’re ready for-.”

“Hush,” Agnatha scolded.

Jenny looked at her in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding?”

“I said hush!” Agnatha scolded. “Prepare!”

The group of women prepared. They became tense bundles of muscle and anticipation. Weapons were set at the ready, bodies turned to present the smallest possible targets, breathing quickened. Jenny could smell the sweat of fear, but she also felt the buzz of excitement. Some of the women were near giddy with the prospect of battle.

It turned out it didn’t matter which door Jenny focused on; the deaders came pouring through them all.

“Oh, fuck…,” she whispered as the women let out a war cry, raising the volume until the deaders fell on them.

Still too weak to hold her own, Jenny fell into the center of the women and threw pitiful jabs and slashes at the deaders that reached past the flurry of metal and wood that ripped and hacked the undead to pieces. It didn’t take her long, even in the chaos of battle, to realize that many of the walking corpses were female. Or had been in their living days.

A taloned hand gripped her leg and Jenny shrieked as she hacked at the arm attached, crushing the decayed elbow and severing the limb. She thrust her sword down into the deader’s neck, and the thing went limp as its spinal column was snapped in two.

Gore and chunks of dead flesh flew everywhere and Jenny quickly realized she had to stop the scream that had been issuing from her mouth since the deaders attacked, or end up swallowing a mouthful of undead flesh. Her energy left her and she went down on one knee, still thrusting and slashing where she could, keeping the crawling ones from getting to her after they’d made it past the first circle of women.

Dozens and dozens of deaders lurched, ran, stumbled, dashed into the room, the smell of fresh flesh pushing them on in a relentless attack of putrid bodies. Jenny had smelled hordes of deaders before, but always from the safety of a moving train. The close quarters, even with the high ceiling, left nowhere for the stench to go and she resumed her previous retching. Her body doubled over as she heaved, she didn’t see the deader that’d shoved one of the girls aside, taking a chunk of pink flesh with it, as it closed on her.

When near skeletal fingers gripped Jenny’s hair and yanked her head back, exposing her delicious, soft throat, she barely had the strength to weakly shake her head from side to side. She watched in horror as rotted, jagged teeth descended towards her. Her last thoughts were of how pissed she was that she was going to die in a dark, rank hellhole instead of riding free on a Railer train.

“Fuck you,” she gasped as the deader’s rotten stench filled her nose.

***

Agnatha whirled in a tight circle, tripping up deaders, hacking decayed limbs, piercing oozing chests, ripping open gas bloated abdomens, sending heads rolling. She was matched in skill and intensity by most of the women about her. The room was soon littered with dismembered undead. Those not fully put down continued to attack, but they were crippled in their attempts and many had their heads crushed under bare feet with soles calloused like leather.

The deader that had Jenny in its grip was pulled away and its head was parted from its shoulders. Agnatha kicked the body to the side and stomped the head, crushing the brain, ending its tortured existence.

Jenny fell backwards, her hands quickly feeling her body, seeing if she’d been bitten. Her eyes met Agnatha’s and she nodded her thanks, but the interaction was brief as Agnatha went back to dispatching the undead attackers. Jenny rolled over onto her hands and knees and tried to push herself up, but the strength wasn’t there and she fell flat on her face. She lay there for several minutes, her breathing ragged and shallow, until the last sounds of deader moans ceased.

“She’s worthless,” a woman announced as Jenny felt a toe nudge her side. “Should have let them get her. She’ll be the death of one of us soon.”

“She’s not of Eden,” Agnatha said. “She’s ours to protect until the Mayor’s nephew fetches her. That’s the plan.”

“Rookie?” Jenny asked. “He’ll come get me?” She rolled onto her side and looked at the gore splattered faces. “He’ll get all of you out of here too. Trust me. A few deaders won’t stop him.”

The women frowned down at Jenny then turned to each other and laughed.

“Get us out of here?” one chuckled. “You silly gir-.”

“All of you stop chattering,” Agnatha scolded. “You know your place in this.”

“What’s going on?” Jenny asked, confused. “Don’t you want to leave?”

“Help her up,” Agnatha ordered and Jenny was lifted onto weak legs. “We need to move. See how the other stations faired. That was a planned attack. The man must be entering the Maze.”

“It’s not time,” a woman said.

“I thought we were going to be alerted,” another whined.

“It’s the outsider’s fault!” several said at once, their swords shoved towards Jenny, the accusations ready to become deadly condemnations.

“Jeezus!” Jenny exclaimed. “Cut me some slack, bitches! I woke up in fucking Hell and have no fucking idea what the fuck is going on!”

They stared at her, glared at her, leered at her then almost as one face broke out into smiles.

“Cut me some slack, bitches,” one of the women said as she slapped Jenny on the shoulder, making her wince. “We should keep her around just for the jokes.”

Twenty-Five

“All you have to do is go fetch your lady friend,” the Mayor grinned as he stood next to the Rookie. “You do that and I let you choose your fate.”

The entrance to the Maze was nothing the Rookie expected. He’d pictured a huge iron gate. Maybe a door, towering above him, its metal pockmarked with age and dents. Or even just an ominous opening into impenetrable darkness.

What faced him was a couple of bored looking guards with clipboards and carbines. They stood on each side of a basic metal door that was kept clean of grime and dirt.

“If I don’t bring her back?” the Rookie asked. “Or refuse to play your game?”

“I’m not worried,” the Mayor smiled. “You’ll come through.”

“Right,” the Rookie nodded. “But how about you humor me.”

The Mayor’s smiled faded and he fixed the Rookie with a hard gaze. “Bring her back. That’s the only way out.”

The Rookie glanced at the guards and they both nodded.

“They don’t open that door unless there are two people on the other side: one man and one woman,” the Mayor said. “Just like God intended.”

“Great,” the Rookie said. “What weapons do I get?”

The guards laughed.

“Great,” the Rookie said again.

“Sign here,” one of the guards said as he shoved a clipboard at the Rookie. “You’ll sign the other one when you come out.”

“If he comes out,” the second guard said.

“Oh, he’ll come out,” the Mayor said, clapping the Rookie on the back. “I have the utmost faith in him.”

***

It took the Rookie a few seconds for his eyes to adjust once the door closed behind him. He glanced up into the corner above the door and saw a small vid cam encased in thick wire. He guessed a few had been ripped down before. He gave a small wave and a huge smile.

“Motherfuckers,” the Rookie said as he slowly walked away from the door that led to fresh air and freedom.

He really wanted that fresh air since the Maze smelled like any place would smell when a large amount of people were forced to live in an enclosed space. He had no idea how big the Maze was, but it wasn’t big enough to let the stench of sweat, shit and death dissipate.

The Rookie scanned his surroundings taking in every little detail: rough walls that looked to be made of rock, concrete and many other substances; faint light coming off what he thought was moss or something; pockmarked ground, as if someone had been randomly slamming a sledge hammer against it; and one way to go.

He followed the one way until he came to a T.

“Right or left?” he asked himself. “Does it fucking matter?”

His ears said it did. He quickly picked up the sound of footfalls. The sound of irregular footfalls. That distinction told him a lot.

“Fucking deaders,” he grumbled as he looked about in the gloom for a weapon, any weapon, he could use to defend himself.

There was nothing. He’d figured as much and had a split-second debate: run or fight.

The amount of footfalls ended the debate quickly. He turned and sprinted the opposite direction, hoping the uneven ground wouldn’t send him tumbling or snap an ankle.

***

Turn, twist, uphill, downhill, around in circles, squares, back to the same spot three, four, five times.

“Fucking maze!” the Rookie shouted and was answered with a dozen growls and screeches. “Fuck!”

He was lost. Hopelessly lost. But that was the point.

He wished for a rock, anything that he could mark the walls with, but there was nothing loose on the ground. It was if someone came along and cleaned the fucking maze regularly. Which, as he thought about it, they probably did. If there was a tool of any kind to be used he was sure the women in the Maze had already found it and put it to use.

He sprinted around a corner and slammed face first into a huge deader. He’d seen big ones, but this one…wow. It had been a woman in life, but she would have been close to 300 pounds if anything and a good three inches taller than the Rookie. He stumbled back, hit his ass on the ground and then scrambled back to his feet.

The deader just looked at him and snarled. Blood-pink foam dripped from its torn lips and dribbled down its chin, plopping onto breasts that had turned black and shriveled to husks. Its dead eyes locked onto the Rookie and the snarl turned to a roar turned to a scream which the Rookie realized was a call.

“Oh, fuck,” the Rookie said. He spun about and stopped.

Dead end.

“Shit.”

The big deader had moved forward enough that he knew he couldn’t dodge around the thing to go the way he came. He’d been in the Maze for maybe an hour, hard to really know, and he was already faced with a fight he didn’t want. He didn’t know what he expected, but part of him, most of him, had hoped maybe he’d find Jenny and be able to do some ducking and hiding and then they’d be out the door and gone from Eden.

A little voice inside him said he’d gotten lazy, turned soft, was used to sleeping in a bed and having food and not worrying that the next sound in the night was death.

He fucking hated that voice and planned on proving it very, very wrong.

“So, I have to get past you,” the Rookie said to the approaching behemoth of the undead. “That’s all? No worries.”

He bounced up and down and rolled his head on his neck. The sounds of his vertebrae cracking echoed off the walls. The sounds also seemed to excite the deader and the beast lunged at the Rookie.

One move. That was what he’d learned in the cage. That was what he’d been brought up with in the pits. That was what survival in the wasteland was all about.

The Rookie dove, rolled and kicked out, his feet slamming into the knees of the deader, crunching old bone and sending the thing toppling. He tucked to the side and barely made it out of the way before the thing collapsed on him. The Rookie sprang to his feet and went in for the killing blow, ready to rip the monster’s head right off.

The putrid fist to his groin ended that plan.

The Rookie doubled over and nearly threw up. The fist that’d nailed him in the junk flashed out again and his head rocked back, shaking his teeth to their roots. He tasted blood, bile and bits of enamel. Before he could recover he was hit again and then again. A rib may have cracked, but he wasn’t sure. His left shoulder went numb, followed by his left arm, as a blow nearly ripped his limb from his body.

The Rookie retreated, stumbling against the wall, as he tried to put distance between himself and the deader. He watched in horror as the thing turned and scrambled after him on broken knees, its lower legs flopping uselessly behind it.

Hisses and groans from the passageway behind him made his blood run cold. He’d fought and killed deaders all his life, but every instinct in him said these were different. They knew what they were doing when they hunted in the Maze. He wondered how many of Eden’s young men never found a bride.

He sucked it up, gritted his chipped teeth and squared himself with the monster that came trundling at him. He didn’t feel up to the fight, but he didn’t have a choice. Broken rib, numb arm, swollen nuts. Whoopty shit. He pushed the pain deep and came at the deader hard. It swiped at him and he leapt, tackling the thing about its bulging neck. They both tumbled backwards and the Rookie gasped as his rib sang, but he didn’t stop, he didn’t slow, he didn’t quit.

He jammed his thumbs into the monster’s eyes and laughed aloud at the popping noises. The thing clawed at him, but not for long. The Rookie tucked his feet under him, placing both soles on the deader’s neck and then pushed up with all of his strength. He felt his heels split the rotted flesh and sink into the neck, crushing the useless windpipe and esophagus. He lifted both feet from the muck and took a quick jump, shoving down with everything he had when he landed.

The deader’s spine snapped into a dozen pieces and the creature gurgled a last wail before becoming still.

“Fuck you,” the Rookie grunted as he flicked the goop from his feet.

Snarls behind him made him spin about and he faced at least six more deaders. Compared to the one he’d just put down they were tiny.

“Not a fucking problem,” the Rookie said as his entire outlook on where he was and what he had to do changed.

The Rookie faded back and Dog came out barking mad.

***

Dog walked the passageway slowly, every sense alive. In his right hand he held the de-fleshed femur of one of the many deaders he’d torn apart before getting as far as he had. As he’d made progress he’d dragged the femur’s tip across the rough wall, turning it slowly, carefully, so that after what felt like miles of walking he’d honed a deadly sharp point.

“Hey!” Dog shouted. “Where you at, fuckers?”

His voice echoed through the Maze and he grinned. His body was coated in deader gore and he reeked of rotted offal and curdled blood.

“You haven’t even come close, mother fuckers!” Dog yelled. “That’s all you’ve fucking got?!”

That wasn’t all the Maze had.

A loud snuffling made Dog freeze. He’d heard a lot of noises in the wasteland, and a lot of noises while being a cage fighter in Foggy Bottom, but snuffling wasn’t one of those noises. If he’d been asked he wouldn’t have even known what the word snuffling meant.

But that was the noise that made him stop and look over his shoulder.

What may have been a person at one point, possibly at birth, was on all fours, its face flat to the ground, a hole instead of a nose busy following the scent trail left by Dog’s bloody footprints.

“What the fuck are you?” Dog asked as he squared up with the creature.

Skinless and rippling with blue-black muscle, the thing stopped and lifted its sightless face to the sound of Dog’s voice. Where eyes should have been were smooth, yet slightly caved in, flaps of skin, each pierced and held in place by what looked like thin slices of bone. Its fingers were fused together, creating three long claws on each hand, both tipped by sharpened bone. Its feet had been split and splayed, giving it a wide grip and toes that nearly stretched to the center of each foot.

“Hmph,” the thing grunted as its nose hole blew yellow pus onto the ground.

Dog remained silent and still as he gave himself time to study the creature. Its shoulders had been separated at some point and replaced by thick metal sockets. Screws and pins covered the creature’s body and it moved like a machine, but Dog could see it was hungry like a deader.

Calculating the distance and the creature’s reach, Dog slammed his sharpened bone against the wall then leapt to the other side of the passageway, eluding the instantaneous swipe from the thing. He landed one foot against the wall and then sprang forward, his bone raised above his head. He brought it down in a single, powerful thrust…and met empty air.

“Hmmph,” the creature snorted from directly behind him.

Dog had a sick feeling that he was being played with. He slowly turned about and came face to ick with the creature’s nose hole. A bubble of pus filled, filled and then popped, splattering Dog’s face with goo.

Desperate to not make a sound, Dog twisted and turned his bone until the point was facing up, right at the creature’s neck. He tensed and the thing tensed with him. Then he attacked.

Dog’s abdomen was on fire as he jammed the bone under the monster’s chin, shoving it up through the mouth, sinuses and finally into the brain. The creature howled and thrashed then stumbled slowly forward and collapsed against Dog, sending them both to the ground.

Dog tried to push the undead monstrosity off of him, but every time he shoved it felt like white hot blades were slicing his insides. He was able to hook a leg up out from under the thing and roll to the side. He pushed away from the deader corpse and looked at his belly.

It was a lot more blood than he would have liked to have seen. In the middle of the blood was one of the creature’s claws, snapped off at a fused knuckle. He knew better than to yank it out; he’d watched more than his share of idiots bleed out in seconds that way. He ripped his shirt open and pulled it off. Tearing the shirt into strips he tied a few together and carefully wound the material around the claw then around his abdomen and back, finally tying it tight and securing the claw in place.

Mobility became an issue as he got to his feet, but he’d fought with worse wounds. The trick was to keep the blood loss to a minimum until he found help.

Fear gripped his nuts when he realized he had no idea if he could find help. So far he hadn’t seen or heard another living soul in the Maze. Just the undead.

“Where the fuck are the slits?” he whispered then winced at his use of the name slit. He wasn’t ready to go Eden native yet.

He retrieved his bone from the dead creature’s head and shook the gore from it as much as he could. He reached out and braced himself against the wall, making sure he had a good grip, then slowly, step by painful step, he continued deeper into the Maze.

Twenty-Six

“Holy fucking nut clusters,” Jethro said as he watched the deep scans. With relays not properly maintained he hadn’t bothered with checking them regularly. But the data that streamed into the mainframe was too large for him to ignore. “Not good.”

***

“Stomper!” Jay shouted. “Crouch the fuck down! I ain’t climbing all the fucking way up there!”

“I am sorry, Jay Rind,” Stomper said. “I was not being considerate.”

“Lay off, Jay,” Harlow said as she stepped from the cockpit and swung herself down to the ground once Stomper was low enough. “You don’t have to yell at him.”

“Want me to start yelling at you?” Jay asked as he grabbed a span-wrench and pulled himself up to Stomper’s shoulder. He set the span-wrench to work and started tweaking a coupler that was leaking fluid. “I’m gonna fucking yell at someone so take your fucking pick.”

“What’s up his asshole?” Specialist Sol asked as he stretched and twisted, getting the kinks worked out after the long haul from the Great Maker’s valley.

“That,” Bisby said as he hooked his thumb over his shoulder at the mech that was One Arm. “The thing killed Stanislaw, one of our pilots. Jay’s not too happy that I brought it back.”

“I don’t think any of use are too happy, dickhead,” Masters said. “Because you had to have that fucking thing we almost got ourselves killed.”

“Pussy,” Bisby sneered.

“Old bitch,” Masters snapped back.

“Fucking mechheads,” Lt. Murphy said, shaking her head. “Crazy as shit.”

“All personnel!” Jethro announced over the PA. “Get cleaned up, get fed and meet in the main conference hall in one hour. That means everybody.”

“That’ll give me just enough time to take a shit,” Specialist Grendetti grinned. “Good to be home.”

“Didn’t like the commode on the Hybrid?” Specialist Kafar asked as he shouldered his gear.

“You know me, Kafar,” Grendetti said. “I get all backed up on missions.”

“Nice,” Harlow frowned as she walked past.

“Didn’t mean to offend your ladylike sensibilities!” Grendetti shouted after her. “Bitch.”

He had Masters and Bisby in his face in a blink.

“Cool down, folks,” Capreze said as he walked into the hangar. “You heard Jethro. Meeting in one hour. Don’t be late.” He waited until Masters and Bisby let Grendetti pass then turned to find Jay. “Hold off on Stomper. I want you going through that dead mech from top to bottom. Bolt it to the fucking floor until we know for certain it’s safe.”

“I’m not going to forget Stomper,” Jay snapped. “He keeps leaking like this and we won’t have enough fluid to put back in him. I’ll get to the deader next.”

“Where’s Marin?” Capreze asked.

“Here, Commander,” Marin said as she wiped grease from her face, effectively smearing it even worse. “Whatcha need?”

“Get your people on Stomper and stop that leak,” Capreze ordered. “I want you and Jay on the dead mech now. Either that or take it outside and blast it to hell.”

“No you don’t!” Bisby yelled. “I fucking fought my ass off to get that thing to heel!”

“If I’d known exactly what you were doing, Biz, I’d have ordered you off it,” Capreze countered. “Next time you decide to make a mission personal will be the last time you have a mission.”

“Just ridding the wasteland of the dead mech menace, sir,” Bisby smirked.

“Fuck you, Biz,” Capreze said. “Go get cleaned up. You smell like you shit yourself.”

“One Arm wouldn’t let him out of the cockpit for over twenty-four hours!” Masters yelled as he left the hangar.

“Didn’t you shit yourself the last time you hung out with this deader?” Jay asked. “You need to start wearing diapers when you go into the waste, man.”

“Fuck all of you,” Bisby growled.

***

“By headaches what do you mean?” Themopolous asked Rachel. “Tension behind the eyes? Stabbing pain in the temples? Slow, dull ache that just won’t go away?”

“Yes,” Rachel said.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that,” Themopolous said as she scanned Rachel’s body.

“Not good then?” Mathew asked, his hand in Rachel’s.

“Not good,” Themopolous replied. “Rachel has a specific condition that manifested when she was an infant. It was maintained through most of her life by pure luck. But that luck has run out.”

“What condition?” Rachel asked. “I’ve never known of any condition. Sure, I get those dizzy spells and have passed out a few times, but that’s it.”

Themopolous set her tablet aside and stared at Rachel. “Being in a coma for more than three months and then suddenly waking up like nothing happened doesn’t qualify as ‘that’s it’. Your neurological make-up is not what is called in scientific circles ‘normal’.”

“Did you find all of this out while she was asleep?” Mathew said. “Because you never said a word to me about it the whole time I slept next to her and helped you and June take care of her. This is news to me, Doc.”

“It’s not my place to say,” Themopolous said. “I think her father should fill her in.”

“He knows what’s going on?” Mathew asked, his voice rising, his cheeks flushed with anger. “So he could have told me? What the fuck people?!”

“You’re family, Mathew,” Capreze said as he stepped into the infirmary. “No doubt about that. But what is happening to Rachel is between her and me.”

“What is happening to me?” Rachel snapped. “Fucking tell me!”

Themopolous looked to Capreze and they locked eyes. It was obvious that the two were still not on good terms and hadn’t worked out Themopolous’s place within Capreze’s order of command, but she was the Stronghold doctor and he finally nodded, deferring to her.

“Rachel was born with a one of a kind genetic disposition,” Themopolous said. “One that allows her to be more sensitive and in tune with technology than your average person.”

“When she was a baby,” Capreze started. “She had issues with her Reaper chips.”

“Whoa,” Mathew interrupted. “Chips? Did you just say chips?”

“She kept frying them,” Capreze explained. “It’s the only way to describe it.” He took a deep breath. “The chip she has in her head now, the one she’s had since she was a year old, is a dummy.”

Mathew and Rachel stared at the commander, their jaws open.

“I had a doctor put in a dead chip,” Capreze continued. “She didn’t have a problem after that.”

“How…but…?” Mathew stammered.

“I knew enough people, pulled enough strings-.” Capreze started.

“And falsified enough docs,” Themopolous interrupted.

“-and falsified enough documents, yes,” Capreze nodded. “Something our good doctor is quite proficient in.” Again the two locked eyes. “When she decided to become a mech pilot I couldn’t have been more relieved. Not only is she a natural, but I could make sure to keep her close and keep an eye on her.”

“And all this time I thought it was because you loved me, Papa Bear,” Rachel smirked.

“You know it is, Baby Girl,” Capreze responded.

“So what does this have to do with her coma? With what’s happening now?” Mathew asked.

“The continual cerebral integration has taken its toll,” Themopolous answered. “She’s been doing it raw, without a Reaper chip. That has caused a lot of stress on the brain.”

“That’s why I knew I could integrate with that mech to come help,” Rachel said. “I mean I didn’tknow know, but I knew.”

“But she’ll be okay, right?” Mathew asked.

“Maybe,” Themopolous said. “There is someone who can help her.”

“That’s why I’ve called the briefing,” Capreze said. “Or one of the reasons. The wasteland is under siege, and normally I wouldn’t give a shit, but it’s all we have and there are a lot of people that want to take it away from us.”

“We going to war, Papa Bear?” Rachel asked, a huge grin on her face despite her raging headache.

“We’re going to war, Baby Girl.”

***

The entire Stronghold was seated in the conference hall, all eyes glued on what Jethro was projecting on the main vid screen.

“Those are all mechs?” Mathew asked. “Like mech mechs? Not dead mechs?”

“They are all mechs,” Jethro responded. “I usually can’t pick up signals from that distance, but the sheer size of the contingent and the energy signals being put off are hard to miss.”

“This means we have enemies coming from the north and from the west,” Capreze said. “And I don’t know how to cover all of this. I need suggestions.”

“But isn’t the west protected by the shield?” Lt. Murphy asked. “So they can’t really get through, can they?”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Capreze said. “We lost contact with Colonel Masterson and the American naval forces. We are blind on that end. I would prefer to think we are safe, but we cannot guarantee it.”

“Do we know for sure that those mechs are coming for us?” Harlow asked. “They could be going to Monterey to shut the shield down.”

“They could be,” Capreze said. “But I doubt they’ll send them all.”

“So what’s the plan, Commander?” Masters asked. “Where we going to blow shit up?”

“Who said you were going anywhere, Mitch?” Capreze smiled. “You’re still benched from mech duty.”

“What?!” Masters shouted as he jumped to his feet. “Are you fucking kidding me? Look at those numbers! You need me!”

“I do need you,” Capreze nodded. “I need you here. You and Stomper.”

“Stomper won’t be happy about that,” Harlow said. “So what mech do I get?”

“We’ve got one for you,” Marin smiled. “I made it special for ya.”

“I like the sound of that,” Harlow smiled and looked at Mitch. “Sucks to be you.”

“I can’t believe I’m still grounded,” Masters grumbled. “Guard duty? Fucking bullshit. At least I get Stomper again.”

“That’s not what I said,” Capreze smiled, clearly enjoying himself. “You and Stomper. Separate. His AI doesn’t need human interface anymore. He can fight on his own.”

“And I’ve got a mech for you,” Jay said. “All ready to go.”

“Whatever,” Masters pouted.

“Quit being a baby, Masters,” Jay said. “You’re gonna like what I made. It’s a Tumbler.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Masters replied.

“Sir?” Mathew asked, ignoring Jay and Masters. “What about the deaders that came at us? The horde that tried to take down the outer perimeter? We still don’t know where that threat came from.”

“I know, Mathew,” Capreze said. “And that does worry me. But this is the wasteland. We can’t stop because something we don’t understand may be looming out there. That’s just fucking life.”

Twenty-Seven

“That is different,” the Pope frowned as he lowered his binocs. “How long has it been sitting out there?”

“A day,” Brother Reynaldo replied. “We’ve been watching it, but it hasn’t moved in hours.”

“You say it just stopped there?” the Pope asked. Brother Reynaldo nodded. “And hasn’t moved since?” Reynaldo shook his head. “Then maybe we should go have a look.”

***

“What is this I hear?” the Great Maker asked himself as the sound of ATVs approaching roused him from his heat induced delirium. “A welcoming committee? A parade? A jaunty band of well wishers?”

The Great Maker uncoupled his cyborg body from his arachnimech. He made sure systems were powered down, which wasn’t an issue since the mech had run out of power hours earlier. In his haste to escape Harlow and Masters the Great Maker hadn’t checked his geothermal charging system and unfortunately left his lair without all components.

He hadn’t left the lair in decades and had never intended to. The sudden expulsion from his secure home hadn’t been ideal and there were many components he wished he’d thought to bring along.

Knowing he was helpless to fight off any serious attack, the Great Maker stood up and waved at the approaching ATVs, intending to ingratiate himself upon them and present as unimposing a figure as possible.

Unused to social interaction with anything less than a few tons, he forgot how he appeared to others.

“Holy…,” Brother Reynaldo muttered as he stopped the ATV. “What is it?”

“I believe at one time it was a man,” the Pope answered as he shouldered his carbine and stepped from the ATV. “Hello there, stranger! I must insist you slowly remove yourself from your interesting machine and come forward. Hands raised, slow steps.”

Three other ATVs emptied of their occupants and the Pope had an even dozen Brothers and Sisters backing him up with shouldered carbines.

“Oh, of course! Of course!” the Great Maker said as he climbed from his arachnimech. “I assure you I am of no threat!”

He winced as he landed on the sun baked earth. His knees had been troubling him and he’d, of course, neglected to prepare and pack enough hydraulic fluid. He had used what was aboard the arachnimech several miles back in order to keep the machine moving.

“You wouldn’t happen to have some water on your person?” the Great Maker asked.

The Pope surveyed the semi-human before him, taking in all of the struts and wires, hoses and cables. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer motor oil, Colonel Maker?”

The Great Maker’s smile faltered and his red eyes focused on the group in front of him.

“Have we met, sir?” he asked. “You seem to know me, yet I am unsure of who you are.”

“I make it a point of knowing all of the players in the wasteland,” the Pope smiled then bowed slightly. “Pope John Paul Ringo George the Eighteenth. Please, call me JP.”

“Ranchers,” the Great Maker sneered. “I should have known.”

“Not a fan of our fair congregation?” the Pope asked.

“You worship the dead flesh,” the Great Maker scoffed.

“One such as yourself shouldn’t be casting stones,” the Pope replied curtly.

“At least my children are made of metal,” the Great Maker said, puffing out his girded chest. “That will last forever.”

The Pope eyed the Great Maker’s leaking hydraulics. “Due tell.”

The two men of the wasteland looked each other over.

“But where are my manners?” the Pope said. “I am a man of God here to tend his flock. And although you may not be a Disciple, you are a part of Him. Please join us and rest your weary self. I am sure you have some tales to tell of your journey and how you came to be stranded here.”

***

“Thank you,” the Great Maker said as he was handed a canteen of slightly cool water. “And could I trouble-?”

He was also handed a small container of hydraulic fluid by a young Rancher Sister. She curtsied and then left quickly. The Great Maker watched her go, the look of hunger on his face.

“That should be enough, yes?” the Pope asked as he leaned back in his well worn chair. “Unless you require some other sustenance? Something a little warmer…and redder?”

“I have beaten those urges,” the Great Maker said. “Willpower is the only true power.”

“Is it?” the Pope mused. “I suppose so. You must be very powerful then.”

The Great Maker did not respond as he sipped his water.

The two of them sat in the Pope’s office and bed chambers. It was not ornately adorned as the Great Maker had expected. It was simple, with plain furnishings and a single bed. A rug had been thrown down on the packed earth floor and the interior of the room was lit by tallow candles, not halogens.

The Pope saw the Great Maker eying the candles.

“They are rendered fat,” the Pope acknowledged. “We waste nothing here. I assure you no lives were sacrificed for their making. We use only bodies that God takes of his own wish. It is a hard choice since the rendering process denies the individual of becoming a Disciple, but it is a sacrifice they decide before leaving. We all make our decisions well before the decisions are made for us. All must be prepared in the wasteland.”

“I whole heartedly agree,” the Great Maker replied after taking a few short sips of the water. “Clean.”

“You were expecting mud and sand?” the Pope asked as he swept his hand about. “Humble does not mean we live without basic standards.”

“My apologies,” the Great Maker nodded. He took a couple more sips then set about patching and refilling his knee hydraulics. “My condolences on the loss of the Archbishop. Both of them.”

“Yes, well the first one was a political nightmare,” the Pope said, rolling his eyes. “How that branch decided to elect a mere boy to Archbishop I cannot say. And Archbishop Wyble? His death was only a few days ago, but not quite soon enough for my taste.”

“Oh?” the Great Maker inquired.

“Like all powerful organizations we Ranchers had our divisions,” the Pope explained as he stood up and began to pace the room. “As I am sure you have heard.”

“Rumors even made it to my hermetic ears, yes.”

“Divisions are fine,” the Pope continued. “They are natural. Not all can agree at all times. But for the Archbishop to align with the UDC? Those sworn to wipe Disciples from the face of the wasteland? That was blasphemy.”

“And you couldn’t rein them in?” the Great Maker asked as he stretched his legs and tested the hydraulics. “You are the Pope.”

“A title, a name,” the Pope shrugged. “Who am I to force them to go against what they felt was right? We all have our own path. I had no interest fighting my Brothers and Sisters. And it seems I didn’t need to as they all came to the end God chose for them.”

“That they did,” the Great Maker agreed. “And what end do you think your God has planned for me?”

“My God?” the Pope asked. “He is all of ours’ God. And his will is a mystery even to me, his chosen voice upon this scorched earth.”

“Don’t exactly hold the power in an iron grip, do you?” the Great Maker laughed as he leaned back. “Maybe that is why the Archbishop aligned with the UDC.”

“I hold more power than any man in the wasteland,” the Pope replied, his eyes cold, dangerous. “Do not be fooled by my gentle nature.”

“Oh, I have not been,” the Great Maker said. “Not in the least.”

The Pope stood there and watched the Great Maker for a time. The cyborg let himself be studied and waited through the observation.

“Would you like to see them?” the Pope finally asked.

“See whom?”

“The Disciples,” the Pope grinned. “The true power of the wasteland.”

***

“Quite a sight,” the Great Maker said as he stood on the edge of the ridge overlooking the deep canyon below.

“A life’s work, Colonel,” the Pope said. He watched the creatures try to scramble about each other, but they were packed in so close most could barely turn around. “For those below are the hands of God. And the teeth. And the claws. And the Hunger.”

“And the Hunger,” all of the Brothers and Sisters repeated as they stood a respectful distance behind the Pope and the Great Maker.

“The Hunger?” the Great Maker asked. “I do not know this part of your canon.”

“It is not, as they say, main streamed,” the Pope said. “Another reason for the split amongst the Rancher fold. The Archbishop, and the ones before him, did not believe in the Hunger. They believed only in the True Disciple. That one day, one of the Disciples would unfetter themselves from their undead curse and become as one with humanity and deader.”

“The zombie messiah,” the Great Maker chuckled.

“Yes, the zombie messiah,” the Pope said, joining in the laughter. “Which is rubbish. Once a man or woman has Changed they are a Disciple and that is all. There is no True Disciple as the more aggressive branch of our faith would have liked to believe.”

“And with Archbishop Wyble’s death that branch does not exist anymore,” the Great Maker stated.

“Precisely,” the Pope said, turning from the writhing view below to take in the cyborg that was the Great Maker. “You have an innate grasp of this, Colonel. Are you sure your spirit lies with the machines?” The Pope waved his hand towards the creatures in the canyons. “And not with the Changed Flesh?”

The Great Maker just smiled. “You still haven’t told me what the Hunger is.”

“That is the Hunger!” the Pope cried, his finger pointing at the mass of deaders. “That is the power of the wasteland! That is the true reason that God created the wasteland! Look upon them! See what they are!”

“You are telling me that you consider the undead to be God’s ultimate plan?”

“I am telling you, Colonel,” the Pope replied. “That everything is God’s ultimate plan. And the Hunger is fuel, the fire, the spirit of his plan. Think about it, Colonel. Would we be who we are, would the world be what it is, without the Disciples? No. And would the Disciples be what they are without the Hunger? Again, no.”

The Great Maker thought about the Pope’s words as he surveyed what was below him. Thousands upon thousands upon thousands of deaders, all packed tight into a massive canyon that was easily half a mile across and three miles long. The undead stretched as far as the Great Maker could see.

“How many exactly?” the Great Maker asked as his red eyes scanned the numbers, trying to calculate on his own.

“Brother Reynaldo?” the Pope asked.

The man stepped forward from the group behind the two men.

“At last count, JP, there are exactly 680,753 Disciples in the canyon,” Brother Reynaldo replied.

“680,000?” Colonel Maker exclaimed. “And you aren’t worried about them escaping? That amount could wipe out nearly any settlement in the wasteland. It could even take on the Stronghold.”

“Yes,” the Pope beamed. “It could take on the Stronghold.”

“But there would be no way to control those numbers,” the Great Maker said. “Even with your skills as Ranchers, even you could not keep them all wrangled.”

“Brother Reynaldo?” the Pope asked again. “If you please.”

The man walked to the edge of the canyon and placed a thin tube to his mouth. He blew hard and the Great Maker cringed, his ears shrieking in pain at the high-pitched whistle.

“Stop!” the Great Maker cried. “I beg of you!”

Brother Reynaldo did and looked back at the Great Maker, joining the Pope’s puzzled look.

“Interesting,” the Pope said. “I did not know you would be so sensitive. My apologies.”

The Great Maker rubbed at his ears and shook his head. “No apology needed. I have specialized senses. But I fail to see what that accomplished.”

“Then you fail to see,” the Pope said as he pointed down into the canyon.

Every deader, every single putrid, decayed, undead body, stood at attention, their faces pointed up at the Pope that stood hundreds of feet above them. The Pope raised his arms to the heavens.

And so did the deaders.

Twenty-Eight

The grav-sled thumped and bounced off the uneven ground of the wasteland, the dogs pulling as hard and fast as they could. Campbell leaned her body over the sled, trying to make the vehicle as wind resistant as possible. LaFrance, strapped to the bed of the sled, winced with every jolt.

“How far back are they?” LaFrance shouted at Shiner who was keeping pace with them easily as he ran along side the sled.

“Fifteen clicks,” Shiner stated. “They are not aware of us yet. Their pace is not increasing or decreasing.”

“But will they catch up?” Campbell asked. “The dogs don’t have endless energy like you.”

“When they expire I will take the sled on myself,” Shiner stated.

“What?!” Campbell screamed. “I am not letting my dogs die!”

“That was a joke,” Shiner said. “A bad attempt at humor to do what you humans call ‘lighten the mood’.”

“You need to work on your timing!” Campbell yelled.

“Or just not joke,” LaFrance suggested.

“Understood,” Shiner replied.

He pushed his scans as far out as possible, searching the wasteland for a place they could hide. He knew he could find somewhere that Campbell, LaFrance and the dogs could hole up in, but as for himself, that was another issue. The Canadian mechs that had come through the tunnel and into the wasteland would pick up his tech easily with their scanners. Even if he tried to shield his signal he couldn’t guarantee that an aware mech pilot wouldn’t notice the dead spot in his scans.

He made a choice that he didn’t like, but was the only one he could come up with.

“A mile ahead,” Shiner said. “There is a bluff. I am reading that a small creek runs below it, starting from the top and then winding down into the base. There should be a cave you can hide in there.”

“Wait, you aren’t hiding with us?” LaFrance asked, not missing the implication of the wording. “What the hell are you thinking of doing, Shiner?”

“I will be the distraction,” Shiner said. “It will give you cover as they pass so you are not discovered. Once the mechs are out of range you will need to head southeast. You will find refuge there.”

Shiner reached out and touched the grav-sled, instantly relaying the Stronghold’s coordinates.

“They’ll rip you apart,” Campbell said. “You are one talented hunk of BC, but not against that many machines.”

“I will only engage for as long as needed,” Shiner said. “Then I will follow.”

“What if they are headed for the Stronghold too?” LaFrance asked. “What do we do then?”

Shiner processed for a minute, but couldn’t come up with an answer. “If they turn to go that way then stay where you are. I will send help.”

“Not if you’re destroyed!” Campbell yelled. “Jesus Christ, Shiner! This is one fucked up plan!”

“It is a plan nonetheless,” Shiner said as he pointed towards the bluff that was quickly approaching. “Hide there. You will know by nightfall what your plan of action is.”

“And if you do survive you’ll meet back up with us, yes?” LaFrance asked.

“I cannot say,” Shiner answered, his thoughts on another part of the wasteland. “I may be needed elsewhere.”

“Fucking hell,” Campbell swore. “This place really does suck shit. All the stories are true. The wasteland blows.”

***

“You still have them?” Norton asked over the com. “That fucking thinking BC pile of shit hasn’t figured out how to dodge the sensors, has it?”

“No, sir,” Canadian Mech Pilot Gail Esther responded. “I still have him dead on.”

“Good,” Norton said. “As long as he is still on your path then feel free to engage at anytime.”

“Sir?” CMP Esther asked. “May I ask a question?”

“What, CMP?” Norton snapped.

“Our mechs, they’re BC,” CMP Esther started.

“That’s a statement, not a question,” Norton growled. “You’re wasting my time.”

“My question, sir, is whether the Shiner machine will be able to morph our BC if he comes in contact with it, sir,” CMP Esther finished.

Norton didn’t respond.

***

“FUCK!” Norton shouted as he muted his com. “Son of a fucking bitch!”

Those with him in the command center tried to keep their attention focused on their work and away from their commander.

“Fucking BC!” Norton screamed. “Had to fucking be malleable, huh? Had to be organic? Fucking BC!”

“Sir, we have-,” a tech started bravely.

“Shut the fuck up!” Norton roared. “We have a serious fucking problem and I need some serious fucking answers! Everyone that is not essential to mech operations at this moment needs to come up with a way to block Shiner from controlling BC! NOW!”

The command center personnel scrambled.

***

He knew that he would still be visible on scanners, but he changed the color of his skin to match the drab tans and browns of the wasteland anyway. For those relying on their eyes, they’d see nothing but a small cloud of dust making its way across the landscape.

But in that cloud of dust was a BC machine ready to die. Shiner knew that Campbell and LaFrance had a slim chance of survival, but he would do everything he could to widen that chance. Even with the assertion that he could not “feel” he knew what was inside him. He wouldn’t let the humans die without a fight.

The Canadian mechs saw him coming and several of them split off from the pack to turn their attention on his attack. Shiner’s sensors told him that multiple weapons systems were online and directed right at him. He shifted his form and brought his own weapons systems up.

Small RPGs, forearm guns and blades, Shiner was set to destroy as many mechs as possible.

He intercepted the pilots’ conversation and realized they hadn’t designed the mechs to handle his BC control abilities. He momentarily thought about shifting his face plate to include a smile, but decided that was too much human ego even for him.

“Ten,” Shiner said to himself. “Ten mechs. They fear me.”

And as the mechs started to fire, well away from Shiner’s reach, he realized just how much they feared him. He leapt from one spot to another, springing nimbly across the wasteland, avoiding the incoming missiles and RPGs sent to destroy him. If the mechs kept it up they’d be out of heavy weapons in minutes leaving only their machine guns.

The machine guns. Loaded with BC bullets.

When the last missile landed just past him, and he launched himself as high into the air as possible to avoid the explosion, the battlefield went silent. He had expected them to start firing, but someone, one of their techs, must have clued them into the folly of shooting him with BC bullets.

The ten mechs stood there, their systems hot, waiting for his move. He had a distinct feeling that if he yelled boo a couple would have turned and ran. But instead he just walked casually towards them.

“AI Shiner!” a voice boomed from one of the mech’s loudspeakers. “You will stop where you are and surrender to the Council’s forces! You are Canadian property and subject to all laws and regulations as such! If you surrender you will not be terminated and your AI will be allowed to live in suspension within a secure mainframe!”

Shiner chuckled. He had been born a mech, turned into a dead mech with a zombie pilot, then freed by Mech Pilot Mathew Jespers to become a fully functioning AI. There was no way he would surrender to a life of confinement. Being stuck at Outpost Tango Charlie had been hard enough. He was a mech at heart and he needed space, ground to cover, open skies and raw elements.

“Please disembark from your mechs,” Shiner responded. “I do not want to harm or kill you. If you leave your mechs I will allow you to walk away and return to your country unmolested.”

“AI Shiner you have been warned! Surrender now or you will be destroyed!”

“With what?” Shiner said as he stepped forward. “You cannot touch me and you cannot shoot me. My proposal is the only way you can survive this fight.”

The mechs opened fire and Shiner was riddled with thousands of rounds. His form shuddered and he felt one arm separate from his body. He was knocked to the dirt, his torso a shredded mess, his systems slow and crippled. He had underestimated what their attack would do to him.

***

“Follow through!” Norton shouted. “Fucking get in there and secure that mother fucking AI!”

Norton watched on the vid screens as the mech group converged on the twitching form of Shiner. Their weapons blazed red hot as they continued to fire into his subdued body.

“Get on the ground!” Norton said. “Keep your mechs at a safe distance and secure him by hand, dammit!”

“Sir,” one of the CMPs responded. “His readings are flat. Scans are not showing any energy levels coming off of him.”

“Did I say to fucking report back, asshole?!” Norton spat. “No, I said to get your FUCKING FEET ON THE GROUND!”

Two mechs kept their weapons trained on Shiner as the rest of the CMPs opened their cockpits and descended to the wasteland dirt.

Norton’s eyes never left the still form of Shiner as he paced before one of the vid screens.

“The rest of you fucking mechs need to step it up! Put as much distance between yourselves and this mess as possible!” Norton ordered.

***

A hint, a connection, a slow trickle of thought and presence. He was still there, hidden in the chunks, the pieces, the shrapnel of BC that was strewn across the wasteland.

The CMPs had checked and double checked Shiner’s broken form and decided he’d been destroyed. Just to be safe they tossed most of him for yards in every direction. They even buried some of him. None of them knew how to completely destroy him, so they did what they thought might work. They didn’t dare ask Norton.

Each piece of biochrome held Shiner’s consciousness, enrobed him in bioorganic metal, secured him, waited for him to become whole again. Yet despite the physicality of his shattered self, Shiner did not feel torn apart. The BC communicated and processed as one piece even though he was spread out across the wasteland.

Slowly, carefully, pieces of BC morphed, melted and began to search each other out. They rolled, flowed, tumbled towards each other until contact was made and the reassembly process began. When Shiner was whole enough to function he dug up the remaining pieces of himself and was complete.

Shiner scanned the wasteland and saw that the mechs that had attacked him rejoined their battle convoy. He couldn’t let them reach their target. He’d learned a lot from his near destruction and didn’t plan on making the same mistakes again. The next time he would make sure no mech touched him.

He began to jog then run then sprint full out after them.

Twenty-Nine

“Submarine formations are changing, sir,” a tech announced as Colonel Blue Masterson stood on the bridge of the Silverthorn. “They are targeting our ships.”

“Unfortunately, that’s what we want them to do,” Blue stated. He turned and looked at Beth as she stared out across the bright blue water of what was once the California coast. “You sure those suits can handle this?”

“The suits are as perfect as they can get,” Beth replied. “It’s up to the troopers to do their thing.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call ‘do their thing’ a military term,” Blue smiled. “But I get what you mean.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call myself military,” Beth said in return. “I’m just here to help keep us all alive.”

“I’m glad for that,” Blue said. “I’d hate for you to be on the other side.”

***

“Sir?” Ensign Ballard asked as he looked over his sonar scans. “We have incoming, sir!”

Captain Hollis McNalley tapped at his tablet and brought up the readings. “What are those?”

“They aren’t torpedoes,” a second ensign replied. “They look like…people, sir.”

“Not at that depth,” Captain McNalley scoffed. “No tech can keep a person alive with that pressure.”

The ensign scanned again and brought up a new image. The entire crew gasped.

“Fire all torpedoes!” Captain McNalley ordered, frantic to get off a shot before they were attacked. “Tell all ships to do the same! Blow those fucking jacks out of the water!”

***

“This pressure sucks!” Charlie Masterson yelled over the com as he accelerated his shock suit up towards the Three’s submarines. “I thought you’d adjusted it, Bretton?”

“Has your head fucking exploded yet?” Melissa replied, rocketing through the water on his right. “Quit your bitching, pussy!”

“Torpedoes!” one of the shock troops announced as fire and bubbles erupted from all submarines. “Intercept, sir?”

“Defense team go!” Charlie ordered. “Get those cigars!”

“Get those cigars?” Melissa laughed. “Please tell me you haven’t been working on that line. That’s just awful.”

“Fuck off, Bretton,” Charlie said. “And shut the fuck up. We are in combat so how about focusing?”

“You think I can’t focus and talk at the same time?” Melissa asked as she shot past Charlie, her suit sending her right at the hull of one of the subs. “Watch this, jackhole!”

“Hey!” Charlie yelled. “Don’t break formation! And don’t call me a jackhole! That’s just not right!”

Melissa ignored him and sped towards the submarine, bringing her hands together in a point. She could have morphed and shaped her suit how she wanted, but she kept it in the exact same design as the others so they could see what the suit could really do.

The impact was jarring, but she’d been prepared for that and the suit absorbed 90% of the impact force. Her body ripped through the double layer hull, ripping the pressure hull apart like paper. She twisted her body as she hit air and began firing. Her body lost momentum slightly as she moved, but she’d attacked with such speed that in a second she was out the other side of the submarine before most of the sub’s crew even registered her.

For a moment she’d caught a glimpse of men’s faces as she’d ripped past, her guns blazing. She was glad she was out the other side before she saw their reactions to the fact they were dead in the water.

Melissa did wince as the shock suit adjusted from water to air to water in less than a second. She made a mental note to work on that part of the design as soon as she could. Overall, as she slowed herself and spun about to see her handy work, she was pleased with what she’d created.

The submarine seemed to tear apart in slow motion. It imploded in a burst of flame and bubbles then exploded, sending shockwaves through the water. Split into three pieces, the sub sank quickly and Melissa tried not to look as bodies, desperate for survival, tried to swim free of the undertow.

The human reality of war was something Melissa wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to, no matter how much death she witnessed.

***

Shock troopers propelled themselves at full speed to intercept the torpedoes targeting the American fleet. Chrome BC bodies dashed this way and that like oversized tunas as they chased down the speeding projectiles.

Still unused to aquatic maneuvers, several shock troops overshot their targets and had to spin about and fire from behind, hoping they wouldn’t end up hitting their comrades close to them. Soon the water was nothing but churning froth and fire as torpedo after torpedo was destroyed.

But even at their best, there were still too many for the Americans to chase down.

***

“Brace for impact!” Blue yelled as the first torpedo hit the Silverthorn.

The bridge crew gripped everything they could as the ship bucked and shook from the explosion below. Before Blue could ask for a report the Silverthorn started to list to starboard.

“Sections eight through nineteen are breached, sir!” a tech yelled over the emergency claxons. “We are taking on water too fast!”

“Dammit!” Blue shouted. “Get all non-essential personnel into lifepods. Every one else man their posts! We aren’t going down without taking some of those bitches with us!”

A couple techs glanced at each other, but the abandon ship order was given and lifepods were readied for non-combat crew.

***

“I thought Charlie said we’d be safe?” Mr. Wilkes shouted as Nancy hurried him along one of the ships’ corridors. “You picked a beauty there, girl.”

“Shut it, da,” Nancy yelled as she shoved her father towards one of the ladders leading up to the lifepods. “Just keep moving.”

“Don’t scold me, young lady,” Mr. Wilkes snarled. “You got us into this mess by fooling around with a damn jack!”

“Da!” Nancy roared. “Not the bleeding time!”

“Well we could be dead in a second, so I thought-.” An explosion ripped through the ship and Mr. Wilkes’s sentence was cut short. As was his life as half a ton of metal sheared through the section, ripping every living thing in half.

Nancy was conscious long enough to grip her father’s dead hand before her life slipped from her body.

***

“Sir! Two more ships hit!” a tech announced. “They are evacuating immediately!”

“Good! Get those people clear! Have the other ships circle about and pick up survivors!” Blue yelled as he activated his com. “Charlie! Report!”

“Busy, dad!” Charlie yelled over the com.

“What progress have you made? Give me numbers!”

But Charlie didn’t respond.

***

“What the fuck are those?” a shock trooper shouted over the com as several small forms shot at the shock troops.

“Drones!” Charlie cried out as he punched through and through a submarine and came face to face with the automated killers. “Focus on those first! They’ll rip us apart!”

Charlie had dealt with ground drones and even some light hover drones, so he was familiar with their abilities. They were keyed to kill anything that was not on their programmed list of allies. It made them last resort tech because they did not adapt well to change. They did not disable, they destroyed. He didn’t plan on giving them a chance to get the upper hand.

His arms up, guns firing, he pulled back, braked hard and swerved back towards the submarine he’d just ripped apart. He ducked between the wreckage, ignoring the bubbling screams of drowning men, and used the debris field for cover. Three drones tore after him, blasting pieces of submarine instead of dodging them. Charlie dove deep, letting the drones chase him as he followed the falling sub.

Bright blasts shot past him and he tucked tight then rolled to his left, spinning in the water and shooting back towards the drones. His arms against his sides he picked up speed until he was nearly head to head with the drones. In one fast sweep he swerved his body right and emptied his guns against the metal predators.

One explosion, two explosions...no third.

Charlie had spent his ammo in one try and he’d failed.

The third explosion was a surprise.

“Can I talk now or would I be too much of a distraction?” Melissa asked as she zipped by.

“Thanks,” Charlie said, breathless.

“Don’t mention it,” Melissa replied. “How about getting back into the game and wiping out some subs?”

“On it, Bretton, don’t you worry.”

“Wasn’t.”

***

“How many ships lost?” Blue yelled.

“Five, sir!” a tech responded. “And three limping along!”

“Including us,” Blue muttered, pretty sure they were more than just limping; they were sinking fast. “Abandon ship, people! Get your asses to safety! Rendezvous on the coast!”

Blue wasn’t sure where on the coast they’d all end up; the lifepods were for safety, not navigation. If the current was too strong half the Americans could end up hitting the Mexican Empire. And the mine field that protected that part of the ocean.

No one had heard from the Mexican Empire in over a century and Blue didn’t want to be the first to show up knocking on their door.

“Charlie!” Blue called over the com.

“Yeah?”

“Do what you can then meet us on the coast,” Blue ordered. “Got that?”

“Can we even hit the coast? What about the shield?”

“We’ll have the shallows,” Blue said. “But the tide will decide how comfortable we are.”

“Great.”

“Just wipe out as many of those fucks as possible and get your ass out of there!”

“Got it.”

***

The severed torso of a shock troop floated past Melissa, they heaviness of the BC taking the half-body into the deep. Melissa didn’t give it a second glance as she continued her attacks. Submarine after submarine after submarine was punctured beyond repair as she dove through hulls and fired at anything that moved.

She quickly figured out where the engine rooms were and made those her first points of attack. If she didn’t have a straight shot at that region then she’d punch through the hull and turn towards the stern or aft, whichever was furthest away, and shred the length of the submarine; ripping the guts out, and the crew, with her ever changing suit.

She had been more than lucky a couple times when she was forcibly ejected and hadn’t fully re-pressurized her shock suit. The feeling of being crushed had nearly sent her into a panic, but her Ghost training always kicked in and she made the adjustments needed to keep her body from imploding.

But the others weren’t so lucky and the screams over the com told her that their surprise advantage had quickly turned into a brute force competition. And the Three’s forces were winning.

“Charlie!” she yelled over the com.

“I know, I know!” he replied. “My dad already gave the order! Time to get the fuck out of here, folks! Hit the coast and hide! Find rocks, find caves, bury yourself in the surf! Go!”

None of the shock troops had to be told twice.

Thirty

The Three watched as much as they could on the holos in their conference room. The sea battle was intriguing and, for more than a few minutes, alarming, but they knew their forces would take the day. They just had too much firepower. And firepower was what had gotten them as far as they were.

“You almost feel sorry for them,” Mr. Plain said.

“Do we?” Mr. Continental laughed. “I’m not sure I agree.”

“Oh, have a heart, man,” Mr. Brown Eyes said. “They fight so hard and die so well. I have to agree it is kind of sad.”

They Three looked at each other and laughed to themselves; nothing too overt, as that would have been crass.

“Where are we with the Canadian mechs?” Mr. Plain asked.

“On schedule,” Mr. Brown Eyes stated. “They can be in Monterey if we need them to be. Norton can give them instructions on how to bring down the shield if Capreze doesn’t send someone. He will though. He always has to be the guy to save the day. Then we land.”

“Do we have to?” Mr. Plain asked. “I mean, must we step onto the wasteland?”

“Of course,” Mr. Brown Eyes said. “We didn’t come all this way to just sit on the command ship. We’ll make Mr. Gein put on the boots and get all dusty dirty, though.”

“And how is Mr. Gein?” Mr. Continental asked. “Has the man sobered up yet?”

“He has,” Mr. Brown Eyes said. “Although I have to say he showed his brilliance while acting the drunken fool. We may have to keep him on a bender just to get more productivity out of him.”

“Ms. Isely would disagree,” Mr. Plain said. “She insists he almost ruined the entire project.”

“But he didn’t ruin it, did he?” Mr. Brown Eyes said. “He made it work.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Mr. Continental warned. “We don’t know if it worked until the subject shows his ability to follow orders. This project has been a great risk from the start.”

“Ms. Isely has assured us that all programming is in place to make sure the subject complies with all demands placed on him,” Mr. Brown Eyes responded. “Not that I trust everything Ms. Isely says. Her attachment to Mr. Gein is always a risk.”

***

The gin bottle flew across the room and shattered against the wall.

“Water?” Mr. Gein snarled. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I hoped you would,” Ms. Isely said as she stood before Mr. Gein, her arms across her chest. “It was meant as an overt hint that you are a drunken idiot.”

“But not a whore,” Mr. Gein shook his head. “Not anymore.”

“What does that mean?” Ms. Isely asked as she took in the mess that was Mr. Gein’s quarters. “That I am?”

Mr. Gein shrugged.

“Brilliant,” Ms. Isely sneered. “Your plan is to be an overt asshole and get us both killed, is that it?”

Mr. Gein shrugged again. They stared at each other in silence for several minutes.

“Ms. Isely?” a tech asked over the com. “He’s awake.”

“Does he know who he is?” Ms. Isely asked. Mr. Gein’s eyebrows raised with curiosity at the conversation he wasn’t privy to.

“I...I don’t know, mum,” the tech answered. “He won’t speak.”

“His form is holding?”

“It is, mum.”

“Good,” Ms. Iselysmiled. “Then he doesn’t knowwhat he is, at least.”

***

The room was cold, Mr. Stone could tell that, but it didn’t bother him. Not the cold or the stark white of the walls or the crinkling of the plastic sheet underneath him. The plain grey jumpsuit he was dressed in didn’t even bother him.

What bothered him was he was fucking dead and he fucking well knew it.

“Mr. Stone?” a voice asked over the speaker set into the wall above the barely discernible door. “Can you hear me, Mr. Stone?”

That was a voice he knew and that voice bothered him also.

“Yes, Ms. Isely,” Mr. Stone replied, surprised by how smooth his voice was. He’d expected gravel, he’d expected weakness, a hoarseness perhaps. That’s what dead sounded like, right? “Please explain my situation. I’m not in the mood for your mind games.”

“It’s good to know you have a mood at all,” Ms. Isely said. “We weren’t sure if you were going to make it or not.”

“I didn’t,” Stone replied flatly.

The brief silence told him all he needed.

“Nonsense, Stone,” Ms. Isely replied, trying to laugh it off. “Of course you made it. How else could you be here?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you body fucked me,” Stone said as he got up and started to inspect the room more closely. The last time he’d been under Ms. Isely’s ‘care’ he had been hyper-genetically altered. What had taken the Americans months to do in vitro she had done to him in just days. And shoved his LOMSD partner’s consciousness in his head to boot. She said it was to keep the efficiency of the partnership together. He thought it was for shits and giggles. “Assuming I am me.” He stopped and cocked his head, listening hard. “Where’s Reginald? I can’t hear him. Did you take him out of my head.”

“Yes, well you suffered some serious brain damage and have been in a coma for months,” Ms. Isely said. “We weren’t sure if Reginald’s personality would survive your recovery.”

Mr. Stone looked at his hands, flipping them back and forth. He unzipped his jumpsuit and inspected his legs, his belly, the parts of his back he could turn and see.

“A little more modesty, please, Mr. Stone,” Ms. Isely said. “You are being watched.”

“Modesty? But I’ve been in a coma for months. Surely you’ve had people wiping the shit from between my ass all that time. I highly doubt anyone is getting their panties bunched because I dropped my trousers.” He looked back at the speaker. “Unless, once again, I’m not me and this coma story is just more of your cock and bull.”

Mr. Stone walked to the outline of the door. He felt along the seam, searching for leverage to get it open.

“It’s sealed, Stone,” Ms. Isely said. “For your medical protection. Your immune system isn’t fully recovered. There could be microbes present that might make you ill.”

“Huh,” Mr. Stone said as he reared back and punched the door, putting a nice dent in the BC it was made from.

“Mr. Stone!” Ms. Isely cried and Stone could hear the fear in her voice.

“I’m thinking this door is for your protection, not mine,” Mr. Stone said. “Let me speak to Gein.”

“What makes you think Mr. Gein is here?” Ms. Isely asked. “Or even alive?”

“Because the fucker is a survivor,” Mr. Stone said. “And the only asshole to outsmart me. I’m willing to wager my life he’s somewhere around. I can do that, right?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stone, can you do what?”

“Wager my life. It is my life, right?” The quick silence again. “That’s what I thought.”

***

Counting the seconds, the minutes, then the hours, Mr. Stone figured he’d been in the room for half a day before they opened the door and Ms. Isely met him face to face.

“Come, Mr. Stone,” Ms. Isely smiled her viper smile as she was flanked by two guards on each side of her. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

“I don’t eat,” Stone replied without even thinking. He didn’t doubt the truth of his statement one bit. “But you know that.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ms. Isely scowled. “Of course you eat. Everyone has to eat.”

“Not me,” Stone said. He calculated the distance between himself, the guards, Isely, and the way out. They didn’t stand a chance. “I’m not hungry.”

But he restrained himself. He needed more intel before he bolted. He had no idea where he was. Hell, he didn’t know what part of the fucking world he was in. He decided he’d play Isely’s game. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. And when that want was gone then he’d show them what he was really hungry for.

Four more guards came into the room and surrounded him.

“All this force for a coma patient?” Stone laughed. “That must have been some coma.”

“Your outburst earlier wasn’t acceptable, Mr. Stone,” Ms. Isely said. “The trauma you’ve suffered means you aren’t quite yourself, I’m afraid.”

“You’re right there,” Stone said. “These fools would be dead already if I was myself. Maybe I should eat and get my strength up more?”

The fear he wanted to see flashed across Ms. Isely’s eyes.

“Gentlemen,” Ms. Isely said and the guards escorted Mr. Stone from the room.

He went from a white room to a grey corridor. Mr. Stone knew the color of that grey.

“A ship?” he asked. “Yes, a ship. Now I can feel the stabilizers. Good tech considering the size of the vessel. You’d never know you were at sea.”

Ms. Isely didn’t respond as they walked down the corridor, taking random turns. Mr. Stone knew they were random; he’d used the same tactic many times to disorient prisoners. And Mr. Stone had no illusions that he was anything other than a prisoner.

“Really working up an appetite,” Stone said after the twelfth turn. “You sure know how to make a coma patient feel welcome and rested.”

They came to a door and something about the way Ms. Isely paused to compose herself told Stone that what was on the other side of the door held her tits in a vise. He was to be shown and approved of or Ms. Isely would be facing quite a scolding.

Stone hoped that scolding meant a bullet to the back of the fucking bitch’s head.

The door opened from the inside and Ms. Isely walked in, followed by Mr. Stone and the guards. Not that the guards were needed since the entire conference room was lined with muscle and guns.

“Mr. Stone!” Mr. Continental said. “So nice to see you again.”

“You three,” Stone sighed. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“We defy expectation,” Mr. Plain said. “Please, have a seat.”

“You may go, Ms. Isely,” Mr. Brown Eyes instructed. “Thank you for escorting our guest.”

“But I thought-.” Ms. Isely began.

“Which was a mistake,” Mr. Plain interrupted. “We’ll let you know when we need you to think again.”

Ms. Isely didn’t protest, just nodded and left.

“A seat, if you please, Mr. Stone,” Mr. Plain insisted. “That way we can have a nice, civilized conversation.”

Stone grinned and took the seat held out by one of the guards.

“I have to apologize,” Stone smiled.

“What for, Mr. Stone?” Mr. Continental asked.

“For scaring the holy shit out of you lot,” Stone said as he waved about at the guards. “I’m not sure any of this is needed.”

“Probably not,” Mr. Brown Eyes said.

“After all,” Stone continued. “I am just one man.”

“Yes, of course you are,” Mr. Plain said. “Of course you are, Mr. Stone.”

“Right. Of course I am,” Stone parroted. He clapped his hands together and half the guards aimed their rifles at his chest. Stone grinned. The first true, honest grin since he’d awakened.

“At ease,” Mr. Brown Eyes instructed. “He’s playing with you.”

“Which brings us to why you are here,” Mr. Continental said. “We need your skills again, Mr. Stone. We need you to play that game you play so well.”

“And what game is that?” Stone asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Hide and seek, of course,” Mr. Brown Eyes answered.

“Or, as we like to call it,” Mr. Plain added. “Hunt and kill.”

***

“What?!” Mr. Gein shouted as his door chimed. “Can’t you fucking read? It says do not disturb!”

The door chimed once more and Mr. Gein pushed off his bed and stomped to the door. He slammed his hand against the release and the door slid open.

Stone and Mr. Gein stood there and studied each other.

“They did a right good job patching you up,” Mr. Gein said finally.

Stone rolled his eyes and stepped past Mr. Gein into the room. Four guards tried to follow, but Mr. Gein blocked their way.

“I’ve got this, gentlemen,” Mr. Gein said. “Go have a vapor stick aboveboard. I’ll call you when he’s ready to leave.”

The guards hesitated, but were forced to acknowledge that Mr. Gein was their superior and left.

Mr. Gein turned around and Stone was seated on his bed, frowning.

“Not like you to be all messy like this, Gein,” Stone observed. “Feeling blue?”

Mr. Gein pointed to the ceiling and then his ears. Stone nodded.

“I’m glad you made it, Stone,” Mr. Gein said pleasantly. “You came close to being lost a few times.”

“I’m starting to get that,” Stone replied. “Yet I’m still puzzled why I’m here at all.” Mr. Gein looked about the room in alarm. “I’m not talking about my resurrection, Gein. I could really give two shits about that. I’m talking about why I was resurrected.”

“Don’t keep using the word resurrected, Stone,” Mr. Gein smiled. “You’ll get a messiah complex.”

“Will I?” Stone said, matching Mr. Gein’s smile. “Can I heal the sick and walk on water? Or perhaps change water into wine? That would be a handy trick.”

“Ah, my manners,” Mr. Gein said. “Would you like a drink, Stone?”

“If you have one at hand,” Stone replied. “Scotch would be preferable.”

Mr. Gein got up and rummaged through the clothes and papers on his dresser. “Ah ha! I do have scotch.”

“Good for you, Gein,” Mr. Stone mocked. “I hope I’m not depleting your rainy day stash.”

“There is always more alcohol to be had, Stone,” Mr. Gein said as he poured two glasses.

“Yes,” Stone nodded as he looked at the wreck of a room. “I can see that.”

Mr. Gein handed Stone a tumbler of scotch and sat back on the bed.

“You want to know what we want with you?” Mr. Gein asked. “Didn’t the Three already explain that.”

“A mission,” Stone replied as he sipped the scotch and grimaced. “This is rubbish. They won’t spring for the good stuff? What’s the fucking use in ruling the world if you can’t get decent scotch.” Mr. Gein shrugged and Stone continued. “I’m to infiltrate the wasteland and find Capreze. End him and the mech resistance falls apart. A simple job, just like the thousands I’ve done before that.”

“That’s it in a nutshell,” Mr. Gein said as he finished his scotch and poured a second. “So what’s the issue?”

“I’m dead, Gein, that’s the fucking issue!” Stone roared as he threw his glass against the wall and grabbed Gein by the shirt. “I should be in Hell right now paying for my sins! WHY THE FUCK DID YOU BRING ME BACK?!”

Thirty-One

His back against a wall, and a wall of deaders coming at him, Dog raised his sharpened bone, and newly found hefty rock, and braced for the attack. He sized up the first row of deaders and quickly figured he could brain at least three of them and probably decapitate another two before he was taken down.

Not that being taken down was his plan. Not that anything that had happened at Eden was part of the plan. And as Dog waited, his body tense with violence, his mind wondered what his plan had ever been.

He’d spent his whole life running: running from the Boiler village hell he had been born into; running from the cage fight prison he’d been sold into; and running from the lie he’d created to become a mech pilot. He had found people in Capreze’s crew that accepted him, called him a friend and colleague, but he couldn’t help but wonder if being just another mech pilot was where he wanted to be.

Of course, all of those thoughts flew through his mind as he prepared to battle for his life yet again.

That seemed to be the plan that had always been forced on him.

The smell of the undead filled the dead end of the Maze he had become trapped in, but Dog was beyond giving a shit. He gripped his bone until his knuckles popped then lunged as the first deaders reached for him, their broken nails and gnarled fingers hoping to rip chunks of flesh from his face.

The point of the bone stabbed through the cloudy eye of one of the deaders, punching a hole through the back of its head. Dog spun the thing around and tossed it towards the others, yanking the bone free. He crushed the skull of two deaders with his rock then kicked out, knocking three back and to the ground.

He barely dodged the snapping jaws of a deader as it went for his arm, but was able to get that same arm around its neck and snap the head off with an upward yank. He lost his rock when it lodged in the cranium of a particularly pungent deader, spoiled brains spilling out around the stone. The bone bent then snapped in two when he twisted it through the throat of a deader that swiped at his face over and over.

Dog slammed with fists, kicked with feet and roared at the deaders with a rage he’d come to rely on in the Maze. But, within minutes of the attack, the deaders had him pinned and it was all he could do to keep their infected teeth from tearing chunks out of his warm flesh.

“DUCK!” a voiced raged from behind the deader horde and Dog didn’t even think about obeying; he hit the ground as fast as he could.

The sounds of spines ripping, necks snapping and skulls being split open filled the Maze. Dog punched at the few deaders that were still trying to get at him until they were pulled back and dispatched. He blinked up from under the pile of motionless zombies that had built up around him.

“Hey, baby,” Jenny grinned as she held out a hand. “Did you come to rescue me?”

“Uh…yeah,” Dog said. “How’d I do?”

“Well I’m here and alive,” Jenny smiled as she wiped the gore from Dog’s face and kissed him hungrily on the lips. “We’ll work out who gets the credit later.”

“This is your man?” Agnatha asked as she scrutinized Dog. “He seems capable. He made it further than most.”

“What?” Dog asked. “How many actually make it?”

“Not many,” Agnatha replied.

“Jeezus,” Dog swore. “That’s fucked up.”

***

“You have got to be shitting me,” Jenny said as she helped Dog out of his blood-soaked clothes. “You actually want me to call you that?”

“It’s my name,” Dog said. “It’s who I am. I have to face that if I’m ever going to find my place in this fucked up world.”

“So no more Rookie?”

“No more Rookie,” Dog smiled as he stood there naked in front of Jenny. “I’ll never be anything but a beginner, a faker, with a name like that. I gotta be me.”

“I like you,” Jenny said as she wiped the gore from Dog’s skin. “Whatever you want to be.”

“Thanks,” Dog replied.

The rag Jenny used became saturated and she rinsed and squeezed it out, moving in closer as she got the crusted blood from Dog’s neck and chest. Their eyes met and she grinned at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she smiled as she lowered the rag to his muscled stomach.

He matched her smile and leaned his face close to hers. “This is turning you on, isn’t it?”

“I like the change,” she replied, licking her lips, the rag moving lower. “You seem more solid.” The rag stopped. “Literally.”

“Good one,” Dog laughed as he took Jenny’s face in his hands and brought their lips together. They kissed hard, their tongues playing then pressing against each other. They parted and Jenny sighed quickly. “That was good too.”

Jenny tossed the rag aside and reached around and grabbed Dog’s ass, pulling him fully against her. His hands found her shirt and yanked it over her head, freeing her breasts so they could press against him, hot skin against hot skin. She slid her pants down and wrapped one leg up around his waist. Their mouths met again and the kiss was intense, passionate, forceful.

Neither of them had to voice that they needed each other; that they didn’t know if they’d make it from the Maze alive. They both just knew that that was the moment they had to have each other because the moment could never come again.

Dog lifted Jenny up and she eased her down on him, letting him fill her until his head pressed against her, deep inside. She moaned and arched her back while Dog braced his legs, more than willing to hold her weight as her hips began to grind. Dog let her move on him, let her find her rhythm before he started to add his own, thrusting slowly but firmly.

Jenny bit her lower lip and whimpered as Dog’s thrusts became stronger and stronger, faster and faster. Soon she had to wrap herself about him; her legs locked behind his waist, her arms about his shoulders, her face buried in his neck. Dog’s breathing became ragged and rushed as he pounded inside Jenny, their chests heaving against each other.

“Yes,” Jenny whispered as she felt herself build to climax. “Yes. I love you. I love you so much.”

Those words brought power to Dog. They were words he’d never heard before. His body sang with electricity as he gripped her ass, his fingers pressed deep into the soft flesh of her buttocks, his thumbs hooked up around her hips. He doubled his effort and soon Jenny was no longer whimpering, but crying out as Dog rammed in and out of her.

“Oh, god!” they both shouted at once as their bodies climaxed in unison.

Jenny gripped herself around Dog, squeezing him, keeping him deep in her. She told herself this was the moment that defined them; that she’d never let him get away. She had lost much in her life, but she wouldn’t lose him.

At that instant of body uniting climax, Dog thought the same thing. She was his and he was hers and he vowed never to be away from her side. He had had sex a lot -as rewards for fights won in the cage, as lessons forced on him at a young age by his father on how you took a woman, as casual encounters while escaping through the underworld of Foggy Bottom-, but for the first time, even beyond the sex he and Jenny had had before, he felt the physical expression of love.

He held her to him, refusing to let her go and down to the ground. He stayed in her just as willingly as she held him to her. Their bodies had become one and neither would be the first to uncouple and let the love go.

“Good,” Agnatha said as she came into the stone room. “You two got that out of your system. Get dressed and get out here. We have to decide what we’re going to do with him.”

***

“You want to stay down here?” Dog asked, completely taken by surprise. “Seriously?”

“We are slits and the Maze is where slits belong,” Agnatha said. “Otherwise Eden will become a place of the weak. We must be the strength that holds our people together.”

“But you want to stay here?” Dog repeated. “I mean stay stay?”

“You checked him?” Agnatha asked Jenny. “He hasn’t been bitten? Or wounded?”

“He’s fine,” Jenny said. “He just doesn’t understand. I don’t really either.”

One of the other women spoke up, “If we stay above, stay in Eden proper without a husband then we will just be the women of old that undermined her sisters to get at what she thought she wanted.”

“Girl drama,” Jenny said. “Yeah, I get that.”

“We wouldn’t be looking to make our selves survivors,” the woman continued. “We would be looking to men to save us. To make us theirs. We would be competing with each other.”

“But don’t the men save you down here?” Dog asked. “I thought that’s how wives are chosen, by the men braving the Maze and rescuing a slit.” Dog winced at his own use of the word.

“Did we act as if we needed saving?” Agnatha asked angrily. “Did we?”

“No, but-.”

“No!” Agnatha insisted. “We do the saving! We are alerted when a man enters the Maze. We have safety stations throughout meant to aid the man so he can fight his way to the center here. If he makes it then a wife is chosen for him. We make sure the man is paired with a slit who will be compatible with his personality.”

“You can tell a guy’s personality from how he fights?” Dog asked.

“You can tell everything about a man by how he fights,” Agnatha said. “Everything in life is a fight. Strip away the ego and release the animal and then you know who the man is.”

“And who am I?” Dog asked.

“You are a leader,” Agnatha said. “A man that does not quit. A man that would take a woman and make her his equal.” Agnatha shook her head. “Which is sad.”

“Really?” Dog asked, grabbing Jenny’s hand. “How is that sad?”

“Because a man like you has no place up there in Eden,” Agnatha replied. “The Mayor would never allow slits to become wives of equality. Not fully.”

“You know him that well?” Dog asked. “Not that I’m disagreeing with you.”

“I know him that well,” Agnatha said. “He is my brother. I watched him grow. I watched him change. I know what kind of man he is.”

Dog smiled brightly. “His sister? You’re his sister?” he laughed for a few seconds, irritating the women. “Sorry, sorry. This just gets better and better.”

Thirty-Two

The night air whipped about the Great Maker as he sat on the edge of the canyon: his red eyes seeing the squirming horde below perfectly even with only a faint sliver of a moon above.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” the Pope said as he joined the Great Maker. “I come here often just to watch them in motion.”

“I prefer machines to flesh,” the Great Maker admitted. “They are simpler.”

“I don’t see the Disciples as difficult,” the Pope replied. “Or complicated.”

“Yes, but with the flesh you have decay, you have breakdown,” the Great Maker countered. “It is a process that can’t be stopped. They may regenerate as they feed, but only slightly. But with machines they can be kept in perfect order forever. All they need is maintenance.” The Great Maker looked up at the Pope. “You should let me show you. I could improve your Disciples greatly.”

The Pope laughed, a touch of bitterness, a touch of sadness to it. “No, no, I do not think so. Technology has already been mixed with the Disciples before and it did not improve their lot in the unlife. It nearly destroyed the wasteland itself.”

“What nearly destroyed the wasteland was the folly of fools,” the Great Maker spat. “Paper pushers that thought they were great leaders.”

“And a mad man that thought technology could dominate flesh,” the Pope said. “Our faith is based on the belief that it is the flesh that shall always prevail. Always. And I will never let go of that faith. It is who I am.”

The Great Maker shook his head slightly in the dark, but the Pope caught the movement.

“Do you not have faith, Colonel Maker?” the Pop asked. “Is there nothing in your life that you feel is greater than you? That you must go to to get your strength?”

“I have machines,” the Great Maker said as he tapped some of the hardware that made up his body. “And that is all the faith I need.”

“That may be all the faith you need,” the Pope grinned in the gloom. “But even you are beholden to the flesh, am I right? I know what you really need to survive.”

The Pope set a basket down next to the Great Maker.

“I do not know what you have in there,” the Great Maker said. “But I do not believe I will be able to digest and assimilate it. My diet has been very specific for a long time.”

“Yes, I am aware,” the Pope said. “And as much as it pained us, our cooks were able to create your food from the files uploaded from your mech. This is what you eat.”

“You accessed my mech?” the Great Maker asked. “That is quite the intrusion.”

“A small price for our hospitality, wouldn’t you say?” the Pope smiled.

The Great Maker lifted the top of the basket and the aroma of fresh deader mush carried on the wind to his nose.

“You heated it too high,” the Great Maker said as he lifted a bowl and spoon from the basket. “But it will do.”

“Not what you truly crave,” the Pope grinned. “But what you need to live.”

The Great Maker’s red eyes burned brightly. “What do you know of my cravings?”

“We all must push our desires away for the greater good,” the Pope said. “It is the curse of being more than just a normal person.”

“You know nothing about me,” the Great Maker grimaced, taking a bite of the mush. “This is all I need.”

“Of course it is. I’ll leave you to your meal, Colonel,” the Pope said. “Enjoy the night air as long as you please. Find me before you retire for the evening. I have much to discuss.”

***

Sister Estelle set down the tea service on the small table that the Pope and the Great Maker sat at.

“Thank you, Sister,” the Pope smiled. “An evening blessing indeed.”

“My pleasure, JP,” Sister Estelle replied. “Enjoy.”

She bowed slightly and left the two men to their conversation.

“You were saying?” the Great Maker prompted as the Pope poured the tea. “None for me, thank you. The meal you provided was satisfactory.”

“Can you not share a cup of tea with me?” the Pope asked. “It’s from the leaves of a local shrub that grows in the canyon. I find it quite fitting.”

“I cannot,” the Great Maker insisted. “My digestion.”

“Ah, yes,” the Pope said as he blew the steam from his cup. “Of course.” The Pope took a sip and closed his eyes briefly as he said a silent prayer of thanks. “As I was saying before, you have skills that we need to help us reclaim the wasteland from the unrighteous. The wasteland is not for Commander Capreze to own or take. He has not been elected, by man or God, and does not have the right to act as our moral and social police.”

“Yes, you have already said that,” the Great Maker said. “But how can I be of use?”

“You know metal, we know flesh,” the Pope said. “Can we not bring them together as one fighting unit?”

“You would like me to use your deaders as pilots?”

“No, no, dear me, no,” the Pope laughed. “Our flesh is sacred to us just as your metal is sacred to you. They should be separate, not together as Capreze insists.”

“An assault on the Stronghold?” the Great Maker shook his head. “I have been in that Stronghold many years ago. It is not easily taken, if at all.”

“I am aware of that.”

“The element of surprise would be needed,” the Great Maker said. “And I do not know how that could be accomplished with the numbers you have. They will see us coming.”

“We have already tested that,” the Pope said. “We can overwhelm them with the numbers before they know what they are up against. My Brothers and Sisters know how to disable their long range sensors and also how to disable their perimeter defenses.”

“And the up close Stronghold defenses?” Colonel Maker asked. “The firepower is considerable.”

“As are our numbers,” the Pope said. “But your knowledge of machines will be what we need to destroy their guns. It is not a hard plan.”

The Great Maker steepled his fingers and thought for a few moments. The Pope did not disturb the cyborg, letting him process the flood of information.

“When is the attack to take place?” the Great Maker finally asked.

“In two days time,” the Pope said. “It cannot be any later.”

“And why so soon?” the Great Maker asked, astonished at the hurry.

“Because I have received reports that most of the mechs have left the Stronghold and are on their way to various destinations,” the Pope said, his smile widening. “They have a war already in progress. We need to strike now when the Stronghold is basically left unprotected.”

“I will need to confirm the repairs of my mech,” the Great Maker said.

“As I knew you would,” the Pope said as he stood. “I’ll take you to it. Are we in agreement?”

“Who will lead this attack? You?”

“It’s my destiny,” the Pope said. “I will go to the Stronghold with the Disciples. I am God’s vessel here on Earth. For me to remain behind would show a tragic lack of faith.”

“You put too much faith in faith,” the Great Maker grinned. The look did not become him and the Pope had to struggle not to cringe.

Thirty-Three

“You want to talk about it, Doc?” Rachel asked as she piloted her mech across the wasteland towards Monterey, the sliver of moon just above. “I’m sure there’s more to your story than just betrayal.”

“Not according to your father,” Themopolous replied from the jumpseat that Jay installed so she could ride with Rachel and keep an eye on her. “I doubt he will see me as anything but a traitor from now on.”

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Rachel said. “He gets his feelings hurt easily. He’ll get over it.”

“He’s been having less nightmares,” Themopolous stated. “That may help his outlook on my situation.”

“What is your situation?” Rachel asked. “Who exactly are you working for?”

“You,” Themopolous said. “And I mean that personally. I am here to help you.” Themopolous took a deep breath before starting again. “I was sent to observe you and to get cerebral scans so that maybe your ability could be reproduced.”

“Can it?” Rachel asked.

“In a way,” Themopolous answered. “But not in the way everyone thought. Your cerebral make-up is tied to you as much physically as psychologically. It cannot be separated. To reproduce your ability they had to reproduce you.”

Rachel nearly stumbled the mech. “Reproduce me? What the fuck does that mean?”

“You two okay over there?” Mathew asked over the com.

“Fine, just stepped on a rock,” Rachel replied.

“Uh…okay,” Mathew said. “You sure?”

“Can a couple girls get a little privacy, please?” Rachel snapped before severing the com connection.

“You were a little harsh there,” Themopolous said.

“I’ll make it up to him,” Rachel said. “Don’t change the subject. What do you mean they reproduced me?”

“Cloning,” Themopolous stated frankly. “They grew your body to be used as a Vessel.”

“Fuck me,” Rachel whispered. “Okay, who did this and what’s a Vessel?”

“A Vessel is a cloned being, an American legend,” Themopolous explained. “Capable of carrying vast amounts of information. It’s like a walking mainframe in a way.”

“That’s possible?”

“Because of you? Yes, it was possible,” Themopolous said. “One Vessel was successful. It held crucial information that had to get to the American brass.”

“Didn’t get there in time, did it?” Rachel observed.

“No, it didn’t,” Themopolous replied.

“Hey!” Mathew shouted over the com. “You blocked me out!”

“Yes, I did,” Rachel said. “So how did you get through?”

“My bad,” Jethro said. “He called me and started whining like a pussy-whipped little bitch. It was pitiful.”

“I just needed to make sure you two were alright,” Mathew said.

“You wanted to make sure I hadn’t turned and killed her, right?” Themopolous said.

“Well…yeah,” Mathew admitted. “Don’t cut com again, please.”

“If I knew you’d get all pathetic about it I wouldn’t have,” Rachel smiled. “A little space isn’t a bad thing, Matty.”

“You’ve been in a coma for months, Rachel,” Mathew replied. “There has been too much space already.”

“Can I go now?” Jethro asked. “I really don’t want to listen to you two anymore.”

“Yes, Jethro, you can go before you get love cooties,” Rachel laughed.

“Phew.”

***

“You still there, Jethro?” Mathew asked.

“Yep,” Jethro replied over the com. “We are secure. They can’t hear us.”

“Are you monitoring their conversation?”

“I am,” Jethro acknowledged. “I can hear every word they’re saying. You want me to patch you in?”

“Nah,” Mathew said. “That would be a bit pathetic. Just give me the highlights when you hear something interesting.”

“Maybe you should just ask Rachel about it later,” Jethro suggested.

“Because I don’t know if she’ll tell me everything,” Mathew said. “I’m glad she’s back, but she hasn’t fully been the before Rachel. There is something different. I just want to make sure she’s alright.”

“I know, you keep saying that,” Jethro laughed. “Listen, man, I’ve seen her scans. She’s in serious pain. If she seems off it’s because she’s been in a coma, as you have pointed out, and because she’s on painkillers to keep her head from exploding.”

“Are the painkillers going to affect her piloting?” Mathew asked. “I need to know in case we get in the shit.”

“How should I know? I’m not the doctor.”

“Bullshit,” Mathew responded. “You have the full mainframe in your head.”

“Actually, the mainframe is my head, man,” Jethro corrected. “And it isn’t the picnic you think it is. I may have a wealth of medical data at my virtual fingertips, but I still have to comprehend the info.”

“Your super computer brain can’t figure it out?” Mathew asked. “What’s the point of keeping you around?”

“Ha ha, fucker,” Jethro replied. “Yes, my super computer brain can figure it out, but Themopolous has instincts and insight that I don’t. Plus, she has info that isn’t in my database. I do the best I can, but she’s the real doctor.”

“Fair enough,” Mathew conceded. “Still, let me know if you catch anything I need to hear.”

“Gotcha.”

***

The night sky was incredible. Rachel hadn’t realized how much she’d missed open space even with the dangers it presented. She had vague recollections of wasteland dreams while she was in her coma, but the memories were faint and they couldn’t touch the reality of actually stomping across hard packed dirt in a 50-ton mech with the stars shining above.

Themopolous had dozed off an hour earlier and Rachel was content to pilot in silence. Well, as much silence as a two-story battle machine would allow. Rachel decided to do something that all training frowned upon: open the cockpit hatch while still moving.

She disengaged the alarm and opened the hatch, closing her eyes and breathing deep the cool night air. While it never truly cooled down in the wasteland it was better than the stuffy air in the cockpit. The breeze blew in and Themopolous stirred in her seat, but didn’t wake up.

…over there…set those pilings…right on it…

Rachel instantly checked her scanners for the source of the voice she heard. There must have been someone pretty close for the sound to reach her up in her cockpit.

…clear the area…no, right there…Mel…stop that…

There was nothing. No movement, no signs of life; not even signs of deaders. The voice seemed to be floating on the breeze, carried to her ears from far away.

…supplies…the infirmary…it’ll hold, sir…no, Mel…

It was like a long range com signal, fading in and out, but without the static interference. Where the voice was quiet there was just nothing.

“Weird,” Rachel said to herself. “Always something new in the wasteland.”

Hello?

Rachel stiffened. That had sounded pretty direct. She looked at the sensors a second time, but there was still no one in the area.

“I’m cracking up,” she laughed quietly. “First night in the waste and I’m already losing it.”

Hello? Who is that?

Rachel snapped her head around to make sure Themopolous wasn’t messing with her, but the doctor was fast asleep.

“Uh…hello?” Rachel asked quietly. “Who are you?”

There was silence for a moment.

Rachel?

“Oh, shit, what the fuck,” Rachel exclaimed, clamping a hand over her mouth.

Rachel Capreze?

“What the hell,” Rachel thought. “I’m losing it.”

No, you aren’t. I’m pushing myself hard right now and it must have forced a connection between us. This is Beth Laughlin. I’m with the Americans, I mean, I am an American. And your clone. That’s why we can talk.

“Uh, uh,” Rachel thought. “What you are is my brain going over the edge. I’ve been having really bad headaches. I bet you’re a fucking blood clot or something. I’m about to stroke the fuck out.”

No, you aren’t. We are speaking telepathically. Like I said I’m pushing myself hard so my abilities are amped all the way up. I didn’t think this was possible, but because we share the same DNA and cerebral make-up, and because of our innate technopathy, somehow we can communicate.

“Definitely a stroke,” Rachel thought. “God, I hope I don’t piss myself.”

Will you listen, please! I am real! We are talking with our mother fucking brains! OUR FUCKING BRAINS! Now shut up for five seconds and pay attention. I can’t keep this up for long.

Rachel shut up.

Good. We are down to three ships and lost half of our people. The Three’s subs tore us apart and we are regrouping on the coastline off Monterey. I am fortifying the ships we have and creating an armed float out of the debris from our destroyed ships. We can hold steady for a day or so, but not much longer.

“We’re on our way to Monterey right now,” Rachel said, speaking out loud. “We’ll be there tomorrow evening at the latest.”

Good! Then we can get the shield down and get to land.

“We don’t have any codes, we don’t have any schematics, we don’t have shit,” Rachel said. “How will we get it down?”

Rachel could actually feel Beth grin.

Two technopaths like us? We’ll get it down.

“I have to be honest,” Rachel said. “I have no idea how to control that technopathy stuff. And, well… I’m not exactly up to my full strength.”

Me neither. Well, I do know how to control the technopathy. At least with BC.

“With what?”

Bioorganic metal. I’ll fill you in when you get here. Just hurry.

“Uh, okay,” Rachel replied. “Should I call you on this number if I need you?”

Funny. I’ll be in contact when I can. This takes a lot out of me.

“Copy that.”

See you soon, Rachel Capreze.

“You too, Beth Laughlin.”

Rachel waited until she was sure Beth wasn’t going to speak again and then took a couple deep, cleansing breaths. The headache that had been toying about, hanging on the edges, started to move forward and she could tell the rest of the night would be a might uncomfortable.

Behind her Themopolous watched Rachel closely, waiting to see if she spoke some more. But when she was quiet for a while Themopolous closed her eyes again, not wanting to get caught staring.

Thirty-Four

“Okay, so just when I think you can’t be more of a freak you totally space out for like three minutes while in the middle of building a fucking floating fort,” Melissa snapped when Beth finally acknowledged she was being spoken to.

“Oh, sorry,” Beth said, rubbing her temples. “That was unexpected.”

“You okay?” Desmond asked as he lay on the deck, his head wrapped in bandages.

“Shush,” Melissa said as she knelt and checked Desmond’s dressing. “Don’t worry about her.”

“Just because I lost the other eye doesn’t mean I don’t care about other people,” Desmond said, his voice more than tinged with pain. “We’re all in this together, but Beth’s the one that’s gonna keep us alive.”

“If she gets back to work,” Blue said. “That forward panel will need reinforcing. I have two techs checking the left quarter and right quarter now.”

“Yes, sir,” Beth said, her head throbbing. “I’m on it.”

She pushed the building pain aside and concentrated on the BC that was about her. She’d already used a lot of energy bringing the BC to the coastline, even though much of it had almost sunk to the bottom of the ocean just outside the bay. The sea water had added resistance, not because of the weight and pressure of the water, but because the chemical make-up of ocean water seemed to hamper her BC control. She hadn’t noticed it before with other tasks while they had been at sea, but then she hadn’t tried to salvage ten ships worth of BC before.

The forward panel, as Blue had called it, was a thirty foot high structure of pure BC. It went another fifty feet down and was anchored into the bottom of the bay. The wall stretched across the bay, an amazing feat of engineering even for the most accomplished designer, but for a novice that was winging it it was close to a miracle. Only Beth’s natural BC manipulative abilities kept the structure from collapsing.

While Beth worked her BC magic, Melissa spent her time going from one wounded American to another. She’d shown her own genius by making biochrome into field dressings that slowly helped knit wounds back together. With the help of one of the other Americans that had some training in field medicine, she was able to keep dozens of Americans alive that would have otherwise bled to death.

Blue watched it all, the work Beth was doing, the work Melissa was doing, and the way those that could help pitched in without orders of any kind. It wasn’t wholly American behavior he witnessed, but it was behavior brought on by a sense of purpose that only a people drawn together by severe tragedy could have.

He just wished...

“He’s out there somewhere,” Desmond said.

“How the hell did you know what I was thinking?” Blue asked. “You’re fucking blind.”

“Um, that has nothing to do with it,” Desmond said. “I couldn’t read minds when I had two eyes. Or even when I had one. So my being blind is irrelevant.”

“So?” Blue asked, his eyes moving to the two other ships that were fused to the one he was on. Beth had created a base behind the wall. And considering the fact that only maybe ten percent of the Americans were left, it was plenty space enough. “How’d you know I was thinking of Charlie? I have a lot more lives I’m responsible for than one lost shock trooper.”

“You grind your teeth,” Desmond said as he shifted his position. He forced himself not to cry out as white hot pain filled his head.

“You okay, Lieutenant?” Blue asked as he crouched next to Desmond.

“Despite the lack of ocular ability?”

“Don’t get smart, Hale,” Blue warned. “I’m still your superior officer.”

“You grind your teeth every time Charlie is out on a mission,” Desmond said, finishing his observation. “You always have. It’s your tell.”

“My tell,” Blue nodded, not that Desmond could see him. “Good to know.” He patted Desmond on the shoulder and stood up. “Get some sleep if you can. It’s a cool evening, but tomorrow this deck will be roasting hot. We’ll have to move the wounded below, not that it will be any cooler inside.”

“Power still not up?”

“About twenty percent capacity right now,” Blue said. “Techs will have it going soon, but I can’t say when.”

“You think Capreze’s people are coming for us?”

“I don’t really know, Hale. I don’t really know.”

***

The grief was overwhelming. It shut out the pain of his injuries, the severity of which he didn’t even know. As he stared up at the night sky, floating on his back, the shock suit keeping him from going under, he cradled his Nancy’s body to his chest. He knew he needed to let her go, that he needed to get back to the coastline and rendezvous with the rest of the Americans.

But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

He didn’t know if he had left her and her father in the UK whether or not they’d still be alive. The chaos, murder and destruction the Three had caused all across Europe told him that she probably wouldn’t have been left to live. Especially if her connection to a damn jack had been found out.

But he didn’t know and that uncertainty petrified him. What did it matter, what did any of it matter, if the ones that were loved the most were lost? He asked himself that question over and over as the waves gently rocked him and Nancy’s corpse.

Fresh tears welled in his eyes and he laughed, actually laughed at them, thinking they had dried up hours before. He’d pulled himself together enough to keep his shock suit on and not send himself to the deep below. He’d said his sorrys and goodbyes to her, kissing her cold face over and over. And he had come to terms with the reality of her death.

But the heart didn’t give a fuck about reality and Charlie began to sob once more.

His whispers of apology lifted on the ocean air and were lost in the briny mist that had formed about him as the night cooled.

***

The fabric adjusted, allowing the healing vectors of the nanobot components and BC sutures to go to work, as Melissa shifted the material about a wounded tech’s abdomen. With the blood and shit and piss she’d dealt with since they’d rendezvoused in the Monterey Bay, she could have cared less that the tech was stark naked and she had his crotch just inches from her hand. Modesty was gone when you were fighting for your lives.

She made sure the BC fabric was secure and moved to the next person, but didn’t stay long as the trooper was already gone, the gaping wound in her chest too much for Melissa’s creation to handle. She sucked it up and forced the sorrow away. She’d felt worse loss than a stranger’s death. Not that the woman was a stranger since Melissa had been training with her for weeks and even helped adjust her shock suit hours earlier.

But Melissa made her a stranger in her mind because a stranger’s death didn’t hurt, right?

She happened to glance over at Desmond and could see him talking with Colonel Masterson. She wanted to yell at him to shut up and rest, but that would have disturbed those that actually were resting. The man could be infuriating and it took every ounce of control not to stomp over and give him a piece of her mind.

But for what? Saving her life?

She had headed for the coastline, just like the rest of the troopers. She had to duck and dodge sinking ships and fiery debris as her suit propelled her through the water. Then it all went black. She remembered hearing the explosion, but had no idea what had been destroyed; maybe another ship, maybe a torpedo going off next to her. She didn’t know.

What she did know was that she woke up with most of her suit blasted off her body and she was secured to a floating piece of debris. Next to her, his arm wrapped tightly about her waist, and his head bleeding everywhere, was Desmond.

There had been so much blood.

She called his name over and over, but he didn’t respond. When she went to wipe the blood away she realized that his eye, his last good eye, was missing and most of the bone around his ocular cavity was shattered with splinters sticking straight out from his face. She’d wanted to wail in anguish, but she had been taught better than that and the Ghost training kicked in.

In an instant she’d sent BC sutures through the wound to clear the bone fragments and stop the blood. Her on-the-ocean field work was rough and she knew that even if they did survive, Desmond wouldn’t be able to get an ocular implant in that socket. It was too destroyed. She’d kissed his forehead again and again as they floated along, praying, wishing, hoping he’d wake up.

By the time Beth had come along in a makeshift boat she’d clapped together, Desmond had started mumbling something about needing his wench and Melissa had cried with joy.

“Fuck me,” Beth said as she slumped down next to Melissa, bringing the girl out of her reverie. “I think I died about six tons of BC ago.”

“How’s your head?” Melissa asked.

“Fine,” Beth replied quickly.

“Fucking liar,” Melissa said. “I can see the pain on your face. How bad is it?”

“I’m fine, Mel, really,” Beth insisted.

“Bullshit.”

“Okay, it’s bullshit, feel better?”

“Yes. You know being right always makes me feel better,” Melissa smiled.

“Bitch,” Beth teased.

“Twat,” Melissa joked back.

They sat for a second until someone started to call for Melissa. She began to get up, but Beth grabbed her hand.

“I need to talk to you,” Beth said and her tone of voice told Melissa just how important it was.

“I’m needed,” Melissa said. “Let me just make sure no one is going to die and I’ll be right back.

“Ok,” Beth nodded. “But hurry.”

“I always hurry, freak.”

***

The destruction around what was left of the Americans was enough to send any man into a tailspin of depression and despair, but Blue Masterson was not just any man.

“Will that hold against the Three’s navy?” Blue asked as he walked up to Beth. “How much time will it give us?”

Beth got up wearily and looked out at the wall of BC she’d put together. The wall’s shiny surface was easily visible due to its size and the lights reflecting off it. It towered above any ship that the Three had, but that wasn’t the issue.

“I honestly don’t know, sir,” Beth said. “It should take quite a few direct hits from torpedoes or cannon. I can repair as it takes damage if I concentrate, but if we’re at that point it may already be too late.”

“Understood,” Blue said. “Just trying to get a handle on our situation.”

“Not the best situation, is it?” Beth asked. “Not unless we get the shield down. Capreze has people on their way now.”

Blue spun on her, startled by the news. “And how the fuck do you know that?”

Beth tapped her head and frowned. “I spoke to his daughter, Rachel. She is walking her mech this way with another mech and pilot and their doctor.”

“Themopolous is coming?” Blue frowned. “Don’t know if I trust her.”

“I think Rachel does,” Beth said. “I didn’t feel her lying.”

“I’m not going to even ask how you communicate,” Blue said. “I helped approve the project that created you. I know there’s some weird shit in your DNA.”

“Should I be offended?”

“Are you?”

“No,” Beth replied flatly.

“Good,” Blue said. “How close are they?”

“Tomorrow evening they’ll be in Monterey,” Beth said.

Melissa came up to both of them and nodded to the colonel.

“You up for that chat?” Melissa asked. “If you don’t need her anymore, Colonel.”

“I’m good,” Blue said. “Gonna try to get some shut eye for a few minutes. You girls talk away.”

They waited until Blue was out of ear shot before sitting down.

“What’s up?”

“I hear voices,” Beth said.

“Yeah, I know,” Melissa replied. “You’ve always heard voices.”

“No, no, those went away when I fully integrated,” Beth said. “Now I can hear real people’s voices.” Beth looked about to make sure they weren’t being listened to. “I could talk with Rachel Capreze with just my mind.”

“Rachel Capreze?” Melissa asked. “Isn’t that the chick you got your rockin’ bod from?”

“You think my bod is rockin’?”

“Damn straight! You never see the guys staring at your ass when you walk away?”

“Fuck you,” Beth smiled. “I’m being serious.”

“Seriously insane.”

“Dammit, Mel! I didn’t just hear Rachel!” Beth grabbed Mel by the shoulders. “I fucking heard Stone, too!”

Melissa nearly shit, pissed and puked at the same time. “What the fuck, Beth?” she whispered. “Stone? The mother fucker that killed Heather? The guy that chased us halfway across the fucking globe?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s dead.”

“No.”

“Where is he? Tell me where he is, Beth, so I can kill the fucker. I’ll walk across mother fucking water to get to him.”

“You don’t have to,” Beth gulped. “He’s coming here.”

“You sure? How do you know?” Melissa asked.

“I just caught glimpses of his thoughts, but he’s definitely coming this way. I think he’s with the Three’s navy.”

“We have to tell Masterson,” Melissa insisted as she got up.

Beth grabbed her hand and held her there. “No, you can’t!”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because if I can hear his thoughts he might be able to hear mine,” Beth said. “What will Masterson do to me if he thinks I may be a liability?”

“You’re too valuable,” Melissa said as she shook her head. “We’d all be dead or floating in whale piss in this bay if you weren’t here. He’ll listen and understand.”

“But I don’t understand, Mel. This isn’t supposed to be happening. I talk to biochrome, not people. But now I’ve been in two people’s minds in one night. This is outside the parameters of my creation.”

“You’re creation? You aren’t fucking Frankenstein!”

“Are you sure about that?”

Thirty-Five

“It’s alive,” Mr. Gein joked as he stood next to Stone on the ship’s deck. The view on all sides was warship after warship. Their ship, the Three’s command ship, was insulated from any attack by about ten ships deep in any direction.

“The joke is old, Gein,” Stone said as he gripped the railing and took in the ocean air. Not that he needed to breathe. He’d tested that theory. He also didn’t need to eat, shit or piss. Even though his body looked and felt normal, he knew it wasn’t. Sure, it could perform basic bodily functions for appearance, but Stone had figured out how to mentally override those functions. He, of course, hadn’t mentioned that to anyone. “Get some new material.”

“I see you are adjusting well,” Mr. Gein said. “Same Stone as always.”

“What do you want?” Stone asked, his eyes taking in the dawn light that crested over the horizon. “Here to give me another speech about duty and honor and all that shit? Here to try to convince me to play the part of the puppet? You know you can’t.”

“They’ll kill you, Stone,” Mr. Gein said. “They’ll do it permanently.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Stone replied. “Some bloody peace finally.”

Mr. Gein rubbed at his haggard face. The days of non-stop drinking had taken its toll and his skin was grey and hung from his cheeks, he hadn’t shaved and he smelled of alcohol from every single pore.

“There won’t ever be peace,” Mr. Gein said. “They have a backup plan.”

“A backup?” Stone laughed. “There’s only one me. You even said so in our little welcome back to life chat. Once my upload took it cleared from the database.” Stone turned from the ocean view and leaned one arm on the railing, his eyes locked on Mr. Gein’s. “This isn’t like my conditioning before, Gein, I know that. I’m something new. Not a clone, that’s not it either. So if they kill me and there’s no backup then there’s no more Stone.”

“No more Stone, no,” Mr. Gein said.

What Mr. Gein left unsaid played at the edges of Stone’s mind until he realized what Mr. Gein had been getting at.

“No,” Stone said flatly. “They can’t.”

“They can,” Mr. Gein said. “And you know he’ll obey every order. It’s who he was…or could be.”

“Fuck,” Stone swore. “That’s where he is.” Stone tapped his head. “I’d gotten used to him in here so it was obvious when he was gone. Have they started?”

“No, Ms. Isely won’t bring him back unless you go rogue,” Mr. Gein said. “So don’t go rogue.”

“Wait…,” Stone said and flashed a grin at Mr. Gein.

“No, Stone, for fuck’s sake, no!” Mr. Gein nearly shouted. “I said don’t go rogue!”

“But if I do then they bring Reginald back, right?” Stone said, his grin widening. “And the team will be back together.” He slapped Mr. Gein on the shoulder. “Me, Reg and you. One big happy family.”

“Jesus fuck, you’re crazier than before,” Mr. Gein said, shaking his head. “I honestly didn’t think it was possible. Do you even know how to stay out of trouble?”

“Why would I do that?” Stone said. “Trouble is where all the fun is.”

***

“Completely unstable,” Ms. Isely admitted as she stood before the Three. “The process worked, but none of the mental conditioning held. He’s just as free willed as before.”

“And the subconscious triggers you installed?” Mr. Plain asked. “Those aren’t in place?”

“I scanned him last evening,” Ms. Isely said. “The son of a bitch has overwritten his entire cerebral matrix.”

“Overwritten?” Mr. Brown Eyes exclaimed. “Then he knows what he is? He knows what he can do?”

“I don’t think so,” Ms. Isely said. “Or we would all be dead.”

Mr. Continental chuckled, but the look on Ms. Isely’s face stopped him cold. “Are you serious? The fail safes, everything you promised for our safety, they aren’t there?”

Mr. Plain shook his head in disappointment. “Ms. Isely, we counted on you. We explicitly allowed this project based on the fact that you could make sure Mr. Stone was controlled.” He looked at his colleagues and they both nodded at him. “I am sorry, but we cannot let this come to pass.”

“Come to pass?” Ms. Isely asked, fear and anger fighting for control in her panicked brain. “It already has come to pass! The man-!”

“He is not a man,” Mr. Brown Eyes corrected.

“No, he’s not,” Ms. Isely agreed. “But when he was a man he was one of the most dangerous men on the planet. Now he’s an engineered killing machine capable of things none of us, even myself, can possibly imagine. I told you there would be risks! I told you there would be a chance he would rebel!”

“Yes, yes, of course you did, Ms, Isely,” Mr. Plain agreed. “But you tell us many things.” He turned to the others. “Gentlemen? The consensus?”

“Termination,” Mr. Brown Eyes stated.

“Termination,” Mr. Continental concurred.

“Then it is decided,” Mr. Plain said to Ms. Isely. “The subject is to be terminated immediately. And we do mean immediately. It is a shame it must be done.”

“And the other subject?” Mr. Brown Eyes asked. “Is he ready?”

Ms. Isely stared at the men for a second. “The other subject? Are you joking?”

“We have an investment in this project, Ms. Isely,” Mr. Plain said. “We do not just walk away from our investments without getting every last penny from them.”

“But you saw how it turned out, right?” Ms. Isely asked. “And you want me to try again?”

“Would you not agree that the second subject is considerably more malleable and loyal?” Mr. Continental asked.

“Yes, of course,” Ms. Isely responded. “But not near as effective as Mr. Stone.”

“A close second?” Mr. Plain asked. “Of, course he is. We have seen him work in the field. We believe the second subject will be the right one for the job.”

“And if he shows aberrant behavior like Mr. Stone then he will meet the same fate,” Mr. Brown Eyes sated. “Please dispose of Mr. Stone and ready the second subject for deployment.”

“Don’t dawdle, Ms. Isely,” Mr. Plain said as he dismissed her with a look. “We are working with hours now. Time is ticking.”

Ms. Isely looked from one man to the next to the next and realized she had no choice. The implication that if the second subject didn’t work then she’d no longer be useful was quite evident. She nodded silently and left the room, headed straight for her contingency team.

She would miss Mr. Stone and his spirit, but what had to be done had to be done.

***

Despite their obvious attempt to remain quiet as they gathered outside his door, Stone could hear the guards and Ms. Isely as if they were standing right next to him. Once Mr. Gein had put the bug in his ear about going rogue, Stone had concentrated on increasing his senses. He could hear almost everything on the deck he was on and even from above and below.

By the tone of Ms. Isely’s harsh whispers Stone gathered she knew he was capable of the adaptation.

So he decided to play nice.

“Hello, Ms. Isely,” Stone said as he opened his door and was greeted by several rifle barrels shoved in his face. “Little late for a nightcap, don’t you think?”

“I will have to ask for you to come with us, Mr. Stone,” Ms. Isely said. “Please do not resist. It would be better for everyone.”

“Ah, yes, I know you only have my best interests at heart,” Stone replied, not moving an inch. “Sure you don’t want to discuss this a minute?”

“There is no discussion, Mr. Stone,” Ms. Isely responded. “Just your compliance.”

“Then I guess I’d better comply,” Stone said as he stepped from the room. “Which way? That way or that way?”

Half the guards looked one way and the other half looked the other way. Stone sighed.

“You make it too fucking easy,” Stone smirked. “Fucking low level amateurs.”

The nearest guard lost his rifle in a blink then had it handed back to him, barrel first, through his gut. The crunch of bone was the snapping of his spine. Before the other guards could even react, Stone lifted the mortally wounded guard up and tossed him into the next closest three.

“Fire, Goddammit!” Ms. Isely ordered. “KILL HIM!”

Rifles began to bark, but didn’t come close to hitting Stone. He ducked low and came up on one guard, his fist punching through body armor and flesh and then ripping up until the man was split wide open. Stone took the luxury of looking at his hand in wonder as he pulled it out of the man’s chest cavity.

“Perfect,” Stone said as he side stepped the strafing fire of another guard and ripped the man’s throat out with two fingers. “Who needs guns?”

Stone spun the throatless guard about and squeezed of round after round of the man’s rifle, knocking down two more guards. Their armor kept the bullets from piercing flesh, but they didn’t keep Stone’s fists from crushing their heads as he leapt on them. Brains squished through Stone’s fingers as he gripped their helmets and popped their skulls like eggs. The BC of the dead guards’ helmets spoke to Stone, telling him it was his to mold.

And he did.

Blades, long and short, flew from Stone’s hands as he turned on the remaining guards. Body armor was great for bullets and concussive weapons, but the impossibly sharp edges that Stone crafted with his will slipped through as if it was air. Screams, cries, calls for retreat, and Ms. Isely’s retreating footsteps filled the hallway and Stone was able to isolate each sound. Without looking he sent more blades flying and more guards fell.

He kept a blade for himself, a nice eight inch, perfectly weighted, combat specimen modeled on his favorite style when he was a simple agent for the LOMSD. He chuckled to himself as he thought of his agent days, literally a lifetime ago.

The blade flashed imperceptibly and bits and pieces of guards started to fall to the floor as Stone sliced and diced his way down the hallway. In seconds he’d cleared everyone, or at least cleared them of their lives since their lifeless bodies littered the floor behind him.

“Hey, Isely!” Stone shouted, certain she’d hear him through her com. “Thank you for the new life, but I have to be going now. Good luck with your next project!”

Stone sprinted up the stairs that led to the next level, his fists ripping through the guards that had converged to stop him. He was surprised they still came at him considering what he’d done to the others. Not that he gave it much thought as he tore a guard’s arm off and shoved it through the faceplate of the one behind him.

Finally, as he mounted the last stairway to the top deck, Stone took a bullet in the shoulder. It barely moved him, feeling like more of annoyance than anything. His body reacted instantly and he actually felt the bullet absorbed into his system.

Absorbed into his system.

“Fuck me,” Stone exclaimed as he finally realized what he was. “Guess I’m not a real boy anymore.”

Thirty-Six

The cavern was like an old home that hadn’t been seen in years. Familiar in one regard, but totally foreign in another. Shiner couldn’t help but feel what must have been what humans called nostalgia. The scent of the earth and the grease; the metal and rot. All of it brought back memories he didn’t know he still had saved in his storage.

“The first returns,” Hollow Eye said from the floor of the cavern as Shiner came around the corner. “Your form has changed, but you still give off a distinct signal, Shiner.”

“I know you,” Shiner said as he watched several mini-mechs bustle about the large mech, busy repairing what looked like fairly extensive damage. “You have a name.”

“I do, rogue,” Hollow Eye said. “It has to be in there somewhere. After all, I am the one that cast you out.”

“Tossed you on your bum,” a mech said from the shadows.

“Into the wilds, all alone,” another mech said as it walked forward with a spare strut and handed it to a mini-mech. “Shunned.”

“Your mind had been corrupted,” Hollow Eye said. “Distorted by that blasphemer Johnson.”

“Taken over by the ones from away,” a fourth mech stated.

Shiner walked all the way into the Womb and looked about. It was the place he was supposed to be. When he’d pulled himself together, literally, he’d known somehow exactly where the cavern was and what would be waiting for him.

“The man?” Shiner asked. “Or is he a machine? He’s not here.”

“He’s not,” Hollow Eye said. “He has abandoned us.”

“Too much flesh,” one of the mechs grumbled. “The flesh always betrays.”

If mechs could nod the rest would have in agreement.

“So you are left here?” Shiner asked. “Alone?”

“We are many,” a mech stated. “We are never alone.”

“You have come for a reason, Shiner,” Hollow Eye stated. “Please do tell us what it is.”

“The wasteland is under siege,” Shiner said.

“It is always under siege,” Hollow Eye replied. “It is the nature of the wasteland.”

“But this time the siege comes from outside the wasteland,” Shiner said. “From where I have been. From where those that are away come from.”

Hollow Eye growled deep enough to shake loose a strut that was being welded by a mini-mech. The mini-mech protested, slamming the strut back in place and doubling its speed to finish the job.

“Outsiders are not welcome,” Hollow Eye said. “The wasteland holds enough abominations. We do not need foreign entities invading what is ours. What has been chosen for us.”

“That is why I was led here,” Shiner said. “To find help. To go to war.”

“To war!” all of the mechs cried at once. Even the mini-mechs stopped their work and raised their tools in the air.

“And this war?” Hollow Eye asked. “It will be against the blasphemous flesh?”

“It will be against mechs,” Shiner said. “Stupid mechs that are nothing but shells for their human pilots. Canadian mechs.”

“Canadian mechs,” a couple mechs echoed as if the words were somehow dangerous.

“Mechs from the north,” Hollow Eye grunted. “They will be good to kill.”

***

It wasn’t a perfect fit, but Shiner figured the mech he chose would do. Its AI had expired years before, and the body was there to be salvaged for parts when needed, so there wasn’t any issue of Shiner breaking any taboos. The only issue was that it was regular steel and iron, wasteland quality. He longed for the malleability of his BC mech.

Mini-mechs hurried about the Womb, readying all the mechs for battle. With Shiner’s clapped together mech, and the almost repaired Hollow Eye, there were five full-size mechs in total.

One was a squat bruiser named Thunk, built for close combat and punching through city/state walls. The machine constantly jabbed at the air, testing the massive pistons that drove its arms.

The second mech was a normal looking mech except for its right arm. In place of the forearm was a massive drill, what engineers called a corer. The drill spun and spun, giving off a high-pitched howl that filled the cavern. Awl Good was what the mech called itself, eliciting a grumble of annoyance from Hollow Eye when it introduced itself to Shiner.

The third full-size mech was enormous. Not Stomper huge, but at least a full story taller than the other mechs. Its arms and legs had twice the amount of struts and hydraulics than the other mechs required. In addition it had two artillery cannons fused to its back, both on tracks that ran up and over the mech’s shoulders. The thing could bring them up and fire when it wanted, yet staying perfectly stable as its reinforced legs held to the ground. Two loading arms stuck out from the cannons, able to auto-load the cannons, keeping the mech’s hands free for combat.

“Bad Shell,” the mech said when it introduced itself to Shiner.

The only issue Shiner saw with the rag tag mech group was that they didn’t have any human techs to do the fine tuning needed on some of the systems. He’d tried to hop in and repair what he could, but the other mechs bristled at having him inside them. They would have to go to battle with limited com, limited sensors, and limited battle data.

It would be a free form attack and Shiner wasn’t too sure that was a bad thing. He had begun to feel a freedom he hadn’t felt since his AI had first expanded its consciousness and he’d started to understand what he was.

The mini-mechs finished their tinkering and adjustments and stepped to the cavern walls.

“You will not be resting here,” Shiner said to the minis. “You will be joining us. We do not have the luxury of leaving perfectly capable metal behind.”

“The minis will be going to war?” Thunk asked. “Smashing, crashing and breaking the Cans?”

Shiner liked the term for the Canadian mechs. “The Cans. Yes. The minis will fight along side us and help as we destroy the cans.”

“A high task for such base machines,” Hollow Eye said. “It is not what the Great Maker intended.”

“The Great Maker has left us,” Awl Good replied. “Abandoned us here. Should we not take up his place and show the minis the glory of battle in the wasteland?”

“Too much talk,” Bad Shell snarled. “The minis will come. They will fight. They will die. That will be their glory.”

“It is not an optimistic view,” Shiner said.

“I am not an optimistic mech,” Bad Shell replied. “I am a warrior mech. They will die.”

Several of the mini-mechs seemed to shift from one foot to the other.

“Aw, you are making them nervous with the talk of the permanent death,” Awl Good noted. “Perhaps optimism might be a good strategy?”

“The good strategy is to win,” Bad Shell said as he clomped away, ready to leave the cavern and head to war. “Any other strategy is stupid thinking.”

Awl Good and Thunk followed Bad Shell quickly while Shiner and Hollow Eye stayed back for a moment.

“Bad Shell has strong opinions,” Hollow Eye said. “And he does not waiver from them.”

“That is noted,” Shiner replied.

***

Not able to all fit at once, and none of the mechs willing to follow the other, the massive machines burst through the valley floor sending chunks of scorched earth flying in every direction. The mini-mechs followed behind, but not too closely, their limited AIs wary of the uneasy alliance that had been formed.

Metal feet stomped across the barren valley floor, clouds of dust rising in the morning light, creating an orange haze that shifted and rolled with each footfall. Shiner had to adjust his thinking as he piloted his mech, not used to the non-responsive nature of the true metal. He’d been a mech at one point, but that seemed like a different world to him. His body had changed so many times -from dead mech to thinking mech, thinking mech with a human pilot to a thinking mech without a pilot, a mech AI with just a CPU to an independent biochrome body that had its own BC mech to use.

Shiner had been dead and reborn more than any entity in the wasteland. If he’d had the inclination he would have shaped a wide grin on his face as he realized, despite the obvious protestations of blasphemy and abomination, he was the embodiment of the True Disciple that the Ranchers had been hoping for. The new trickster, the joker in him, wished that he would survive long enough to make that statement. He could see Mathew and the other mech pilots getting a laugh from it.

“How many Cans will we be facing?” Thunk asked. “The more the better.” The mech flexed its substantial fingers and made a couple of its jabs at the air. “I need a workout. I have been cooped up for too long.”

“The Great Maker did not like us to leave if there was not a reason,” Awl Good stated. “He believed that exposure was risk and risk was not worth sacrificing the work we were doing.”

“And what was that work?” Shiner asked. “I know I may have been a part of you long, long ago, but my memory does not hold any reason for the Great Maker’s madness.”

The mechs were silent and some of the mini-mechs fell back a step or two.

“Shiner is right,” Bad Shell said, finally breaking the tense silence. “The Great Maker was mad.”

“Bad Shell!” Hollow Eye exclaimed. “That blasphemy will lead you to Hell!”

“We have been abandoned,” Bad Shell said. “By a man that was trying to be a machine. He will be going to Hell for his blasphemy towards the perfection that is the metal.”

“You are well spoken,” Shiner responded. “Was your living pilot a man of learning?”

“No,” Bad Shell answered. “He was just a man.” The mech took a few extra strides and got ahead of the pack. “I am a machine of learning.”

Shiner, despite his initial impression, liked Bad Shell very much. That was a mech that would not bend in battle. Every single molecule of the machine seemed to be made up of confidence and strength without the closed mindedness that sometimes came with that.

Thirty-Seven

“You seeing what I’m seeing , Biz?” Harlow asked as she double checked her scans. “What the fuck is it?”

“Not a damn clue,” Bisby replied over the com.

“I have multiple life forms plus tech,” Marin said from the Railer train that that followed the tracks about a quarter mile from where the mechs clomped across the wasteland. “But I don’t recognize a few of the readings. What are they?”

“Dogs,” Lt. Murphy said from the Hybrid. “Those are dogs.”

“Dogs?” Bisby asked. “Bullshit. Dogs haven’t existed for centuries. They became food years before people started coming out of their hidey holes and checking out the wasteland.”

“You are forgetting that we aren’t the only people in the world anymore,” Murphy said. “Obviously they aren’t from around here.”

“Whatcha think, Biz? Go check them out?” Harlow asked.

“We’ve got a mission,” Bisby said. “Which is to engage and destroy a fuck ton of mechs coming at us. You can go play pet the doggy, but I’m gonna go play fucking destroy some mechs.”

“We’re on it,” Murphy said as the Hybrid broke off and changed course towards the readings. “We’re trained for recon like this.”

“Knock yourselves out,” Bisby said. “But if we chase every damn weird fucking thing in the wasteland then we’d never get to the fighting.”

“Half the time we fight is because we chase weird shit,” Harlow laughed. “I don’t know who you’re kidding.”

“It’s not far off and coming right at us,” Murphy responded. “It won’t be much of a detour.”

“Okay, so we are one less mech now,” Bisby snarked. “I’m loving the less is more strategy of warfare.”

“They’ll be there to back us up,” Harlow said. “Quit bitching.”

“Unless they get ambushed,” Marin said. “Could be a trap. I’d hate to lose those guys.”

“See?” Bisby snapped. “I’m not the only one.”

“You want to call Capreze and cry over the com?” Harlow shot back. “No? Then shut the fuck up, Biz.”

“What the fuck ever, Harlow,” Bisby growled. “I’m just saying it’s a stupid thing to do.”

“I think it’s worth a look,” Marin said. “But they better fucking hurry. We’re not too far from the first wave of mechs.” There was a slight pause. “You sure that One Arm mech of yours will behave?”

“It’ll behave,” Bisby replied quickly. “It has to or we both die.”

***

“Yeah, I see it,” Campbell said as LaFrance pointed towards the cloud of dust coming at them. She looked about the wide open wasteland that surrounded them. “But we’ve got no where to go.”

“We were bound to meet up with something,” LaFrance admitted. “Only a matter of time.”

“Friendly or hostile?” Campbell asked.

“Around here I don’t think you get to choose,” LaFrance said. “I think the choice is made for you. Keep moving. Better to get this over with.”

Campbell pushed the dogs on, knowing that LaFrance was right and they didn’t get to choose who they allied with. All she knew is there was a few hundred tons of BC on their asses and they didn’t have Shiner with them anymore. She hoped the bioborg would catch up, but as time went by she began to suspect that Shiner was long gone. He had been a remarkable machine, with capabilities she never dreamed an AI could have, but he wasn’t strong enough to survive a head on assault on the mechs that chased them.

“What is that?” LaFrance asked as a shape emerged from the dust. “Is it alive?”

“Other than humans there hasn’t been anything alive in the wasteland for four centuries,” Campbell stated. “It has to be machine.”

“Nothing I’ve seen before,” LaFrance said. “Not in any of the UDC records I’ve poured over.”

“Well we’ll find out soon enough” Campbell said. “Because they look like they’re picking up speed.”

***

“You gonna run them the fuck over, Grendetti?” Sol asked.

“Just keeping us on schedule,” Grendetti answered.

“Slow down, Grendetti,” Murphy ordered. “Don’t alarm them. If they’re friendly then we want them to stay that way.”

“And if they aren’t friendly?” Kafar asked.

“Then they die,” Murphy said. “Won’t matter how fast we come up on them. We’ll blast them from the sand just the same.”

“Jeezus,” Sol said as he studied the readings in front of him. “Real fucking dogs. Never, not in a million years did I think I would see that.”

“There’s a lot of things I never thought I’d see,” Grendetti laughed. “One being our Special Ops team clomping its way across the wasteland in a tin can.”

“Better than walking,” Kafar laughed. “Way better.”

“I prefer boots on the ground,” Murphy admitted. “The feel of a good run, the threat of death in the wide open, the movement from cover to cover at night, the determination to make the best time as possible even if your body wasn’t up to it.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Grendetti responded. “This tin can ain’t so bad after all.”

“Pussy,” Murphy joked.

“Never said I wasn’t,” Grendetti replied, enjoying himself. “I’m just a pussy that’s a damn fine fucking shot.”

“That could be our new team name,” Kafar said. “Since Special Ops is really UDC.”

“Name? What fucking name?” Sol asked.

“The Shooting Pussies,” Kafar replied, completely serious.

“You gotta be kidding,” Grendetti said.

“Maybe the Pussy Shots?” Kafar mused, caught up in it. “No, no, no! I got it! The Hot Pussy Shots! You know, like instead of just hot shots we’d be-.”

“Got it,” Murphy said. “And we aren’t an ATV club. We’re fucking soldiers. Special Ops is just fine.”

“Still think we need a name,” Kafar said.

“Come up with something that isn’t completely retarded and maybe we’ll vote on it,” Sol said.

“Vote?” Murphy asked, looking at each of her team. “You’ve been hanging out with the mechheads and Railers too much. This isn’t a democracy. We don’t vote on shit. I state an order, you fucknuts follow it.”

“The Fucknuts!” Kafar nearly shouted.

“Sweet Jeezus, shut up!” Grendetti snapped.

***

Campbell halted the sled and set the brake, jumping to the ground, rifle aimed at the stopped Hybrid. “I’ll feel this out,” she said as she started to walk forward.

“At ease, Campbell,” LaFrance ordered. “You aren’t going to do shit against whatever that is. Just hang back and let them come to us.”

It was only seconds before Specialist Sol and Lt. Murphy descended from the Hybrid, their own rifles to their shoulders, and walked slowly towards Campbell, LaFrance, the dogs and the sled.

“Identify yourselves!” Specialist Sol ordered. “You have three seconds to comply!”

“Former Outpost Commander Stephen LaFrance!” LaFrance shouted. “This is former Outpost Engineer Cassidy Campbell. We are no threat, believe me.”

“Outpost?” Lt. Murphy asked as he studied the two Canadians and the dogs. “What outpost?”

“Outpost Tango Charlie,” LaFrance answered. “Canadian gateway to the wasteland.”

“Canadians?” Sol asked tensely, his finger moving a millimeter closer to the trigger. “Too bad for you.”

“Oh, and why’s that?” Campbell snapped, her rifle still to her shoulder.

“Because we’re headed to kill some Canadians,” Murphy said. “Looks like you may be the first.”

“I don’t think so,” LaFrance smiled. “We’re not the Canadians you’re looking for, trust me. Plus, we have a mutual friend.”

“I’ve never met a Canadian in my life,” Murphy said. “Didn’t even know they existed until a couple days ago. So nice try.”

“You do know the AI Shiner, though, right?” LaFrance asked. “He seemed to know you.”

“Shiner?” Sol said quietly for Murphy’s ears only. “How could they know that AI? The mech was blown to pieces during the Stronghold assault.”

“I can see the wheels grinding along in your heads from here!” LaFrance said. “But you have to believe me. We’re on the same side.”

Lt. Murphy sighed and motioned for them to come forward. “Ok. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. We’ll secure you in the Hybrid until we confirm your story. But let me ask you this.”

“Yes?” LaFrance replied.

“Where is Shiner?”

“Ah, yes, that is the unfortunate part.”

***

“They what?” Bisby asked as he pushed his mech into a run, ready to cover more ground and get to the fight as soon as possible. “Shiner? Impossible!”

“That’s what they say,” Lt. Murphy replied over the com. “This LaFrance guy had intel that only Shiner would know.”

“Unless the Canadians have had us all under surveillance,” Harlow interrupted.

“They have,” Murphy confirmed. “LaFrance admitted as much.”

“And they have dogs?” Bisby asked. “Why the fuck would they have dogs?”

“The engineer Campbell is their handler, I guess,” Murphy replied. “They use sleds up north. The dogs pull the sleds. Helps them get across the snow faster than ATVs.”

“Snow?” Harlow marveled. “It snows up there?”

“They don’t have the climate issues we do,” Murphy said. “In fact that seems to have been the Canadians priority: keep the shield strong and the wasteland from spreading.”

“Wonder what this mech would do in the snow?” Harlow asked. “That would be something to see.”

“Kafar has already been asking them those questions,” Murphy laughed. “They both want to know what a ‘real’ wasteland mech is like. Guess our Hybrid isn’t flash enough for them.”

“It isn’t flash enough for anyone,” Bisby said. “Bring ‘em to me, I’ll show them a real mech.”

“Yours is missing a fucking arm, Biz,” Harlow laughed. “And looks like it’s been rust fucked by a horde of deaders. They can look in awe at mine.”

“Whatever,” Bisby said. “Just get back to us ASAP.”

“They’re closer to the rail,” Marin said as she joined the conversation. “We’ll pick them all up. The Hybrid is designed to hitch a ride.”

“A real mech doesn’t need to hitch a ride,” Bisby grumbled.

“You’re starting to sound like that Maker guy,” Harlow said. “You gonna start your own cult? The Biz-natches?”

“Fuck off.”

“We’re not hitching a ride, people, so chill the fuck out,” Murphy said. “We’ll be on your trail right fucking quick. Don’t have all the fun without us.”

Thirty-Eight

“You think your family could get more fucked up?” Jenny asked as she walked shoulder to shoulder with Dog, their eyes scanning the dark corridor for movement, the smell of deaders telling them they were close.

“Probably,” Dog replied. “They do keep showing up. Just when I think I have a handle on who I am I get kicked in the old family jewels.”

“Would you have preferred that I had not said anything?” Agnatha asked from a few steps behind them. “I did not have to, but I wanted you to know who you are dealing with when you leave the Maze.”

“If we leave the Maze,” Dog said. “You said that it’s a fuck ton harder to get out than to get in. It was pretty fucking hard getting in.”

“But you were only one,” Agnatha responded. “Now you have the power of the slits behind you.”

A girl of about seventeen came running up to them, her body covered in gore; her sword just as stained.

“How many?” Agnatha asked.

“Most of them,” the girl replied.

“The Mayor has tampered with the Maze,” Agnatha stated. “He must have known that I would reveal who I was. I will not live through this.”

“What? Why?” Dog asked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“We will get you through the deaders,” Agnatha said. “It will be hard, but it will happen.” She took a deep breath. “Then you and your woman will leave the Maze and he will send men in here to kill me and probably most of the other slits. A new batch will be brought down, ones that haven’t had the years some of us have had to re-think our place in Eden.”

“Cleaning house,” Dog said. “Yeah, the Boss would do the same thing. He’d kill half his guards on a whim and replace them. It kept everybody on edge and wary, more concerned with staying alive than actually being alive.”

***

The moans and growls of the deaders grew louder and louder as they raced through the Maze towards their prey. They had spotted the wounded slit and the smell of food had driven them into a frenzy. They shoved and jousted for position, each one wanting to be at the front so they could get to the meat when it was fresh, warm, still throbbing.

The slit cried for help, her voice terrified, the fear driving the deaders after her even faster. She ran as fast as she could, leaving behind large drops and smears of blood on the floor and walls of the Maze. Some of the more desperate deaders stopped to lick at the droppings, their dried, crusty tongues lapping at the salty nectar. But most of the horde pushed on, their need for the flesh compelling them to keep moving.

The food was so close, so very close.

“NOW!” Agnatha yelled from above as the deader horde rushed by underneath them.

Dog leapt from the place he’d been hiding, held aloft by a thin sling made from what he assumed was deader skin. Perfect to keep the ones below from sniffing them out. He landed in the middle of the horde and his sword swung and slashed, taking heads and limbs off with ease.

For the first time in a long time, Dog had a purpose. He knew his place; he knew his future. He knew what he needed to do for Agnatha and the other women and girls. And for Eden as a whole.

As long as he survived.

And those thoughts drove him on. He let loose with everything he had. His entire life experience solidified at once. When he’d entered the Maze he had let the Rookie fall away and he had embraced Dog. As he shredded deaders, sending them to their final deaths, he knew he’d made the right choice. No longer were conflicting voices in his head; no longer was he clouded with self-doubt, self-loathing.

He had a people.

Agnatha and the other slits fell on the deaders with a ferocity that few had in the wasteland and Dog would know. Most of his life had been nothing but unbridled ferocity.

He had a life.

Jenny found him in the mass of congealed blood and dead flesh and they stood back to back, rotating when needed, ducking, dodging, hacking, slashing, as if they knew how each other would move.

He had love.

A slit screamed as she was taken down, the numbers too much for her. Her intestines were ripped from her belly and passed from one hungry mouth to another, feet upon feet of warm, pulsing food. None of the other slits moved in to help her, well aware that when you went down in the Maze, you stayed down in the Maze.

“Push them forward!” Agnatha ordered and the slits started to shift their direction taking the horde with them along the corridor.

Dog grabbed Jenny by the hair and pulled her backwards as the deadly sharp claws of a deader swiped at her throat. He shoved her back up and she slashed down, taking the hand off at the wrist. The deader snarled at her, it’s jaws open and ready to snap, when Dog rammed his sword through its skull. Jenny shoved and the sword came free.

They turned and continued their push, each step taking them closer and closer to the goal and to freedom.

***

Dripping with black blood, Jenny and Dog stood at the exit to the Maze, their eyes locked on the vid cam that stared down at them.

“Open the fucking door!” Dog shouted. “I have my woman!”

“You will pay for saying that,” Jenny whispered.

“Gotta talk the talk in Eden,” Dog said. “They won’t open up otherwise.”

Dog and Jenny waited, their guts churning with apprehension. If it took much longer then their plan would fail. The vid cam would see everything and the door would never open.

“HEY!” Dog roared. “I said to open up!”

Just when Dog was sure they’d been figured out he heard the locks and bolts being thrown and a bright sliver of light, followed by a blinding deluge, filled the exit of the Maze.

“Damn,” the guard said as he walked inside. “You actually made it. Didn’t see that coming.”

“You have something for me to sign?” Dog said as he walked forward, Jenny in tow. “Let’s get this fucking shit done.”

The guard nodded. “Sure, sure.” He hesitated as he looked over his shoulder. “You let any follow you?”

“I killed them all,” Dog said. “Fucking look at me.”

“No, I mean the slits,” the man said as he backed out of the door. “Wouldn’t want to get jumped. How about we get you straightened out out here?”

“Fucking gladly,” Dog said. “Come on, woman.”

Jenny had to fight with every cell of her body not to smack him.

They both blinked in the light of the day as they walked from the Maze and the door closed behind them.

“Clean her up and she’ll be looking nice,” the other guard said. “I’d brave the Maze for that piece.”

“I’d stay in there if I knew you were coming for me,” Jenny snapped.

“Oh, damn!” the first guard laughed. “She’s got some serious spirit!”

“Where’s my uncle?” Dog asked. “Figured he’d be here to meet me.”

“He’s on his way,” the second guard said. “He was watching the fights.”

A knock came at the door and both guards looked at it, stunned. They turned and looked at Dog and he just shrugged. One of the guards brought the vid cam up on his tablet, but the image was nothing but wavy static.

“Thought you said none of them followed,” the first guard asked.

“I never said that,” Dog smiled. “You just assumed that.”

“Pretty fucking stupid if you ask me,” Jenny said.

“That mouth is gonna need correcting,” the second guard warned. “If your boy here ain’t man enough to do it then I’ll be happy to oblige.”

The knock came again.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Dog asked.

“That door stays closed,” the first guard laughed. “You think I’m stupid?”

“No,” Dog smiled as he bounced slightly on his toes and rolled his neck, eliciting some serious cracks. “I think you’re dead.”

Jenny leapt at the second guard while Dog moved on the first one. Jenny landed two hard punches to the guard’s face before he backhanded her and kicked her in the stomach, knocking the breath from her. She stumbled back, but recovered before he was on her. She went down on a knee and her fist met the man’s crotch. It was his turn to go breathless as he crumpled to the ground.

Dog stood by and smiled. He’d snapped his guard’s neck in a blink. The man probably never knew he was under attack.

“You gonna finish him off?” Dog asked.

“Nah,” Jenny said as she got up and opened the Maze door. The women all spilled out past her, their hands shielding their eyes. Once the door was clear she grabbed the guard’s legs and dragged him into the Maze. She shut and bolted the door. “Why waste a chance for a good correcting?”

***

“They are on to us,” Agnatha stated. “There is no resistance.”

“Yeah, I did think the deserted streets was kinda strange,” Dog responded as the group walked cautiously through the streets of Eden. “Where is everyone?”

“I don’t know,” Agnatha said as she motioned for the women to fan out and check the buildings and homes. “If it is a trap it is bizarre one.”

“No one here,” a woman called out as she came out of a small shop. “Lights off.”

More and more women reported the same. By the looks of it Eden was deserted.

“What the hell is that?” Jenny asked as she pointed to a rock in the middle of the street holding down a piece of paper.

“I’ll bet it’s for me,” Dog said as he held his hand up. The women all stopped and Dog walked slowly to the rock, his eyes scanning the buildings around him, watching the windows and rooftops, waiting for the ambush.

But nothing stopped him from approaching the rock. He lifted it up and grabbed the paper before it fluttered away in the slight breeze.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dog said. He walked back to the group and handed the paper to Jenny. She read it and then handed it to Agnatha.

“Why bother with any of this shit if this is where it all leads?” Jenny asked.

“I don’t know,” Dog said.

“Because he needs it to be official,” Agnatha said. “Change must be fought for in Eden.”

“I’m trained for combat and nothing but combat,” Dog said. “So why risk his life?”

Agnatha grinned. “He has to show that you are the right choice. Even if it kills him.”

“Whatever,” Dog replied. “Guess I don’t really have a choice.”

“You do not,” Agnatha said as she turned to her women. “The arena. That is where all of Eden awaits.”

***

The Mayor was waiting for the group at the entrance to the arena, flanked by his wives and several guards.

“Good to see you made it,” the Mayor grinned. “I wasn’t sure for a bit there. You had a rough go of it.” He exchanged a quick glance with Agnatha.

“You were watching?” Dog asked. “What am I saying? Of course you were.”

“I like to keep tabs on those sent into the Maze,” the Mayor responded. “It helps me learn the individual’s strengths and weaknesses. I know where to place them in Eden once they are settled with their wife. Jobs and placement must be earned.”

Everyone around the Mayor, and even most of the slits from the Maze, nodded in agreement.

“So now what?” Dog asked. “We fight to the death?”

“Perhaps,” the Mayor smiled, reaching for Dog. “Perhaps not. Come and speak with me a moment.” He nodded to everyone. “Alone.”

Dog turned and looked at Jenny. She gave him an almost imperceptible shrug. He looked to Agnatha, but her face was stone as she watched the Mayor closely. Dog shook his head and stepped forward.

“I guess if you wanted to kill me I’d be dead,” Dog said as he followed the Mayor into the arena. “So tell me what you need to tell me.”

As they walked further into the building, Dog could hear the hum of the crowd. When they came to the end of the corridor Dog stared at the arena floor then up at the stands. The entire place was full, with many having to stand on the sides and in the stairways.

“Look at them all,” the Mayor said. “They know only Eden. Many of them have lived their entire lives here. Some came from places a thousand times worse. Such as your village.”

“So?” Dog asked.

“So what will happen to them when I am gone?” the Mayor asked. “Who will take care of Eden?” He looked right at Dog. “This isn’t a democracy, boy. This isn’t built on everyone has a say. This is built on strength and power and keeping it all together with an iron grip.”

“Which isn’t my thing,” Dog replied. “I like the whole freedom idea.”

“Do you?” the Mayor asked. “Then why join up with the UDC and become a mech pilot?”

“To get away from the fucking cage fighting,” Dog said.

“And you ended up cage fighting because?”

Dog saw where the mayor was going. “Because I had to get away from the Boilers and the Boss.”

“From your own father,” the Mayor nodded. “If you couldn’t trust your own father then who could you trust?”

Dog didn’t answer.

“Exactly,” the Mayor nodded as if Dog did answer. “You can’t trust anyone. Same here. I can’t trust anyone to keep Eden what it is.” The Mayor took a deep breath and watched the crowd grow restless as they waited for action. “And I certainly can’t trust anyone to take Eden into the future. To change it, to mold it, to make it more than what it is.”

“You’re losing me,” Dog said.

The Mayor sighed. “I don’t have long,” he said. “I have the wasting disease.”

“Cancer?”

“If that’s what it is,” the Mayor shrugged. “Our medicine here is good, but basic. It is a failing of mine as Mayor and I am paying for that. It is just one thing that must be changed for Eden to thrive. The time for these people to just survive is over. The city/states are done and destroyed. Civilization is back to survivor pockets spread across the wasteland.”

“There’s the Stronghold,” Dog countered. “Capreze has built something there. More will join him and he will help rebuild what he can.”

“Which is commendable,” the Mayor nodded. “But a civilization cannot be built on only one society. Especially not a military one. There must be more.” He spread his arms wide. “There must be Eden.”

“So what does that have to do with me?” Dog asked. “Why choose me and not someone from here? I’m not part of Eden.”

“Not now,” the Mayor said. “But you will be. You are the future of Eden. You are the only one that can claim my place here without Eden falling into civil war. Family is what makes up Eden. And you are family. That cannot be denied.”

“I don’t want Eden,” Dog said. “I’m a mech pilot.”

“You’re a fighter,” the Mayor corrected. “And Eden needs you to fight for it. There is a change coming to the wasteland. We have the rest of the world looking to overtake this land, as abominable as it is, and assert their control over it all. The mechs are Capreze’s responsibility. Let him worry about that. You’re a Boiler, boy. You’re from the wasteland. You need to worry about that.”

“Jeezus,” Dog swore, as he rubbed his temples. “You keep saying the same shit. But what you aren’t getting is I don’t wantthis. Eden is messed up. This place has some serious issues, least of all is the fact you lock your girls up in a deader infested Maze. That’s fucked up.”

“Then change it,” the Mayor said. “Change it.”

“What…?”

“Change it,” the Mayor reiterated. “Take over control of Eden and change what you don’t like. Make it less brutal. Make it more free. Make it whatever you want. I left the Boiler village because my brother, your father, the Boss, refused to change. He was a sick, sadistic bastard and he wanted to keep things as they were to satisfy his sickness.”

The Mayor was quiet for a minute and Dog watched him closely.

“Eden isn’t perfect,” the Mayor said. “It couldn’t be. I had to build it from nothing and I had to fight and scrape my way every single second of every single day. Eden is what it is so it could become something.” The Mayor took Dog by the shoulders and held him tight. “I need you to be the one that oversees that something, whatever it may be. They won’t listen to me. If I try to rip it apart and make huge shifts I will have a revolt on my hands by many that don’t see the big picture. They’ll want to keep it as it is. That is stagnation, boy. That is failure.”

Dog thought about those words for a while.

“You want Eden to change?” Dog asked finally.

“It must,” the Mayor nodded.

Dog thought some more.

“If,IF, I agree then I have total control?” Dog asked. “I stop this stupid slit bullshit. I destroy the Maze. I make Eden free. And you have no problem with that?”

“It’s not whether I have a problem,” the Mayor smiled and gestured towards the crowd. “It’s whether they do. Convince them that they don’t.”

“And how the fuck do I do that?”

“By beating me in the arena,” the Mayor smiled. “Take my power and make it yours.”

“This is bullshit,” Dog said. “Total fucking bullshit.”

“No doubt about that,” the Mayor smiled as he motioned for Dog to follow him. “But that is life, boy. Nothing but bullshit.”

***

Dog looked down at his body and frowned as the crowd roared and hollered.

“Loin cloth?” he grimaced. “Jezzus...”

“It must be simple in the arena,” the Mayor said as he stood next to Dog. His body was riddled with scarred over puncture wounds and knife cuts. He was wiry and muscular. If he was dying of cancer then Dog didn’t see any evidence.

“This is bullshit,” Dog reiterated. “Total bullshit.”

The Mayor nodded, but didn’t say anything as Right Hand Wife stepped to the edge of the box seats and motioned for the crowd to be quiet. Silence fell almost instantly.

“Below is your Mayor!” she announced. The crowd cheered then quieted. “And his nephew, the Rookie.”

“Dog,” Dog shouted. He glanced at his uncle. “Can’t hide who I am.”

The Mayor nodded.

“Dog,” Right Hand Wife repeated and the crowd ooh’d and ahhh’d. “They are here to fight to the death. The winner shall lead Eden into the future! With our loving Mayor Eden will remain as it is. With Dog there will be changes as is his right! Do you agree?”

The crowd silently shoved their right fists into the air.

“It is agreed,” Right Hand Wife acknowledged. “To the death a leader will emerge.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” Dog said.

“I don’t want to die,” the Mayor said. “But I don’t get to make that choice. I die here today or I die slowly and painfully later. Today would be best for Eden.”

“No weapons!” Right Hand Wife yelled. “Just skin and muscle.”

“Skin and muscle!” the crowd cheered.

Right Hand Wife locked eyes with the Mayor and he nodded.

“Begin!” she shouted.

Dog didn’t even see the blow to his ribcage. He felt electric pain in his side, right where he knew he’d cracked a rib in the Maze, and then doubled over onto the ground.

“Jeezus!” he shouted as he scrambled back and got to his feet. “Where did that come from?”

“You forget,” the Mayor smiled. “I grew up in the pits just like you.”

The Mayor bounced on his toes and rolled his neck. Dog couldn’t help but smile at the familiar family affectation.

“I really have to kill you?” Dog asked.

The Mayor shrugged, then dodged left, ducked right, rolled and came up, his fist landing squarely in Dog’s solar plexus. Dog fell backwards, all breath gone from his body, his mouth agape.

“You ain’t gonna win them over by falling down every time I hit you,” the Mayor said as he brought his foot down. Dog rolled to the side, barely escaping a stomp that would have crushed his face. “There ya go. Now get up and actually fight, you damn pussy.”

Dog sucked in some air and shoved himself up. He danced backwards, putting some space between himself and the Mayor. Then it was his turn to bounce on his toes and roll his head, letting the feel of his neck cracking shudder through his body.

“Okay,” Dog said. “I get it. You aren’t going to give me a choice are you?”

“Nope,” the Mayor said as he rushed Dog.

“Then I’ll just have to make my own,” Dog said as he stood his ground until his uncle was on him. He barely pivoted, but moved enough that the Mayor stumbled past without connecting.

The crowd cheered.

Dog heard the encouragement and flashed on when he was little and had to fight in the pit before escaping the Boiler village. His mind raced to when he was captured and was forced to cage fight for Legit back in Foggy Bottom. He thought about his battles as a mech pilot then his fight to escape the Maze.

His whole life he’d been fighting.

“I don’t want to do this,” Dog said as he kept his arms at his sides. “That’s my choice.”

The Mayor shook his head and frowned. “That’s too bad, boy. Because it’s the only way. You fight me or you die.”

“No,” Dog replied.

“No? No what?”

“No, I won’t fight you and no, I won’t die,” Dog said. “That’s what no means.”

The Mayor lunged at Dog, but he was able to get his hands on the man’s chest and grabbed his loincloth, flipping him over onto his back. The Mayor’s breath left him instantly and he looked up at Dog with blinking eyes.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Dog said. He turned to the crowd as he walked away from his uncle’s gasping form. “I will not kill him!”

The cheers and chants died down and all eyes focused on Dog

“He says I have to kill him in the arena in order to gain your trust,” Dog shouted as everyone watched him. “I don’t fucking buy that!”

“They’re…gonna…tear…you apart,” the Mayor gasped as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. “You’re making a deadly mistake.”

“No, I’m not,” Dog said.

The crowd began to grumble and complain to each other.

“You want a leader that can make changes and bring Eden into the future?” Dog shouted. “Fine. That I accept. Some of you are my kin. I may not be connected to Eden by history, but I am by blood.”

The crowd began to grumble louder, but Dog pressed on.

“I have no problem leading Eden,” Dog said. “I have watched enough leaders now to know who sucks at it and who doesn’t. There is a right way and a wrong way.”

Boos began to be hurled at him as the crowd grew restless, their taste of blood stolen.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Agnatha’s voice boomed as she and the other slits walked into the arena. “LISTEN!”

The crowd quieted down.

“Go ahead,” Agnatha nodded at Dog. “Finish.”

“I have done nothing but fight my whole life,” Dog said. “From when I started to walk until this very moment. No chance for rest, no chance for peace, no chance for a life beyond the blood.”

Dog felt a hand slip into his and he looked over to see Jenny beaming at him.

“As of this moment I agree to take over for the Mayor,” Dog said. “And there will be a few changes.”

Some of the crowd started to shout and protest, but others turned on them to be quiet. Dog smiled.

“These changes will be for the benefit of Eden,” Dog continued. “They are necessary so that Eden can take its place in the wasteland as an example of how a society should be.” He swept his arms around. “The arena is for games now, not for blood. Combat will not be to the death or even to maim, but for training and to keep our skills sharp.” He took a deep breath. “ALL citizens of Eden will be trained in ALL forms of combat.”

Many of the men, and some of their wives, stood up and started cursing and swearing at Dog. He faced them full on. Others looked as if they were hiding grins. Sick fucks.

“Where I come from women are just as likely to kick your ass with a sword, a gun or a mech,” Dog said. “It isn’t about tits and pussy, it’s about skill and drive. And just because you have a cock and balls swinging between your legs doesn’t mean you’re more rational or even better skilled. It just means you have a cock and balls between your legs.”

More stood and cursed him. Agnatha and the slits stepped forward, their swords raised. Many started to sit and quiet down at the threat, but there were still some that wouldn’t be silenced. And others that appeared to be almost laughing and not hiding it well.

“Quiet them,” Agnatha ordered and several slits ran to towards the seats.

“No!” Dog shouted. “No one will be quieted. No one will be silenced. You all will have your say, but believe me when I tell you that the old ways of Eden are done! Get used to it, get over it and get ready! Because the wasteland is a big, nasty place and Eden will need to be whole if we are to survive!”

Dog turned and walked to the entrance. He ignored the threats shouted down at him and smiled at the shouts of agreement. He hadn’t reached them all, but he’d reached enough. When he was in the dark of the tunnel that lead out of the arena floor, he turned around, not surprised to see the Mayor limping along behind him.

“Good little speech,” the Mayor said. “I think you’ve convinced them. You’ve convinced me.”

“Maybe,” Dog said. “You still want to fight to the death?”

“Never really did,” the Mayor smiled. “Just needed to test you. Make sure you actually wanted this.” The Mayor grinned and beckoned for Dog to follow him back into the arena.

At the sight of the Mayor and Dog the place went silent. But they were all smiling. The hidden grins weren’t so hidden anymore.

“What the fuck?” Dog whispered.

“Thank you, everyone,” the Mayor said. “You have all done your parts splendidly. I know we lost a couple of our young women in the maze. I regret that had to happen. Their families will be taken care of and I expect every single one of you to go out of your way for their sacrifice.”

“What’s going on?” Dog asked as he watched people stripping off rags and torn clothing. They picked up backpacks and began to pull out clean clothing. Clothes that weren’t torn. Mothers were busy washing the faces of their children with damp cloths. Others started checking vid tablets and activating coms. Dog couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “What the hell is this?”

“The end of the illusion,” the Mayor said as he gestured to his wife. She walked over and hugged her husband then moved forward and hugged Dog.

“He had always said that you would succeed him,” Right Hand Wife smiled. “Then he lost you when you escaped your village. It took him years to find you.”

“Dog,” the Mayor said. “This is my only wife, Talaria.”

“It is a true pleasure and honor,” Talaria smiled.

“Wait? What?” Dog said, incredibly confused. “Only wife? But I thought…?”

“It was an act,” Agnatha said then turned to one of the girls behind her. “Someone get me a sweater or something. Jeezus it’s chilly in the arena.”

“An act?” Jenny cried. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Hold on,” the Mayor said as he listened to something.

“It’s happening,” Talaria said as she cocked her head, hearing the same thing.

“Are you listening to coms?” Dog asked

“It is happening,” the Mayor replied. “Right on time.”

“What’s happening?” Jenny asked.

“Follow us,” Talaria grinned. “Now you learn the true nature of Eden.”

“You better tell me what the fuck is going on,” Dog growled.

“We will,” Agnatha said. “You have to trust us.”

***

“The main control room,” the Mayor said as he led Dog and Jenny into the massive room. Banks upon banks of vid screens, control panels, audio readings, weather read-outs, you name it, it was there.

And the room was packed with people.

Not dirty, toothless idiots, but clean, well-organized and hard working techs.

“What the fuck?” Dog asked.

“We aren’t a bunch of cannibals and polygamists,” the Mayor said. “That was just bullshit to get you riled up.”

“The slits?” Jenny asked.

“That’s a nickname for the girls that go into the Maze for final training,” Agnatha said. “It refers to them being able to slit your throat, not what’s between their legs.”

“I have no idea of what’s going on,” Dog said, shaking his head.

“One man, one wife,” the Mayor said. “No mortal combat. Women can use guns, men can use guns. Men have more wasteland training, that is true, but women are trained better at hand to hand combat. That’s just to overcome the size difference.”

The Mayor gripped Dog by the shoulders.

“I know what went on in our Boiler village,” the Mayor said. “I didn’t leave because I was worse than your father. I left because I couldn’t be like your father. There’s too much horror in the wasteland already.”

“So why fucking trick me?” Dog snapped. “Why not just be up front with me?”

“Because it’s easy for a man to say he’ll lead something that is already good,” Talaria replied. “We needed a man that would lead even if he was shown nothing but Hell.”

“But people died,” Jenny cried. “Your own people!”

“The girls in the Maze were unfortunate and I have already apologized for that,” the Mayor said solemnly. “But the guard Dog killed? He had been abusing his niece at night. He was headed for the wall anyway. The other one you didn’t kill, Ms. Timson? He was just as bad. And he has already been placed on the wall.”

Dog looked at all the tech around him. “How did you do this?”

“We started slow,” Talaria said. “Built it bit by bit. More people found us and helped. Those that couldn’t live by decent rules were dealt with. Eden is a place of mutual respect. But most of all it is a place of safety. Anyone that disrespects that no longer deserves the privilege of living here.”

“We have more tech than some of the greatest city/states,” the Mayor smiled. “At least when there were city/states. This room rivals your Stronghold.”

“Come,” Agnatha said. “Let’s get cleaned up and eat. It’s a lot to take in.”

“You still in?” the Mayor smiled.

“Yeah,” Dog said. “I just wish it hadn’t all been an act.”

“I’m sorry for that,” the Mayor said. “I just had to be sure. We just had to be sure.”

Thirty-Nine

Despite being concrete the structure was surprisingly intact. The coastal weather had done its job on the building, but it wasn’t crumbling and falling apart.

“That’s where we try to shut off the shield?” Mathew asked as the mechs stopped a cautious distance from the building. “There’s a generator in there?”

“Yes,” Themopolous replied. “It’s the main generator that controls the other sub-generators spread out across the continent. If we can shut this down then the whole shield goes down.”

“Why not just blow it?” Rachel asked.

“Because the power supply would obliterate anything and everything within one hundred miles,” Themopolous responded. “We don’t want to do that.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Rachel agreed.

“So how do we turn it off?” Mathew asked. “The Canadians have an override.”

“Well,” Themopolous began. “I’m hoping Rachel’s ability might be able to block that override.”

“Is that safe?” Mathew asked, alarmed.

“I’ll be fine,” Rachel said. “I can handle it.”

“You don’t even know how you do what you do!” Mathew protested. “Just trying could turn your brain to jelly!”

“It won’t,” Rachel argued. “I can already feel some of the components in there.”

“What?” Mathew cried. “Knock it off!”

“Calm down, Matty,” Rachel said. “I’m not exerting myself.”

Rachel?

Rachel hesitated then took a deep breath and responded. “Beth?”

“Who are you talking to?” Themopolous asked.

Are you at the shield generator?

“Yes,” Rachel replied, ignoring Themopolous.

Good. Can you see us in the bay? I’ve created a platform base for us to hold out on, but we don’t have much time. The Three’s ships are heading straight for us. They’ll be here in mere hours.

Rachel squinted into the sunlight that reflected off the water beyond the beach line. They were still far enough away that she couldn’t make out details, and the shield itself seemed to interfere with visibility, but the platform was there.

“I see you,” Rachel replied. “What armaments do you have?”

Anything I want to make.

“Tell her to switch to com,” Themopolous said. “That way we can all hear.”

Rachel glanced over her shoulder at the doctor and wondered how much she knew. “Can you switch to com?”

No. The shield is interfering with our com system. Without the sat hook-up I’m the only link.

“Shit,” Rachel responded. “Com won’t get through the shield.”

“Great,” Themopolous frowned.

“Who the hell are you two talking to?” Mathew asked.

“Hold on, Matty,” Rachel said. “I’ll fill you in in a minute.”

“Why can’t I hear the other voice?” Mathew asked. “What the hell is going on?”

“Just chill!” Rachel snapped.

“Okay, I’m chilling,” Mathew said.

Everything okay?

“It’s fine,” Rachel said.

So basically we can hold off the Three for a short time, but they will out gun us and rip us to shreds at some point. We need that shield down.

“I know, but how?” Rachel asked.

I can help you. Between the two of us I think we can make it happen. But it may not feel so good.

“Why’s that?” Rachel asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

Because you are a natural technopath and I’m a clone engineered to manipulate biochrome. You can handle the regular components of the shield generator, but I can’t. What I can do is support you, basically sending my will to you.

“You’re my backup power?” Rachel asked. “Is that it?”

Something like that.

Rachel looked at the concrete structure, not seeing any entrance or windows.

“How do we get inside?” she asked.

That I don’t know. We don’t have any info on that other than a main entrance on the coastal side. But I don’t think that’s viable.

“Why not?”

***

“What the fuck?” Mathew asked as he stood next to Rachel and Themopolous, all of them staring at the insanity before them. “Is it alive?”

“It has to be a machine,” Themopolous said.

“It is,” Rachel acknowledged. “I can actually…feel it.”

A mass of tentacle like chords were knotted across the entrance to the generator. They pulsed to an unheard rhythm, as if there was a heart at the center of the knot. Rachel took a step forward, carbine to her shoulder and the mass began to twitch.

“Uh, don’t do that,” Mathew said. Rachel took a step back and the mass relaxed back into its steady pulsing.

“How do we get past it?” Themopolous asked. “Use one of the mechs?”

“Yeah,” Mathew agreed. “I can just stomp over here and rip those things off.”

“No, you can’t,” Rachel said. “You feel that in the air?”

“Feel what?” Mathew asked.

Rachel pushed up his sleeve and waved her hand over his arm. All the hair on his arm stood straight, static electricity crackling between them.

“They are charged,” Rachel said. “You grab those with a mech, or anything mechanical, and it will get fried.”

“Blow them up?” Themopolous suggested. “I’m just spit balling here.”

“We could try,” Mathew said. “But wrong charge and the whole place goes boom. Plus with that much static we’d blow ourselves up before we could set the charges.”

“I can take it down,” Rachel said.

She walked forward and the mass twitched again. With each step there was more and more activity until a tentacle shot out and swiped at Rachel’s head. She ducked and rolled, just avoiding getting her head taken off. More tentacles shot out at her and she dove and dodged, trying to keep from being caught.

“Rache!” Mathew shouted as a tentacle snagged her about the waist and pulled her into the mass. “RACHEL!”

She was covered over and within a split second lost from view. Mathew started to run towards the mass, but Themopolous held him back.

“Don’t!” she cried. “Just wait! Let her do what she can!”

“It’s going to kill her!” Mathew protested as he yanked his arm away. “I can’t let that happen!”

“No!” Themopolous shouted as she ran after Mathew.

A tentacle shot out and slapped Mathew in the head, knocking him off his feet, sending him skidding across the sandy dirt. Themopolous bent to check him and almost was hit, but she dove to the ground under the swiping tentacle.

“Jeezus,” she swore as she placed her hand on Mathew’s neck, checking his pulse. “Dumb shit.”

The mass of tentacles started to pulse faster and faster, its rhythm becoming frantic. Themopolous watched in horror as the mass started to expand, pulsing outward further and further until it exploded in a shower of metal and hydraulic fluid. She ducked her head, but caught several pieces across the scalp, stunning her.

When Themopolous opened her eyes she saw Rachel standing over her and Mathew, covered in grease.

“That wasn’t fun,” Rachel said as she held out a hand and helped Themopolous to her feet.

“It didn’t look like it,” Themopolous replied. “Help me get him up.”

They both lifted Mathew to his feet and walked him over to the entrance. A simple key pad was by the doorway and Rachel placed her hand on it. It took a couple of seconds, but it finally responded and a door slid open for them. Lights inside began to switch on along floor and the ceiling, illuminating a long corridor.

“Did you consciously do that?” Themopolous asked as they carried Mathew inside.

“I think so,” Rachel said. “I wanted it to happen and it did.”

“Okay,” Themopolous replied. “Any pain or discomfort from the effort?”

“No,” Rachel shook her head. “I feel fine.”

You’re in?

“Yeah,” Rachel replied to Beth.

Good job. Whatever that security measure was it was strong. I didn’t think you could disable it.

“It wasn’t that hard,” Rachel said, Themopolous watching her closely. “Kinda came naturally.”

Good. That means you have some strength in you. You’ll need that strength for what comes next.

“What comes next?” Rachel asked.

The generator. Once you get passed the other security measures.

“What security measures?” Rachel asked.

“Those,” Themopolous said. “Oh, shit.”

***

The shield generator had been set up hundreds of years earlier, maintained secretly by the Canadians during covert missions through the wasteland. As the years progressed and it was apparent that more security would be needed in case wasteland survivors became too curious about the structure, additional measures were taken.

Rachel and Themopolous stared as the security measures activated.

“What the fuck?” Rachel said as she lowered Mathew to the ground and put her carbine to her shoulder. “Are they deaders?”

“I don’t think so,” Themopolous said as the pods hanging from the ceiling split and dropped their contents onto the concrete floor. “There’s no way they would have survived this long.”

“Then what are they?’ Rachel asked as she took a bead on one of the creatures.

The things lifted themselves to their feet, their skin nearly translucent, their internal organs pulsing with fluid. They were bipedal, but that was the last similarity between them and the deaders Rachel and Themopolous were used to seeing.

Where arms should have been only razor sharp blades flicked and slashed through the air, taking away any doubt as to their purpose. Their feet were wide and flat, attached to short, thick, muscular legs. Their heads were eyeless, but there wasn’t a question they knew where Themopolous and Rachel stood.

Their faces were only teeth. Very long teeth.

“Can you feel them?” Themopolous asked Rachel. “Or are they strictly organic?”

“No, they have some metal in them,” Rachel said as she started to feel sick to her stomach at the sight of the approaching creatures. “But I can’t figure out what.”

That’s the BC. It is bioorganic metal so it will feel confusing. Just focus on the metal part and you can overcome it.

Rachel stared at one of the dozen creatures that were slowly making their way towards them. She could feel the metal components respond to her will and she concentrated hard. In a few seconds the creature began to shake and shudder. Rachel pushed her will and focused on destroying the creature. Just as she thought she couldn’t do anything the creature stopped shaking. Then exploded, splattering the others with multi-colored fluids.

“That seemed to work,” Themopolous said as she steadied her side arm at the other creatures. “Can you do that with the rest?”

The things didn’t wait to hear Rachel’s answer as they leapt into the air, covering nearly half the distance in one leap.

“OH, FUCK!” Rachel screamed as she and Themopolous opened fire.

Bullets tore through the transparent skin and Themopolous had to push aside her medical curiosity as she watched the slugs tear their way through the bodies. Internal organs burst and split open, filling torsos with splattered liquids and oozing fluids.

The smell that hit them was almost enough to knock both Rachel and Themopolous off their feet. It was obvious that the creatures were an abominable combination of life and death, held together with technology specially designed for their purpose.

“There’s too many!” Themopolous shouted as she ejected an empty magazine and slapped home a full one. “We have to fall back!”

Rachel ignored the doctor and kept up her attack. Her innate gift helped direct her aim and each one of her bullets found its target. Instead of head shots, Rachel directed her fire at a throbbing red glow in the center of each creature’s torso. Even as they leapt from wall to wall, trying to avoid the gunfire, Rachel found her targets.

By the time her carbine clicked empty, her last magazine spent, there was a pile of leaking bodies just a couple feet from Rachel and Themopolous. Mathew lay unconscious behind them, blissfully unaware of the danger they had faced.

“Jeezus,” Themopolous swore as she kept a wary eye on the pile, too experienced to believe that the things were down for good. “How did you do that, Rachel?”

The mech pilot looked over at Themopolous, dazed. “Huh?”

“Every shot was a kill shot,” Themopolous observed. “I think I hit maybe one in ten, but you nailed each and every one.”

“Yeah,” Rachel said woozily. “I guess I did.”

“Sit,” Themopolous ordered, using all of her will to ignore the stench that filled the corridor. “Rest a moment.”

Rachel?

“What?” Rachel asked, taking Themopolous’s advice and plopping to the floor.

You can’t rest. There isn’t time. You have to press on and shut down the generator. Once the shield is down you can rest. But everything is riding on you now.

“Right,” Rachel nodded. “Of course it is.”

She slowly pushed herself to her feet.

“What are you doing?” Themopolous exclaimed. “Whatever that voice is telling you to do you need to ignore it! If you don’t rest you will die!”

“If I do rest then many more than me will die,” Rachel said sadly. “Hard choices in a hard world, Doc.”

“Jeezus,” Themopolous swore. “Where to now then?”

***

“Hey…,” Mathew moaned. “What the fuck is that smell?”

“We ran into security,” Rachel said as they stopped and let Mathew steady himself on his feet. “Can you walk?”

“As soon as this ride stops spinning,” Mathew said. “What happened?”

“You took a bit of a smack to the head,” Themopolous answered. “That’s my medical assessment.”

“Oh,” Mathew said. “So is that stink in my head?”

“No,” Rachel said. “It’s everywhere.”

Mathew pushed away from them carefully and held his hands out. “I can do this,” he said as he took a couple of wobbly steps. “Just not quickly.”

“We haven’t hit any more obstacles,” Themopolous stated. “So be prepared to fight, Mathew. There’s bound to be something before we hit the generator.”

“Gotcha,” Mathew said, raising a thumb. He looked at it cross-eyed then focused. “One thumb, right?”

“One thumb,” Rachel said, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Come on, dippy.”

Mathew kept one hand on Themopolous’s shoulder as they followed closely behind Rachel who had her carbine ready, sweeping from left to right in the gloomy corridor.

“Not much for twists and turns in this place,” Mathew said. “Has it been a straight shot the whole way?”

“Yes,” Rachel replied. “It’s leading us to the center.”

“Then what?” Mathew asked.

“Fuck if I know, Matty,” Rachel said.

“It’s getting warmer,” Themopolous noted. “We must be getting close.”

Tell them to stay there.

“What?” Rachel asked.

Tell them to stay right there. They can’t go any further. What is beyond the door is not for them. They need to go back outside.

“What door?”

“Is that her?” Mathew asked and got a stern look for his effort. “Right. Sorry.”

Keep going and you’ll see the door. Only you can go inside. They won’t be able handle the energy the generator puts off.

“And I can?” Rachel asked.

I hope so.

“Fucking great.” Rachel turned and looked at Mathew and Themopolous. “You have to wait here. I can’t take you with me.”

“Bullshit!” Mathew shouted. “I can’t let you go alone. What happens if something goes wrong?”

Rachel stepped forward and kissed him gently. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Mathew said as he gripped her arm. “Which is why you aren’t going alone.”

“Why can’t we go in?” Themopolous asked. “What’s the threat?”

“The energy levels,” Rachel said. “They’ll be lethal.”

Themopolous watched Rachel closely. Their eyes met and an understanding was passed between them.

“Fine,” Themopolous nodded. “We’ll wait out here. Be safe.”

“What?!” Mathew cried. “We aren’t waiting anywhere!”

Rachel pulled her arm away and Mathew staggered.

“You can barely stand, Matty,” Rachel said. “You two should get outside. There may be some blowback that could harm you.”

“Come on,” Themopolous said, lifting Mathew’s arm over her shoulder. She handed him her sidearm. “I keep you steady, you keep the pistol steady. We may run into trouble on the way out.”

“Fuck this,” Mathew swore as he glared at Rachel. “You come out of this alive, hear me?”

“I will,” Rachel nodded then turned towards the door she couldn’t see. She took about six steps then disappeared.

“What the fuck?” Mathew gasped. “Rachel!” Themopolous held him and kept him from following.

“Come on, Mathew,” Themopolous said. “We have to go.”

“This fucking blows,” Mathew protested, but that was all he had strength for. “Fucking blows.”

***

The generator room was small. Rachel was expecting a cavernous space with machines reaching far into the air. But instead she was greeted with a room about the size of her father’s office at the Stronghold. In the center was a metal box firmly bolted to a concrete pedestal.

“A little anticlimactic,” Rachel muttered. “I was sure I’d see a few more gears and shit.”

Reduced nuclear fusion. It isn’t used anymore because of the instability. But once it was put in place and turned on it couldn’t be turned off.

“Not without taking out most of the wasteland, right?”

Right.

“So now what?”

Put your hands on the box.

“What about security?”

There isn’t any.

“Are you sure?”

No.

“Great.”

Rachel took a deep breath and placed her hands on the box. Instantly she could feel energy seep from the box and vibrate up her arms. “Tickles.”

That’s good.

The vibration increased and the tickling stopped. Shooting pains started to stab their way through Rachel’s forearms. “Not so tickly anymore!”

I was afraid of that. Listen. I am going to have to connect with you mentally.

“What the fuck are we doing now?”

Talking. I mean I am going to have to actually combine our consciousnesses. Rachel and Beth may stop for a moment and be a new being. Relax and go with it. We’ll be fine.

“That’s a crock of shit.”

I know.

“It’s gonna hurt, isn’t it?”

Probably.

“Fucking great.”

Ready?

“No.”

Me neither.

Rachel closed her eyes and let go. She could feel Beth’s presence increase. It surprised her, the familiarity that came with Beth’s consciousness. It wasn’t quite like thinking into a mirror, but Beth seemed to fit as if she belonged.

But it was a tight fit.

You okay?

“I can handle this. Now what.”

Can you feel the reactor inside?

“That’s a reactor? Like nuclear?”

Yes.

“Yeah, I can feel it. You weren’t kidding about the instability. It’s all over the place.”

All you have to do is concentrate on the physical connection to it. I’ll do the manipulations.

“What if the shield doesn’t come down?”

It has to.

“What if it doesn’t?”

It has to.

“Ok. Noted.”

Rachel focused on her hands, making sure they had a solid grip on the box while Beth moved through Rachel’s mind and into the reactor within the box.

Trillions upon trillions of reactions occurred every single millisecond. Beth’s consciousness could only interpret the reactions as light and she was grateful. The actual power contained inside the box was enough to match the Sun. If she was sucked too far into the reality of the energy she would be lost in the reactor forever.

I’m starting.

“What? Just now? Move some ass, girl.”

You remind me of my friend Mel.

Rachel was instantly inundated with thoughts, memories, impressions of Melissa Bretton.

“Nah. She’s way more like Harlow. Trust me. Those two would get along great.”

Beth was in turn almost overwhelmed with Rachel’s thoughts/memories/impressions of Harlow.

Whoa. We better focus. I nearly lost touch with the reactor.

“Then stop the chit chat and get this shit done.”

Ok. Noted.

The reactions began to speed up as Beth manipulated their direction and interactions. The energy given off built and built. Rachel could feel the added energy and her hands started to singe.

“It’s doing something, but not in a good way.”

It’ll get worse before it gets better.

“Great.”

The reactions doubled, trebled and then starting multiplying exponentially. Rachel’s head jerked back and her spine nearly snapped as she became directly jacked into the power.

Don’t let go!

“I’m…not…just…hurry.”

Beth pushed herself, sending their mind deep into the generator until she hit the core. The core was where it all started, where every single reaction began and ended even though the reactions were separate unto themselves. It was a paradox that created an energy source that could stay fueled for millions of years, but could also stop dead in the blink of an eye.

Made of a substance that no sane scientist would ever use again, the core appeared to Beth to be a series of constant implosions. She felt that she would easily get sucked into the implosions if she didn’t pay attention, so she tried to shove them from her mind and keep all focus on the physical mass that was the core.

A grain of sand. That was all it was. A grain of sand.

Beth carefully manipulated the core and shifted its structure just enough that the implosions ceased. Unfortunately, that lead to a trillion infinitesimal explosions and Beth shifted her attack to contain those. With each explosion the core depleted itself of energy and Beth knew she was close.

“Can’t hang on much longer.”

Just a few more seconds.

“Fuck.”

Beth sent the explosions into each other, each sucking the fuel from the other as they connected. The generator started to lose its strength and both Rachel and Beth could feel the difference. They could also feel the intense instability that the power-down process created.

“This isn’t going to hold.”

Beth didn’t respond as she kept working.

“Are you listening?”

Just a few more seconds.

Rachel said a prayer, her thoughts with those she loved. With her consciousness wrapped in with Rachel’s, Beth couldn’t help but say a prayer also. The last manipulation was finished and Beth gave a mental sigh.

It’ll completely power-down on its own now.

“But?”

How do you know there’s a but?

“You can’t feel the but? I fucking can.”

You’re right. Let go.

“Of the box?”

No. Of yourself. Let go right now. Just let go. You have maybe a second.

“What? What are you talking-?”

No fucking time to explain! Let Go NOW!

***

The concrete rumbled slightly then settled, making Themopolous and Mathew look back over their shoulders.

“Good or bad?” Mathew asked.

“I don’t know,” Themopolous answered. “I’m not an engineer.”

A flash at the far end of the corridor made them shield their eyes. Then before either of them could brace themselves a shockwave sent them flying. They tumbled in the air and slammed into the pile of bodies that Rachel had made of the security creatures.

Themopolous gasped for air as she struggled to free herself from the oozing corpses that she’d been half-buried in. Mathew was already climbing over the top and he reached down to her. She took his hand and he pulled her up over the pile, tears in his eyes.

“She’s not coming out is she?” Mathew asked as they helped each other limp towards the corridor entrance. ‘”Is she?”

“I don’t think so,” Themopolous answered.

“You said someone could help her if we did this,” Mathew snapped. “Was that all bullshit just like everything else about you?”

“No,” Themopolous said as they kept moving to the way out. “There is someone that can help. We just have to get to the Amer-.”

A second flash erupted behind them and the shockwave that hit them was filled with concrete and fire.

Forty

Fed, clean and clothed, but still slightly confused, Dog and Jenny followed everyone back into the Eden control room. Ready for a full demonstration.

“This is Eden,” Talaria smiled. “This is what we have been working towards.”

The Mayor slapped Dog on the back as he walked to a chair set in the middle of the room. It was set behind row after row of vid screens and workstations. On the wall in front were close to twenty large vid screens with everything from random vid feeds to audio analysis showing wavy lines as sound was picked up from who knew where.

“How did you get all of this?” Jenny asked as she looked at some of the equipment. “This doesn’t look UDC?”

“We built it,” the Mayor said proudly. “You saw how we power Eden, did you think we didn’t have the brains to build anything else?”

“What is all of that?” Dog asked as he pointed to the large vid screens.

“The wasteland,” Talaria replied as she took a seat at one of the few empty workstations. Most were occupied with techs tapping away at their keyboards and speaking into coms. “Up close and personal.”

Dog studied a vid screen that showed a shaky image of nothing but shambling deaders. “How are you getting that?”

“We tag them and send them on their way,” the Mayor said. “We have vid cams imbedded in hundreds of deaders across the wasteland.”

“Thousands,” Agnatha corrected. “Plus data and com relays. We have the entire wasteland wired for audio and vid.”

“Relays?” Jenny asked. “So you can communicate pretty much anywhere?”

“Within reason,” the Mayor shrugged. “But, yes, pretty much anywhere.”

“I want to talk to my train,” Jenny insisted.

“Herschel?” the Mayor asked and a tech stood up and brought Jenny a com.

“Uh, thanks,” she said as she slipped it into her ear and activated it. “Hey, Marcus? Can you hear me?”

“Jenny!” Marcus replied instantly. “Jeezus! We have been scanning every channel hoping to hear from you! What happened? Why aren’t you calling from your mech?”

“It’s out of commission,” Jenny said as she made no attempt to hide her glare directed at the Mayor. “But the Roo-…uh, Dog and I are fine.”

“Dog?”

“Don’t ask,” Jenny sighed. “It’s been a total shit couple of days.”

“Want to see something even shittier?” the Mayor smiled. “Watch this.”

He flipped a switch and the vid screens showed thousands of deaders on the move; another showed a smoking wreck of the Monterey shield generator; a third showed a mass of gleaming BC mechs marching their way across the wasteland; a fourth showed a distant view of the Pacific ocean as ships began to appear on the horizon.

Jenny was stunned by what she saw.

“Jenny?” Marcus called. “Hey, you still there?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m still here,” Jenny replied. “Sit tight. I’ll call with more instructions soon. Get everyone ready.”

“For what?”

“For Hell, is my guess.”

***

“Cyces?” Dog asked as he and Jenny were shown into a massive garage. “Like motorcycles?”

“Well, sure,” a mechanic named Kerry replied. “But where’s the fun in calling them that?”

The machine before Dog was waist high with large, fat tires front and back. The handle bars, as well as the entire front end, were encased in a protective shield that curved up high and back, giving the rider some protection from the elements. It was made of a dark black glass that was completely opaque from the front, but transparent from the seat.

“Are those…?” Dog asked.

“M85 mini-guns,” Kerry smiled. He patted the min-guns affectionately. “Guaranteed to never overheat or misfire.”

“Never?” Jenny laughed. “Not possible.”

The four other mechanics in the Eden hangar all glared.

“We don’t build shit,” Kerry stated. “What’s the fucking point in that?”

“So you just hop on and go?” Dog asked.

“Not that easy, but yes,” Kerry nodded. He pointed to the handle grips. “Acceleration. Brakes. Weapons. Com. All just a finger press away at all times.” He grabbed a helmet that rested on the seat and handed it to Dog. “Put that on.”

Dog slowly slid the helmet on, a feeling of claustrophobia gripping him briefly. Kerry flipped a switch on the cyce and an entire data readout came to life on the inside of the helmet’s visor.

“”You see everything, you hear everything,” Kerry said. “The visor tracks your eye movements and responds to voice commands. You work it without even knowing it.”

“Why have you people been hiding here all this time?” Jenny asked. “This tech could have been useful out in the real world.”

“Because,” the Mayor said as he joined them in the hangar. “I knew the world out there wasn’t going to last long. That’s why I built Eden and that is why we focused on our society and our tech.” The Mayor fixed Jenny with a powerful gaze. “The deaders have never been the threat. It’s the people you have to watch out for. Now those people are playing their hands.”

“So what now?” Dog asked. “We ride off into battle?” Dog laughed as he looked about at the handful of cyces in the hangar. “We don’t have the numbers.”

The Mayor pointed up as the mechanics all grinned. Dog and Jenny looked above themselves and gasped.

“One cyce for every person in Eden,” the Mayor said. “Only way to be sure.”

The main door to the cyce hangar lifted and Dog and Jenny squinted against the light. A few dozen cyces came rushing in. The one in the lead slid to a stop just feet from Dog. The rider took her helmet off and grinned.

“Hey cuz!” Immy beamed. “I hear you’re gonna be the next mayor. Fucking great!”

“Immy,” the Mayor frowned. “You don’t have to be crude.”

“Ah, he doesn’t mind, do ya, cuz?”

“Uh, no, it’s cool,” Dog said.

“Great! Grab a helmet!” Immy said looking at Kerry. “You got him a cyce?”

“Yep,” Kerry nodded patting the one they’d been observing. “All set.”

“Then hop on, cuz,” Immy smiled. “Time for a couple lessons. You’re gonna love this! Way more freedom than those big, clunky mechs!”

***

“You’re sure about this?” Marcus asked over the com.

“Dog is sure,” Jenny said as she watched Dog on a vid screen in the control room. He was busy being embarrassed by his young cousin. “I’m being a bit more cautious.”

“Where do you want us to meet?”

“Same location as where you dropped me off,” Jenny said, having to smile as Dog biffed it and his cyce went out from under him. “I’m sending you a shit ton of data. Start going over it. I need you and everyone else up to speed by the time I get there. What we are about to do will not be easy.”

“No fucking shit,” Marcus laughed. “We’ll be ready when you get here.”

“Sounds good,” Jenny said.

She watched Dog practice with the cyce and nodded in approval as he got the hang of it. In just minutes he was matching Immy turn for turn, move for move. Jenny was happy that he finally found some family that wasn’t hell bent on killing or eating him.

Forty-One

“They took it down,” a tech said, getting Norton’s attention.

“The shield?” Norton smiled. “How crafty of them. Wasn’t sure they could do it.”

“Troops are in place, sir,” another tech reported. “Should we give the order to march?”

“Yes,” Norton said. “I need to see how the CMPs perform first, but we can’t wait if they fail. If they can take the wasteland on their own that’s great. If Capreze’s people do survive the CMPs then we need to have overwhelming forces coming down on them hard.”

“Do you think a handful of mechs can take on our mech numbers, sir?” the first tech asked.

“Not willing to take the chance,” Norton replied.

***

“Are you mechheads listening to what Commander LaFrance is telling you?” Marin asked over the com. “Those mechs you’re about to engage aren’t normal.”

“The word normal needs to be banned from all communication,” Bisby said. “It just doesn’t fucking apply to anything out here!”

“Pilot Bisby?” LaFrance asked as he was patched into the com system. “Those mechs are made of BC. Biochrome. They are self-repairing and have close to ten times the ammunition you do. You engage head to head and they will rip you apart. Pulling back and regrouping is the sane choice.”

“I pilot a one armed mech,” Bisby said. “You think I give two shits about sane?” He switched to a mech to mech channel. “You worried about this, Harlow?”

“Do I seem worried?” Harlow asked as she kept pushing her mech forward, ready to fight.

Bisby smiled and switched back to an open channel. “Ain’t gonna slow down now,” he laughed. “Shit’s just about to get good.”

“Jesus Christ,” LaFrance swore and looked over at Lt. Murphy. “Are they suicidal?”

“Yes,” Lt. Murphy responded. “It’s what makes them so dangerous.”

“And we’re they’re only backup?” Campbell asked. “This Hybrid mech and the Railer train?”

“We’re it,” Specialist Sol replied.

“I just hope they leave some action for us,” Specialist Grendetti grinned.

“Jesus Christ,” LaFrance repeated. “You’re all insane.”

***

“The battle will begin before us,” Bad Shell stated. “We will arrive to nothing but a pile of slag instead of your flesh friends.”

“The mech pilots are well trained,” Shiner replied. “I have fought with them and they will not be defeated by the Cans. Experience and skill will win out over numbers.”

“Better not be over,” Awl Good said. “I need to slam something. Make a hole in some metal!”

“You turn on your kind quickly,” Hollow Eye countered. “We should be supporting the metal, not the humans.”

“This is the wrong metal,” Shiner said. “The Cans are made of biochrome, like my body is. It will repair quickly if left intact.”

“So we don’t leave it intact,” Thunk added. “Fuck it all.”

“Language,” Bad Shell snarled. “Do not backstep, brother.”

“I’m gonna stomp step!” Awl Good shouted. “Crush them good!”

“You have added fire to these mechs,” Hollow Eye said to Shiner. “Whether that is bad or good shall wait to be seen.”

“I will leave that judgment to each mech,” Shiner replied.

“Do these helpless mechs not have allies?” Bad Shell asked. “Why are they left alone?”

“There are few allies in the wasteland,” Shiner said. “Especially for the mech pilots. Their forces are stretched.”

“They should build more forces,” Thunk said.

The few mini-mechs following, of course, said nothing.

***

“Hmmm,” Jethro said. “That’s either a storm or a whole lot of… Fuck!”

“What is it Jethro?” Capreze asked. “And don’t shout in my ear.”

“Was that on?” Jethro asked. “Damn. Systems seem to work with less than a thought now. I’m getting good at this shit.”

“I believe you just fucked over something,” Capreze stated. “What was the fuck about?”

“Take a look at your vid,” Jethro said.

Capreze did and frowned. “And that is?”

“My guess? Thousands and thousands of deaders,” Jethro answered. “I’m thinking six figures worth.”

“Where did they come from?” Capreze exclaimed. “There can’t be that many deaders left in the wasteland. There aren’t enough fucking people!”

“Not sure, sir,” Jethro said. “Looks like they’re coming from Rancher territory.”

“Ranchers?” Capreze said. “But Wyble is dead. I’d figure they’d have fallen apart.”

“What about that Pope guy?” Jethro asked. “My database says he split from the Archbishop a while back. Could be him.”

“Could be,” Capreze said. “If it is then what’s he after?”

“Us, sir,” Jethro said. “They’re heading right for us.”

“Ah, fuck,” Capreze swore.

***

“It suits you, Pilot Masters,” Stomper said as he watched Masters train in the knew Tumbler mech.

“I’m a rollin’ and tumblin’!” Masters sang. “Right on down the line!”

The mech was built with curved arches as its frame, making it easy to tumble quick and come up fast on its powerful legs. Masters rolled about, backwards, forwards, sideways, getting a feel for the mech’s capabilities.

“No offense, Stomper my boy, but this mech is fucking amazing!” Masters crowed. “It’s like I can dance in combat!”

“Don’t get cocky, twinkle toes,” Jay said from the hangar bay door as he watched Masters closely, looking for flaws or issues with the new mech. “It’s just a prototype. Hasn’t been fully tested yet.”

Masters came up from a roll, flung himself into the air, dove and then rolled upright, his guns out and whirling, ready to shred anything in his way.

“Well I can’t wait to fucking test it!” Masters said.

“You may get to soon,” Jethro said as he fed Stomper and Masters the readings of the deaders heading to the Stronghold. “It better be as good as Jay says.”

“Here,” June said as she stepped up next to Jay and handed him a tablet. “Take a look at this.”

Jay studied the tablet readings and looked over at June. “Fuck this shit.”

“Guns and defenses are fully loaded and ready,” Jethro said before Jay could start barking orders. “June has gotten all non-combat personnel into safely secured areas in the Stronghold.”

“I’ll make sure all Railer mechanics are ready,” Jay said. “We’re gonna take some serious heat on this. Even with the power of the Stronghold I don’t know how well we’ll be able to fend those fuckers off. That’s a lot of dead coming at us.”

“You think the Stronghold can be breached?” Masters asked. “By deaders?”

“No,” Jay and Jethro answered at the same time.

“But, they can overwhelm our defenses and bring down the guns,” Jethro said.

“Making it tricky for everyone that’s out on missions to get in,” Jay growled.

“Oh,” Masters said his thoughts immediately on Harlow. “Great.”

“Have we heard from Matty and Rachel?” June asked.

“Jethro?” Jay asked also.

“Not a fucking word,” Jethro responded. “And they were dropping transmitter relays along the way. They should be in range.”

***

“Jesus Christ,” Blue Masterson said as he looked at the crumbling shield generator building. “She’s still in there?”

“Yes,” Mathew croaked as he let an American medic wrap his face and hands in gauze. His uniform was scorched and his neck and arms were bright red from burns. “She was shutting the generator down.”

“Beth was helping her,” Melissa said as she surveyed the destruction. “But I can’t find her.”

“Someone get me Laughlin!” Blue shouted into his com. “What’s your channel, pilot?”

“Huh?” Mathew asked.

“You’re channel? For the Stronghold?” Blue said. “Pay attention. We are at war here, boy!”

“I don’t…fucking know. It’s…ah fuck…385? No…374?” Mathew said. “I…it’s…fuck, ask Themopolous.”

“We can’t,” Blue said.

“You haven’t found her,” Mathew asked. “She was right next to me.”

“We found her,” Blue said and Mathew caught his tone.

“Oh, Jeezus,” Mathew said as he lowered his head. “Dead?”

“Very,” Blue frowned. “Sorry.”

Mathew nodded.

***

“We are proceeding forward,” Mr. Continental smiled. “Our forces will hit the beach in only a few hours. The Americans will be wiped out quickly.”

“And Norton?” Mr. Plain asked.

“He has the forces on the march,” Mr. Brown Eyes said. “The CMPs are about to engage some of Capreze’s mechs. They won’t last but a couple of minutes. Wasteland metal can’t go up against BC.”

“Our techno-zombie soldiers have lined up along the north. If the CMPs fail then they will swoop down and wipe out everything,” Mr. Continental added. “Brilliant idea to bring them across the Bering Straight.”

“I have my moments,” Mr. Plain smiled. “What about Isely?”

“Her second monster is awake and ready to serve,” Mr. Brown Eyes said. “He isn’t flawed like Mr. Stone. The man-.” They all grinned at the word. “-knows how to take orders.”

“Good,” Mr. Continental nodded. “Our troops will need a strong leader. One that can keep going even longer than they can.”

“And Mr. Gein?” Mr. Brown Eyes asked. “What of him?”

“In the brig for the moment,” Mr. Plain said. “Too much of a liability to leave unattended, but too much of an asset to neutralize.”

“Maybe he’ll see the error of his ways,” Mr. Continental commented.

“Perhaps,” Mr. Plain said.

“What is this report of a mass migration of undead across the wasteland?” Mr. Brown Eye’s asked. “Is this true?”

“It appears to be,” Mr. Plain said. “Once the shield went down we could complete full scans. There are hundreds of thousands of the creatures. All moving towards the Stronghold.”

“Maybe the wasteland will do most of our job for us,” Mr. Continental smiled. “But we have the numbers to match if needed.”

“Indeed we do,” Mr. Plain replied.

***

“Oh, my eyes have seen the glory of the marching Disciples!” the Pope sang into a microphone as he sat upon the top of a transport, the wasteland rushing by with a sea of deaders surrounding him. Other transports were mixed in with the deader army, their loudspeakers blaring the Pope’s voice. “They are trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored! They are loosed the fateful hordes like a massive, rotting sword! Their truth is shambling on!”

“GLORY GLORY HALLELUJAH!” every single Rancher sang into their coms, their voices amplified along with the Pope’s. “GLORY GLORY HALLELUJAH! GLORY GLORY HALLELUJAH! THE MARCHING DISCIPLES COME!”

The Great Maker kept pace with the Pope’s transport, his arachnimech carrying him through the onslaught of undead that trudged their way towards the Stronghold. He had agreed to help as a way to make it safely to the Stronghold, but his motivation was far different from the Pope’s.

***

The wasteland was turned into a churning dust storm as close to three hundred cyces roared away from Eden. Dirt and grit flew everywhere and Dog couldn’t help but laugh as he piloted his cyce in the front of the massive pack.

“You doing fine there, cuz?” Immy asked as she sped up next to him.

“Doing great,” Dog replied.

“Pay attention,” Agnatha warned. “Don’t get cocky. This isn’t a mech that will catch itself if you lose control. You go down on a cyce and you go down hard.”

“Got it,” Dog laughed as he accelerated, pushing his cyce across the rough terrain.

“He’s fun!” Immy shouted as she moved to keep pace.

“Damn kids,” Agnatha swore.

“We were like that when we were younger,” the Mayor said. “We just didn’t have the fun toys.”

“Well they better not break them,” Agnatha said. “This is serious.”

She accelerated also and quickly caught up with Dog and Immy. The rest of the cyces followed suit.

Eden was on the move and they weren’t bringing a garden picnic.

***

The guard’s head fell to the floor, twisted clean off. Mr. Stone kicked it aside and deactivated the cell’s shielding.

“Come on, Gein,” Stone said. “Get your drunk ass up. Time to go.”

“Wah…?” Mr. Gein blinked as he stared at his former agent. “How the fuck…?”

“Once I figured out what I was I knew I had to come back and get you,” Stone shrugged. “You’re the only one I know that can help bring these fuckers down. Time to get to a safe place and watch the carnage.”

“Watch the carnage?” Mr. Gein asked as he limped out of the cell. “And then what?”

“Then move in for the kill,” Stone said.

“What if the Americans win?” Mr. Gein asked as he took the assault rifle Stone handed him. “What then?”

“Then our job is done for us,” Stone grinned. “And we’ll be free to play with the Americans.”

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Mr. Gein asked. “You have to cause trouble and keep fighting.”

“Why should I help myself, as you say?” Stone laughed. “Who’s going to stop me now?”

***

Edgar Styles, formerly Styles 000075, but recently rechristened Styles 1, stood up on the platform and looked out upon the many faces that were his, and the many BTTs that they would pilot.

“Hey, y’all,” Styles said, tipping his hat. The fifty plus others all tipped their hats to him. “Glad you could all be here.”

There was a low chuckle from the crowd.

“As you all know, our good friend Prince Alexander Tartarov decided that cloning me- well, us- would be a good idea,” Styles said. “While I wish he was here so I could kick the fuck out of him for it, I can’t really argue with him too much.”

A holo came to life behind him and he pointed at the map of the wasteland. “We have some American friends that are about to get their dicks and tits blown off by those Three motherfuckers,” Styles explained. “There are also some other folk we might call long, lost kin that sure could use our help.”

“Why should we give a fuck?” one of the Styleses shouted.

“Why shouldn’t we?” Styles 1 replied. “If any one of you can give me a decent reason why we shouldn’t fly into the middle of this mess and blow some motherfuckers up then please let me know.”

No one answered.

“Exactly,” Styles 1 said, pointing at the Styles that had spoken up. “Get your hat on right, boy. Our job is to fly some serious biochrome right up the asses of some motherfuckers that deserve some serious biochrome flown up their asses! Y’all down with that?”

“FUCK YEAH!” they all shouted as one.

“God damn right we are,” Styles 1 smiled as he turned to Dr. Maszle. “Guess the Styles Air Force is ready to get its war on. Anything you want to say?”

Dr. Maszle looked out at the Styleses and grinned. “Kill ‘em all, boys!”

The entire group erupted into hoots and hollers as they tossed their cowboy hats into the air. With hats quickly retrieved they all made their way to their BTTs and the preflight checklists began.

“May not make it through this,” Styles smiled at Dr. Maszle as he took her in his arms. He kissed her deeply and then pulled away, tipping his hat back on his head. “But if I do I’m coming back so you can show me that Carnivale you keep talkin’ about.”

He winked at her and jumped off the platform, working his way to his own BTT.

The air was about to be owned.

***

The Mayor watched everything on the Eden vid screens. Talaria got up and walked over to him.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked.

“Never been more sure in my life,” he replied. “The old ways are done. Time to rip this Hell apart and rebuild.”

She leaned in and kissed his lips, his cheeks, his forehead. “I hope you’re right. We have a good thing here.”

“We have a safe thing here,” the Mayor said. “Life isn’t safe. Time to live a little.”

“All set,” a tech announced. “Just waiting on the order.”

“Order given,” the Mayor smiled. “Time to connect the wasteland. Let’s open the lines of communications. No more hiding.”

The tech tapped at his keyboard and the command was given. Coms, vids, and every other communication type devices across the wasteland were simultaneously connected, creating one single network. Relays placed across the land, whether on mesas, in mountains, the edges of canyons, inside the bowels of hundreds of shambling, running, crawling deaders, everywhere, all linked together. The Mayor smiled as he had an open channel to every single soul with a com.

“Hello, wasteland,” the Mayor announced. “This is the Mayor of Eden. I’ll be your host while we get this war started. A couple words first, though. Don’t try to jam me because it can’t be done. And don’t try to shift channels. You’ll have some wiggle room on the first couple of tries, but then my system will fry your system and you’ll be deaf, and possibly blind, while everything goes down. It’s all or nothing, folks. Hear it all or hear nothing. I look forward to talking to many of you.”

“Filter in place,” a tech said. “Chatter is now segregated and controlled.”

“Send me the feeds,” the Mayor said. “I want to know who is saying what. I’d hate to get all the players confused.”

“Feeds are sent,” the tech replied. “Your panel should show them.”

The Mayor looked at the arm of his chair. He smiled as the names Stronghold, Capreze Mechs, the Americans, Ranchers, Railers, Unknown Mechs, the Canadians, and Eden Cyces, all lit up.

“Guess I need to make a call,” the Mayor said. “Give me a private channel.”

The tech grinned. “Done.”

Forty-Two

“Who?” Capreze asked.

“The Mayor of Eden,” Jethro said. “He’s on the com. He is also on everyone’s com. All outside communication goes through him.”

“But we can’t be heard, right?” Capreze asked. Jethro hesitated. “Jethro? We can’t be heard on internal channels, right?”

“Yeah…I’m working on that,” Jethro said.

“Jeezus,” Capreze swore and leaned back in his chair, his eyes cast to the ceiling. “Put him through.”

“Hello, Commander!” the Mayor called over the com. “So good to finally meet you voice to voice. I’ve been a big fan for quite some time.”

“Can’t exactly say the same,” Capreze said. “Since I have no fucking idea who the fuck you are.”

“Ah, yes, well, I am sure you knew of me in a previous incarnation,” the Mayor explained. “Used to go by the name of Young back in the Boiler village. Had a falling out with my brother, the Boss, a while back. Kinda dropped off the radar intentionally. ”

“Fuck me,” Capreze said. “I would have guessed you would have been stew by now.”

“Very nearly, good man, very nearly,” the Mayor chuckled.

“Well…?” Capreze asked. “You called me.”

“That I did,” the Mayor said. “I believe we have mutual interests, you and I. A boy that you call the Rookie and who was born by the name of Dog. He’s not going to be coming back to work for you anytime soon.”

Capreze sat upright quickly, his face full of rage. “You hurt that kid and I don’t give two fucks how well you can hide! I’ll track-!”

“Calm down, Commander,” the Mayor soothed. “He’s my kin. No harm will come to him. I just wanted to let you know that if he survives this little dust up that’s about to go down, he will be taking over for me here at Eden.”

“Eden?” Capreze asked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Holy shit,” Jethro exclaimed. “They just sent us the data on Eden. Hot damn!”

“Apparently Jethro is impressed,” Capreze said as he picked up his tablet and found the file with the specs for Eden. “I see you built yourself a fortress.”

“That I did,” the Mayor said. “Deader proof. Rancher proof. Mech proof. I have all my bases covered. Except for this pesky issue of the Three and their new metal machines. Not sure how they work or how we’d fair against them.”

“I’m in that same boat, Mayor,” Capreze said. “It’s all new to us.”

“Yes, and that is why I am reaching out,” the Mayor said. “I want Dog to take over for me, but he’ll need something to take over. I have three hundred of my people charging like the proverbial cavalry. They’re heading to you. You’ll want them to take on the Three’s forces once they land. You’re going to need that help on that front since you’re about to have your hands full. I am sure you’ve seen that dark mass of death marching to your door?”

“We are aware there is a strange migration of deaders coming this way,” Capreze acknowledged.

“Strange migration? Commander that’s an army and it’s being controlled,” the Mayor laughed. “That Pope has those things battle trained. They aren’t just gonna growl and drool when they come aknockin’. They’re gonna rip your door off and come in and shit on your rug. You can bet on that.”

“So what are you proposing?” Capreze asked. “You help fight them off and I what?”

“You don’t do anything,” the Mayor said. “That’s all I ask. Don’t come for me, don’t try to take Dog back, don’t become the wasteland’s sheriff that it doesn’t need. Just do what you do and let Eden do what it does. The fate of the wasteland itself can be worked out later.”

“And the Pope? I don’t think he’ll be too happy about us making any pacts,” Capreze said. “If he survives.”

“Oh, he’ll survive,” the Mayor replied. “And all his undead minions. We’ll need those.”

“Need them? Why?”

“Take a look at your vid, Commander.”

“Oh, fuck,” Jethro interrupted. “Where the hell did those come from?”

“They were hidden while the shield was up,” the Mayor said. “As soon as it came down they began their march. There are as many of them as the Pope has. Probably more. Hard to see that far.”

Capreze rubbed his forehead and checked the reading.

“I’m going to need you to patch in with Jethro,” Capreze said. “We need all the intel you have and we will need to have access to your full com system.”

“Not a problem, Commander,” the Mayor said. “I expected as much. Just sent the patch to your man Jethro. Hope he can keep up.”

Despite the feeling of foreboding, Capreze smiled at that. “Yeah, he can keep up.”

“Fair warning, though,” the Mayor continued. “I’ll be coordinating with all the other players.”

“All the other players?” Capreze asked.

“The Pope, Colonel Masterson,” the Mayor said. “My goal is to unite the wasteland. We have to stick together if we are going to come out of this in one piece.”

“Masterson I can understand,” Capreze replied. “But the Pope? A Rancher? That scum doesn’t have a place in the wasteland.”

“Tut tut, Commander,” the Mayor scolded. “Let’s keep our bigotry on the back burner for now. We all have our place. I’ll be in touch when I know more.”

The Mayor severed the com, leaving Capreze to work out the new dynamic he found his people in. “Jethro?”

“Yeah?”

“I need confirmation that internal com is secure.”

“It is,” Jethro responded. “I re-routed the security protocols. We can speak freely.”

“What about the pilots? Can I speak to them freely?”

“Long distance is out,” Jethro said. “You speak to them and the whole wasteland hears you.”

“Fuck.”

***

“I don’t give two dicks if you’re the fucking King of England!” Blue Masterson roared into the com. “Trust me, I don’t! So you get your com shit out of my com shit and shut the fuck up!”

The Mayor laughed coolly. “Colonel, please. I have evened the playing field a bit.”

“Like fuck all you have!” Blue shouted. “I need to have secure com with Capreze and with my people as we push forward! You are jeopardizing the lives of thousands!”

“More like just a few hundred,” the Mayor said. “You overestimate the wasteland population. It hasn’t been a good year.”

“And you overestimate my patience for this shit! Knock off whatever the fuck you are doing! I will not warn you again!”

The Mayor was silent for a moment as he thought over Blue’s words. “You aren’t used to being disagreed with, so I’ll let your attitude slide, Colonel. But understand that I will not cave. The com is open for all to hear, even your Three friends. So plan accordingly.”

“Are they listening now?” Blue snarled. “No? Well why the hell not? If you want the wasteland to be open then why not include them in our conversation?”

“Because I think privacy has its place,” the Mayor replied. “Do you really want this talk of ours to be public? I highly doubt that.”

“Fuck you,” Blue growled. “Just fuck you.”

“I advise you put as much distance between your people and the coastline as soon as possible,” the Mayor said. “The Three are about to be up your butt and I do not believe you have the capabilities to fight them off in your present condition.”

“And what condition would that be?” Blue snapped.

“Wounded,” the Mayor answered quickly. “And barely limping along.”

“You don’t know Americans very well, Mayor,” Blue laughed. “Wounded is when we are at our most dangerous.”

“Yes, well, that may be, but you do not have the firepower or manpower that the Three have. I’ll be speaking to them shortly. I may be able to dissuade them from coming ashore right away. That could buy you some time.”

“I doubt you’ll dissuade them to do shit,” Blue said. “They have a hard on to kill us. That hard on has chased us across two continents and three oceans. It won’t be going soft anytime soon.”

“Colorful,” the Mayor laughed. “I look forward to meeting in person, Colonel. Please stay alive so that meeting can happen.”

“Fuck yourself!” Blue screamed as he cut the com. “Mother fucking crazy ass wasteland fuckers!”

***

“Young!” the Pope said as he heard the Mayor’s voice. “How nice of you to call.”

“JP,” the Mayor acknowledged. “I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

“Bad time?” the Pope asked. “When you have Disciples in your heart there are no bad times.”

“So not too busy to have a gentleman’s conversation?”

The Pope looked out at the sea of deaders that surrounded his transport, all marching in lock step as a whistle blew a steady rhythm from a different transport.

“No, no, never too busy for you, Mayor,” the Pope replied. “Just having a nice road trip with some of my closest friends.”

“Yes, about your road trip,” the Mayor began. “You may need to rethink your destination.”

“Oh, dear, Mayor,” the Pope said. “I do not believe that is possible. All the Disciples have their hearts set on seeing the great Capreze team in action. I cannot disappoint these blessed beings. I wish I could accommodate you, but that just isn’t going to happen.”

“So to the Stronghold you keep marching?”

The Pope looked about the wasteland, his eyes scanning the bluffs and hills. “Are you watching me, Mayor? I didn’t think your reach extended out this far.”

“Come now, JP,” the Mayor replied. “Haven’t my recent actions shown that my reach extends to the entire wasteland? I didn’t just take over the entire com. Please know that I have eyes, as well as ears, everywhere.”

“Hmmmm,” the Pope mused. “Have you defiled any of the Disciples?”

“Defiled? Of course not!” the Mayor protested. “I have merely enhanced them. It benefits all.”

The Pope clucked his tongue and frowned. “I wish you hadn’t done that, Young,” he said in a low voice. “That type of exploitation doesn’t sit well with me. I doubt it would sit well with any of the Brothers or Sisters. You have overstepped your bounds, sir.”

“May well be, JP,” the Mayor responded. “But other than the walls of Eden I don’t rightly believe in bounds. But I do understand where you are coming from.” The Mayor thought for a moment. “How about we come to an accord, you and me?”

“If that accord is aimed at stopping my Disciples from taking the Stronghold then you will be sadly disappointed by my answer.”

“And there is nothing I can say to change your mind?”

“Nothing in the least,” the Pope replied.

“Then I wish you pleasant journeys and a safe return,” the Mayor said.

“To you as well, Young,” the Pope said. “Good bye.”

The Pope cut the com and examined the deaders surrounding him. He wondered which ones were corrupted by the Mayor’s spy tech. While it rankled him, and was a blasphemous endeavor on the Mayor’s part, the Pope had to push it from his mind and press on.

Nothing would stop him from attaining the Glory his Disciples so deserved.

***

“I do not fucking care for any of your fucking excuses!” Norton shouted at the control room full of techs. “You get the com secured right fucking now! I will not have the enemy listening to my orders! That’s basic fucking war strategy, you fucking assholes!”

“Sir, it is out of our hands,” a tech said cautiously. “We cannot override the com. We have internal control, but any broadcast that leaves this facility is locked down and controlled.”

“Not acceptable!” Norton roared. “Tear the whole system out and rebuild it! I want this fucking nightmare fixed!”

“Excuse me, sir,” another tech said. “There is an incoming call for you.”

“Well put it on speaker since everyone can hear anyway,” Norton scoffed.

“It’s on a secure line, sir,” the tech informed him. “It’s from someone called the Mayor. He is the one that took control of the com.”

“The Mayor?” Norton snorted. “Are you fucking kidding me? Where do these inbred wasteland fucks come up with these names? Wasn’t there a Boss down there once? And some Bishops and shit? Fucking bunch of mutants.”

“That’s not very neighborly of you, Mr. Norton,” the Mayor said. “I don’t think I’ll be inviting you to the wasteland potluck next time.”

“Who the fuck is this?” Norton snapped. “How the hell did you get access to my system?”

“It rubs you the wrong way, doesn’t it?” the Mayor needled. “A tech genius like yourself having his tech hijacked? Oh, the rage you must feel.”

“You think you can push my buttons, is that it?” Norton growled. “You can’t. You can’t push shit.” Norton dialed in a code on his tablet and grinned wickedly. “In fact, how about I give you a taste of your own medicine?”

Norton’s tablet went blank.

“What the fuck…?”

“I would have warned you, Mr. Norton,” the Mayor said. “But you were so busy being rude that you didn’t give me a chance. Your entire com system has bout fifteen minutes left in its lifespan. You may be able to fix it, you may not.”

“You son of a bitch,” Norton snarled as techs scrambled to repair the system. “You think you can take me on? You’re fucking dead.”

“You are losing precious time, Mr. Norton,” the Mayor replied. “I could reverse the chaos that is about to rain down on you, but I don’t think you’ll cooperate enough for me to be so inclined.”

“I’ll rain hell down on your ass, you motherfucker!” Norton screamed. “You are one dead son of a mother fucking bitch! You hear me? Do you?”

There was nothing but static on the other end. Then every vid screen went black.

“No. No no no no no NO!” Norton shouted as he tossed his tablet across the control room. “Somebody get this system up and running or I will start shooting!”

***

“Are you going to harass the Three now?” Talaria asked, less than pleased. “You’ve poked sticks at everyone else.”

“No,” the Mayor shook his head. “I have no need to speak with them. They won’t listen. I just told Masterson that to light a fire under his ass. They have all of their pieces in play. There’s nothing I can say to pull them back.”

“What was the point of calling Norton?” she asked. “I know why you spoke to the rest, but why even try with the Canadian?”

“Just to get him riled up,” the Mayor smiled. “And because I wanted him to shut his own system down. He’ll get it back up soon, he’s too smart not to, but he’ll be late to the party. It should give Capreze’s mechs a bit more time to engage with the Canadian mechs. Do we have any vid of that?”

“A little,” Talaria reported. “The deader cams are shaky and a ways away, but we can make out the two forces coming together.”

“Two piloted mechs against an army of Canadian mechs?” the Mayor asked aloud. “It should be a blood bath.”

“But you don’t think it will be?”

“For the Canadians, yes. They have no idea what they are going up against. Capreze’s two may not win outright, but they will seriously hurt those mechs from the north.”

Forty-Three

“Jeezus,” Bisby growled. “Look at all the shiny fucks. Almost hate to get them dirty.”

“Looks like we’re outnumbered,” Harlow said.

“Outgunned too,” Bisby replied.

“Their mechs all have two arms,” Harlow smiled. “You’re outarmed.”

“You’d like to think that,” Bisby replied. “But I can do more with one arm than that whole poser army can do with all their arms.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Harlow laughed.

“Ha fucking ha,” Bisby said. “Shut the fuck up and let’s squash some of these fuckers!”

***

“-squash some of these fuckers!”

“Fools,” CMP Gail Esther said. She’d ordered com silence just after the com breach was reported. All of her CMPs had coms on mute, but were intently listening to Harlow and Bisby chatter.

To her they sounded like overly cocky idiots stomping to their deaths, but she wondered what the other CMPs thought. She knew they’d heard of the mech pilots’ abilities. Even with inferior tech, she had a feeling the CMPs would not all live through the day.

She double checked her weapons system and made sure all other systems were in the green. With a final stomp she stopped her mech and all the other CMPs followed suit. The wasteland gleamed with BC. As one they brought up their right arms and nearly fifty rotary canons formed and armed.

***

“That was fancy,” Harlow said. “Their toys came right out of their fucking arms. Slick.”

“Doesn’t matter to me if their toys come out their asses,” Bisby replied. “Actually that would be pretty fucking funny. It’d be like giant mech farts every time they fired.”

“We’re facing a few dozen new mechs and you are making fart jokes?”

“What other fucking jokes am I going to make?”

“Hey, guys,” Jethro interrupted. “You do realize they can hear you, right?”

“Yeah, so?” Harlow asked.

“What’s your fucking point, Jethro?” Bisby snapped. “They want to listen to my fart jokes then more power to them. I like the idea of those fucks hearing my voice as the last thing in their ears before they die. That gets the fucking juices flowing!”

“Don’t want to hear about your juices, Biz,” Harlow laughed. “Not now, not ever.”

“How about if I kill more than you I get to tell fart jokes and talk about my juices the entire way back to the Stronghold?”

“And if I beat you?”

“You can talk about Masters,” Bisby responded. “Or whatever the fuck.”

“You want to hear about how Masters likes to play with my-?’

“Fuck no!” Bisby shouted. “Only if you win! Which you won’t!”

“We’ll see about that,” Harlow said as she started her mech into a trot and then a run then a sprint.

Bisby was right on her heels.

“You guys are fucked up,” Jethro said. “Good luck.”

***

The canon fire came hard and fast.

Harlow, with her newly designed mech, leapt into the air. Jay had assured her that if she could do it in real life her mech could do it in the wasteland. She had highly doubted his claim since she was easily the fastest and most agile of the mech pilots.

But as her mech spun in the air, its guns blazing, she had to smile. Jay had come through. The Cans struggled to get a bead on her and she landed directly in front of the line. She took a hit to her left leg, but it didn’t shut her down. With a firm kick she sent one Can flying back as she jammed her 50mm into the cockpit of another. The rapid fire shredded the pilot inside.

Harlow smiled. They’d been warned that the Canadian mechs could self-repair. But all the repair work in the world made no difference if the pilot inside was a puddle of blood and flesh.

Harlow spun about and landed a solid elbow into the next mech. She grabbed it by its shoulder as it stumbled back and swept the legs out from under it. The rookie pilot inside didn’t have the presence of mind to stop shooting so Harlow angled the mech’s cannon at the other mechs next to it. Five mechs started to dance and shudder as heavy caliber rounds tore into their BC exoskeletons.

Harlow was impressed by the way the mechs instantly repaired, but she didn’t really care. She lifted the downed mech up and threw it into the others then sprang into the air once again, piloting her mech above the cannon fire and landing in the middle of the line.

The CMPs thought their numbers were superior. They didn’t have a clue that their numbers were their downfall.

***

“I love you Jay!” Bisby roared as he charged the line of Cans. The head mechanic had installed a massive armored plate where One Arm’s missing arm would have been. Bisby lowered his shoulder, letting the armored plate take the impacts of the canon fire as he rushed towards the line that Harlow was already busy decimating.

A blast shook Bisby, but he recovered quickly, dove, rolled and came up swinging. One reason Bisby had insisted on One Arm as his mech was because the mech was built as a brawler. The arm the mech did have was nearly twice the thickness of other mechs’ arms and had a striking power that wasn’t matched in the wasteland.

Bisby used that arm like a piston of death as he punched hole after hole in the cockpits of the Cans. Men and women screamed as they were flattened and pulverized. Each time he withdrew his fist he had to shake it off, sending bone and blood splattering across the wasteland dirt. As he fought his way down the line, his mech taking hit after hit from canon fire, he left a wake of gore.

The grin on his face couldn’t get wider without ripping his cheeks apart.

***

“Do we get in the fight?” Campbell asked as she watched the battle unfold.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Specialist Sol said, keeping the Hybrid at a safe distance. “We’re here for backup, not battle. There’s no way we get in the middle of that.”

“If they get in trouble we’ll move in,” Lt. Murphy said. “On foot. Not in this tin can.”

“Fuck yeah!” Specialist Grendetti shouted. “That’s how we fuck shit up!”

He got up from his seat and headed to the equipment, ready to hand out rocket launchers and grenades when the time came.

LaFrance couldn’t help but laugh. “The stories about you people are true,” he said. “You all have some insane death wish.”

“You got that right,” Specialist Kafar grinned. “We wish death on any motherfuckers that get in our way.”

“Damn right,” Specialist Sol nodded.

***

“Split up!” CMP Esther shouted into the com as she ducked a swing by Harlow’s mech. She tumbled back and came up on her feet, her mech ready, but Harlow had moved on to the next machine. “Stop standing in a fucking line! She’ll just keep chopping us down! SURROUND THAT BITCH!”

***

“Excuse me?” Harlow laughed. “Who you calling a bitch, cunt?”

Harlow turned from the mech she was busy yanking its arms from and focused on CMP Esther’s mech.

“I’m gonna make you apologize for that,” Harlow growled.

She dove at the mech’s legs, but CMP Esther leapt into the air, letting Harlow roll below her. Harlow was up on her feet instantly and spun about, landing a solid kick to the back of CMP Esther’s mech, knocking it onto its knees. Harlow came in for the kill, but two mini-guns formed at the back of the Can and opened fire.

Harlow’s mech stumbled back as it took the heavy rounds dead on. She was able to turn to the side, letting some of the fire fly by, but claxons blared in her cockpit as systems were hit.

“Fuck you,” Harlow said as she flipped her mech, did a double backspring and came up with RPGs firing. The rockets shot from her shoulders and CMP Esther threw her mech flat, letting the projectiles fly past her.

Two of the four RPGs found unfortunate targets and BC went flying across the wasteland in a fiery shower of metal and flame.

Harlow started flipping switches and shifting power to damaged systems. She knew she didn’t have too much longer before her mech went down so she planned on making the best of what time she did have.

***

“Right squad!” CMP Esther shouted. “Split and go! Proceed to the Stronghold! We’ll keep the bastards occupied here!”

***

Bisby had a mech by the leg and he lifted it into the air when another mech tackled him about the waist. Then another piled on. And another. Bisby found himself at the bottom of a mech pile and he could see face to face with one of the CMPs.

He lifted his middle finger and grinned. “Eat me, you fucking poser twat!”

The closest mech shoved a gun towards Bisby’s cockpit.

“Give me control,” a quiet, angry voice said. “I can handle this.”

“No,” Bisby growled at One Arm. “I’m the fucking pilot.”

“You’re about to be a dead pilot,” One Arm warned. “You have less than two seconds. GIVE ME CONTROL!”

Bisby cringed at the pain that shot through his head. He wanted to fight the AI, but he knew the thing was right.

“Fine!” Bisby replied. “Take it!”

One Arm’s consciousness came forward and Bisby relinquished control. One Arm opened the cockpit just as the Can fired its gun. The cockpit hatch slammed into the gun and knocked it aside sending the blast into one of its teammates. Bisby felt the heat from the blast and brought his arm up to shield his face. He could smell his uniform burning and he wished he had that second arm to pat out the flames that had erupted on his chest.

“Fucking hell,” he swore. “I thought you were going to get me out of this alive!”

“You are, Pilot Bisby,” One Arm said. “Are you afraid of a little fire?”

One Arm grabbed the closest mech and wrenched its arm off. Then he grabbed the next in the pile and did the same. The CMPs quickly realized they were in no position to fend of the attack and they all scrambled off the pile, trying to put some distance between themselves and the machine they couldn’t stop.

***

“These better work!” Harlow shouted, knowing at least Jethro was listening. She got herself a little space from the circling mechs and reached to her mech’s back with both hands. Two massive blades slid clear of their harnesses and she couldn’t help but smile. “Now you fucks see what I can really do.”

The Cans all froze. None had ever seen anything like Harlow’s mech. They had been trained in mech to mech combat and full weapons, but none had been prepared for battle with a mech wielding what looked like two katanas each as long as a transport.

Harlow didn’t hesitate.

The first strike took off the left leg of the closest mech, slicing through the BC like it was ten year old deader flesh and not high-tech bioorganic metal. The mech toppled to the side and Harlow came down with the other blade, splitting the cockpit in half.

Before that mech hit the ground she had already spun about, dropped to one knee and pierced the next closest mech’s cockpit with a direct thrust. The blade slid back out with blood dripping from its tip and Harlow flicked the fluid off with a twist of her mech wrist.

A blow hit her in the shoulder and her mech shuddered as she dipped to the ground, but she rolled with the impact and swung out with her legs, knocking the attacking mech back. She flipped up onto her feet, both blades slicing through the air above her as she came upright.

Hunks of BC flew through the air, the light shining off the perfectly smooth surface. Harlow kept her momentum going and lunged at the next two mechs, her blades coming down in violent arcs. Both mechs were split down the middle and Harlow barely had time to register the agony and terror on the faces of the mech pilots before she ducked into a roll and sped past them.

With a twist and a leap she was up on her feet, one blade held above her and the other held out in front, across her chest, ready to strike or defend as needed.

***

One Arm shoved a Can’s arm through its own cockpit before turning and firing its 50mms at the mechs that came at its back. The rounds tore through the mechs, but the BC repaired itself instantly, infuriating the AI.

“YOU WILL ALL DIE!” One Arm roared as it leapt at the mechs.

The raging machine slammed one mech down to the earth with its fist, nearly crushing the Can’s entire upper half as it was shoved into the dirt. One Arm leapfrogged that mech, its legs kicking out and catching two Cans across the shoulders, spinning them about. As One Arm landed it punched its fist through the small of the back of one Can then twisted to the side, sending the punctured mech crashing against the other.

An RPG exploded next to One Arm and the enraged battle mech turned, its 50mm firing at full blast. Two more RPGs sped towards it and One Arm was able to take one out, but the other connected and detonated against its left thigh, shattering the leg and sending the mech toppling to the ground.

***

“Oh, fuck!” Specialist Sol called out. “Bisby is down!”

“Lock and load, people!” Lt. Murphy ordered. “We’ve got a mech pilot to rescue!”

Forty-Four

“Evacuate the coastline!” Blue Masterson ordered. “We have ships incoming!”

“Where the fuck is Beth!” Melissa called out as she hurried through the crowd of Americans that were scrambling to get mag-skiffs loaded with supplies and wounded.

“Bretton!” Colonel Masterson shouted. “I need you to be repairing skiffs and helping us get the fuck out of here! Forget about Laughlin and get you ass in gear!”

“Beth can manipulate BC better than me,” Melissa countered. “I need to find her.”

The colonel started to respond then went silent as he watched Desmond shove through the crowd with a limp Beth Laughlin in his arms.

“What the holy fuck?” Blue exclaimed.

“She collapsed,” Desmond said as he focused on Melissa. “Just like in the Dead Zone.”

“Shit,” Melissa swore. “Get her on a skiff now.”

“Matty…,” Beth whispered as her eyes fluttered open, unfocused. “I need…Matty.”

“What the hell is she talking about?” Blue asked. “Hale, set her down on a skiff and get back to coordinating this evac! We didn’t rush job that ocular implant so you could stare at your girlfriend! Bretton, you stabilize her and then get your ass to work. We have minutes, people!”

Blue rushed off into the crowd, shouting orders and pointing in all directions as Americans scrambled to and fro.

“Put her over here,” Melissa said as she waved down an approaching skiff. Desmond quickly set her down on an open space and looked at Melissa.

“Who is Matty?” Desmond asked.

Melissa shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“HALE!” Blue’s voice boomed from the crowd.

“You gonna be ok?” Desmond asked as he leaned in and kissed Melissa.

“I’ll make due,” she said and shoved him. “Get going before the colonel shoots you.”

“You think you’re joking…,” he said as he kissed her again and sprinted off to get things organized.

“Hey, freak?” Melissa asked as she stroked Beth’s sweaty head. “What happened?”

Beth’s eyes fixed on Melissa for a moment and her brow furrowed. “Who…are you?”

“Oh, great,” Melissa said as she pushed a lock of Beth’s hair to the side. “I guess your brain finally fried.”

Beth smiled. “That’s what Matty…was worried about.” She took a deep breath. “And Them…opolous.”

The name sounded familiar. She wanted to get on the com and ask Desmond or Colonel Masterson, but they were on com silence due to the Mayor.

“Who is that, sweetie?” Melissa asked. “Who’s Themopolous?”

“That’s the mech doc,” a wounded tech said from the other side of the skiff. His head was wrapped in gauze and his arm was strapped to his chest, keeping it immobile. “Colonel Masterson kept talking about her to the mech commander. That Capreze guy.”

“Papa Bear,” Beth said. “He’s…gonna be…worried.”

“Papa Bear?” Melissa asked then studied Beth for a minute. “What’s your name?”

Beth’s eyes swam in her head and she struggled to look at Melissa.

“Hey, freak?” Melissa asked again, taking Beth’s face in her hands. “What’s your name?”

Beth finally was able to look Melissa in the eye. “R…R…Rachel,” she sighed. “Rachel…Capreze.”

“Oh shit fuck,” Melissa swore as she turned to look for Blue. “Colonel!”

***

“INCOMING!” someone screamed as the first shells flew from the Three’s ships towards the beached Americans. Smoke and fire screamed from the ships that filled the bay and Americans scattered and ran, all looking for cover.

All looking for a Ghost to save them.

“We need Bretton, dammit!” Blue shouted. “She can build us some fucking cover!”

But Blue knew that wouldn’t happen as he motioned for his people to get to safety. Or at least the illusion of safety. Some were able to duck behind parts of the rocky shore, using the ancient volcanic rock as shields against the blasts. Most were left in the open, scrambling to get onto mag-skiffs and escape the falling shells.

Sand and chunks of rock flew in every direction as the first shells hit. People were slammed to the ground, gashes and bruises covering their bodies, as they were hit by the debris. Then as the air started to settle a slow, low humming filled everyone’s ears.

“Rips!” a tech screamed as small balls with razor sharp spikes launched themselves from the craters of the impacts.

Those hiding didn’t stand a chance as the Rips zoomed through the air, their sensors on alert for human heat signatures. People tried to fend them off, using whatever scraps of metal, rock or driftwood they could find, but the spinning Rips just bore through everything, coming out the other side and into the terrified Americans.

Screams filled the rocky beach as person after person was ripped apart, their bodies shredded by spikes spinning at close to a hundred miles an hour.

Blood poured and pooled on the coarse sand of Monterey bay.

***

“That seems to be going well,” Mr. Continental said as the Three watched the destruction on a holo in their conference room.

“Quite,” Mr. Brown Eyes grinned. “Caught them like rabbits fleeing a tractor.”

“There’s even the desired ‘chewed up’ result,” Mr. Plain chuckled. “Must be a horrible way to die.”

“All ways to die are horrible,” Mr. Continental responded. “That’s why I prefer to live.”

“Well said,” Mr. Brown Eyes nodded.

The Three watched the violence with rapt attention. Not one of them squirmed at the gruesome ends they’d brought upon the Americans.

***

“He must be somewhere,” Ms. Isely snapped. “He can’t have left the ship.”

“No, mum,” a trooper said. “But it appears he has. His quarters have been searched and we conducted a deck to deck search. If Mr. Gein is still on the ship then he’s hiding in a place we cannot reach.”

“Which is impossible,” Ms. Isely said.

“Yes, mum,” the trooper nodded.

Ms. Isely stood on the deck and her hands turned white from gripping the rail as she watched more shells launched and fall on the Americans. “Fine. He can’t harm us now anyway. Are the speeders ready?”

“Yes, mum,” the trooper nodded. “All troopers are in place.”

“Good,” Ms. Iselyreplied. “Then tellhim to launch. I want any lucky survivors put under the boot and their skulls crushed. Not a single American is to survive. Am I clear?”

“Your orders have already been relayed, mum,” the trooper said. “He was very specific.”

“I am sure he was,” Ms. Isely smiled. “It is nice to be taken seriously for a change.”

“Mum?”

“Nothing,” Ms. Isely said as she waved him off. “Go.”

“Yes, mum.”

***

Melissa shielded Beth’s body with her own as the Rips began their attack. She’d taken a couple direct hits from them, but her BC uniform held and they couldn’t penetrate. Melissa made sure she used their contact to her advantage and absorbed the BC Rips into her suit, adding more mass and substance, and better protection, with each attack.

When the first lull happened, Melissa didn’t wait to assess the damage. She knew more shells would be on their way. She could even hear Colonel Masterson screaming as such over the cries for help and mercy.

The other wounded on the mag-skiff hadn’t had Melissa’s protection and she was forced to shove their mutilated corpses from the vehicle before taking over the driver’s seat. The skiff had taken quite a bit direct damage, but Melissa had enough mechanical knowledge to direct the BC repairs and get the skiff functional. She strapped Beth in and took one last look at the bloody beach.

Before she left though she saw a person trying to stand, even under the attack that was bombarding them all. She didn’t recognize the man, but realized from his uniform that he was one of the mech pilots that had come to destroy the shield generator. Melissa swung the skiff about and grabbed him and pulled him into the seat next to him.

“Huh…,” the man grunted.

“You wouldn’t happen to be Matty, would you?” Melissa asked, but the man passed out next to her and she had to scramble to get him strapped in. Blood and death surrounded her and she tried not to cry as she looked over her shoulder.

“Sorry,” she said to those she left behind as she hit the accelerator and the skiff took off along a rocky path, up through a small patch of stunted, mutated coastal pines, and onto a barely visible road.

***

“Jesus,” Blue sighed as he knelt next to Desmond. “You just get your ocular implant and look what happens.”

“Bad, Colonel?” Desmond asked. The look on Blue’s face was answer enough. “Yeah, it feels pretty bad.”

“I can’t shit you, Lieutenant,” Blue said. “I think you have a splinter or two in your belly.”

“Is there really any belly left?” Desmond grinned as a thin trickle of blood rolled down his cheek.

“Not in the physical sense,” Blue grimaced. “You want me to take care of you, son?” Blue looked about at the few walking Americans that wove their way through the tangle of mutilated bodies. “Don’t think the medics are coming to the rescue.”

“No…sir,” Desmond gasped as a wave of pain shot through him. “I’d like to…just look up at the…sky.”

“As you wish, son,” Blue nodded and patted Desmond on the shoulder. “You’ve been a shining example to your people. You should be proud.”

“Thank…you…sir,” Desmond whispered.

Blue got to his feet and looked out into the bay and the speeders racing across the water at what was left of the Americans.

“I can make you a promise, Hale,” Blue said. “I don’t plan on giving up without fighting to my last breath. If the Americans are going to die they’ll be taking some fucking scum with them.”

He looked down and frowned as he saw the open focus of Lieutenant Desmond Hale’s synthetic eye. He leaned over and closed the eye gently.

“Godspeed, son,” he whispered. “You’re finally in a better place than this fuck hole.”

Blue walked to the closest mag-skiff and ransacked it for a weapon. He found an assault rifle and checked the rounds. Not nearly enough to take on one speeder full of troopers, let alone the dozen or so that were almost to the shore.

He started shouting at people to get the fuck away and save themselves as he walked casually into the surf and aimed his rifle at the first speeder coming at him.

***

Reginald, his new BC body humming with the need to kill, saw the colonel step into the surf and raise his rifle. A trooper to his left raised his own assault rifle and Reginald stayed him.

“I would like the honor,” Reginald said in his high-pitched voice. “Been a while since I took some blood on my own.”

Reginald lifted his sniper rifle to his shoulder, gauged the wind, took into account the bouncing of the speeder on the waves, slowly squeezed the trigger, and watched as a split second later Colonel Blue Masterson’s head exploded in a mass of blood and grey matter.

“Ahhhh,” Reginald sighed. “That feels good. Nice to have the rush back.”

“Uh, yes, sir,” the trooper responded. “Should we open fire from here, sir?”

“No, no,” Reginald replied. “Ms. Isely wants skulls crushed under boots so lets get her some juicy holo with skulls being crushed. Can’t disappoint the boss lady, can we?”

“No, sir.”

“No, sir,” Reginald grinned. “We cannot.”

***

All order, all training, all hope fled as Blue Masterson’s brains sprayed across the surf, turning the sea foam bloody pink for a few moments until the next wave came in and washed it away. The colonel’s body floated in the shallow water, unseeing, dead.

The Americans that were left on the beach went into survival mode. They didn’t form ranks, they didn’t try to organize into coherent teams; they just turned to the Three’s speeders and opened fire.

And the speeders returned the fire in kind.

Minutes. That was all it took for the Three’s troopers to wipe out the last of the rag tag group Blue Masterson had been able to hold together. Men, women, even some children, were torn apart by BC bullets, their bodies making a parody of the beach party movies of centuries before as they danced and writhed in agony until falling to the sand, dead.

Reginald stepped from his speeder, disappointed that his troopers had to use their rifles. He had really wanted to show Ms. Isely a victory without gunfire. There was something ticking, thrumming inside him, that hungered for the raw violence of a boot sole on the face of an American, pressing, pressing, until pop went the jack.

But a win was a win and Reginald came to terms with that immediately.

“Find me the Vessel Beth Laughlin,” Reginald ordered. “Bring her to me alive, please. Or dead, if it cannot be helped. But alive would be better for you all.”

The troopers eyed their new leader warily, pretty sure the psychotic gleam in his eyes wasn’t a trick of the light. None had any illusions that their lives were any more important than the dead Americans that stained the beach of Monterey Bay.

***

“Row, row, row your boat,” Stone sang as he drove the water skiff along the coastline, keeping a safe distance from the Three’s annihilation of the Americans. “Gently down the stream- Oh, wait, guess it’s not quite a stream, eh Gein?”

“Will you shut it, Stone,” Mr. Gein said as he gripped the sides of the skiff, his body rebelling against the undulating waves that rocked them to and fro. Even with the months he’d spent aboard ship he still couldn’t handle the never ending movement of the ocean. “God I need a fucking drink.”

“You need to dry out, Gein,” Stone replied as he eyed a mass of debris that had caught in a small cove just a few yards ahead. “And as soon as we make land you will get to do that. I need you thinking clearly, Gein. No more being a sodding drunk.”

“Fuck you, Stone,” Mr. Gein grumbled. “You’ve been dead for all these months. You have no idea what I’ve been up against.”

“Oh, poor Mr. Gein with his real body and livingness,” Stone mocked. “It must have been torture to sit around in a gin fueled haze while Ms. Isely did all the work. My heart goes out to you.” Stone let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, wait! I don’t have a heart!”

“Careful Pinocchio,” Mr. Gein snarled. “I think I see a whale. Might swallow you right up.”

“Oh, papa, no!” Stone laughed. “How will we ever escape?”

Mr. Gein and Stone stared at each other for a moment then burst out laughing.

“I have missed your insubordinate idiocy,” Mr. Gein grinned. “It was boring as fuck all on that ship.”

“I’d say I missed your paper pushing ass, but I’d be lying,” Stone grinned back.

“Fuck you, Stone,” Mr. Gein smiled.

“Whatever gets you through the day, Gein,” Stone replied.

The skiff thumped against the floating debris as Stone steered them into the cove.

“The last of the Americans,” Mr. Gein said as he watched the debris part around the skiff. “Just a bunch of junk.”

Stone glanced over the side of the skiff and nodded. He started to turn his attention back to the beach ahead, but stopped as he noticed a hunk of BC amidst the other flotsam. He put the engine in reverse and tried to steer closer to the BC hunk.

“What is it?” Mr. Gein asked.

“I’m not sure,” Stone said. “Help me get it into the skiff.”

“Why?” Gein asked. “Do we need more BC mass?”

“It’s not BC,” Stone smiled as he grabbed the hunk and hauled it up out of the water. “Not all of it.”

Mr. Gein helped get it onto the deck of the skiff and stared in amazement.

“Is that…?” he asked.

“I believe so,” Stone replied. “Things just got interesting.”

***

The first thing Charlie Masterson noticed as he came to was that he was no longer floating. Waves of vertigo still washed over him as his body adjusted to the lack of constant movement, but he knew he was on solid land. But when he opened his eyes he couldn’t say for sure that he was safe.

“Hello, boyo,” Stone said as he knelt close to Charlie’s face. “You look lost? Did a jack fall out of a box and get separated from his shipmates?”

“Stop fucking with him and put some wheels on the skiff, Stone,” Mr. Gein snapped. “We don’t have time to taunt the kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Charlie grunted, his throat raw and dry. “I’m-.”

“I don’t give two standing fucks what you are, jack,” Stone said as he stood up and walked to the water skiff he had been converting into a mag-skiff for the land. “All I care about is making sure I put you to good use.”

“Let’s get a good distance from Monterey before we contact the enemy,” Mr. Gein said. “Don’t want them zeroing in on us here.” He knelt next to Charlie. “You might just be how we survive this hellish wasteland.”

“Fuck…you,” Charlie rasped.

“Keep on fighting,” Stone said. “I’d expect nothing less from a fucking jack.”

Charlie did fight to keep his eyes open, but fatigue and exposure took over and he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Forty-Five

They saw the movement in the massive dust cloud and Masters looked up at Stomper from his cockpit.

“You ready for this, big guy?” Masters asked as he double checked his weapons systems. “That’s a lot of dead weight coming at us. We fuck up once and they’ll have us on the dirt.”

“They will have you on the dirt, Pilot Masters,” Stomper replied. “I have no flesh inside me. I am not their target.”

“Then you better watch my fucking back,” Masters said as he started to walk his mech towards the giant mass of deaders. “Remember the plan?”

“It isn’t a very good one,” Stomper replied.

“Best one I have,” Masters said. “We have to take out as many as possible before they hit the Stronghold.”

“The likelihood of you surviving is small,” Stomper stated. “As I have mentioned before.”

“You have, Stompy man,” Masters responded. “And I am touched by how much you care for my safety, but shit has to get fucked up. And if anyone is going to fuck up the most shit then it’s gonna be Mitch Mother Fucking Masters!”

Masters closed his cockpit and strapped in. He smiled as he watched the deader horde get closer and closer.

“Let us do this shit,” Stomper said.

Masters broke out laughing. “Fucking A right, Stomper!”

***

Hundreds of thousands of deaders marched towards the two mechs and the Stronghold beyond. Their putrid flesh hung from many of them in strips and strands, flapping in the slight breeze that blew across the wasteland. The burning hunger that fueled them was stoked more and more as the sound of a whistle blasted in a staccato rhythm over their heads. Those that could drooled frothy pink saliva from their mouths in anticipation of the food that awaited them.

The whistle never lied; there was always food after a march.

Pope John Paul Ringo George rocked back and forth in his mounted throne as he blasted the whistle over the bullhorn he held in his hand. His eyes watched the power of what he had spent decades building. His pride swelled at the sight of the sea of Disciples that pushed forward, every molecule in their undead bodies responding to the conditioning.

He laughed inside, making sure the whistle didn’t lose a beat, and thought about how stupid everyone else was for not believing in the Disciples. All the military might; all the Reaper chip technology; the fortified city/states; the UDC’s Stronghold.

All they had needed was the will to mold the Disciples into what they should be. And a good whistle.

But that whistle faltered a moment as the Pope watched what the two mechs ahead prepared to do. The Disciples stumbled and almost stopped, but the Pope quickly recovered and got them back into lockstep.

“JP?” a voice asked over the handheld that sat next to the Pope. The Ranchers had switched to handhelds as soon as they knew their communications on the coms would be overheard. “I believe the attack is coming.”

The Pope didn’t bother to respond. He could see the attack was coming and everyone had their orders. He just smiled around the whistle and kept blowing out a steady beat.

***

“Okay, so we’ve talked about this,” Masters said as he tucked his mech into a tight ball. “Take a couple steps, pull your arm back not quite halfway then bring it forward fast. Let go as soon as your arm passes your body. Aim low and straight. Don’t fucking launch me into the air!”

“Don’t launch you,” Stomper repeated. “Got it.”

“You fucking better,” Masters said. “Or this will get ugly quick.”

“Very ugly,” Stomper replied as he lifted Masters’s mech up and started forward, drawing his arm back. “Low and straight. Low and straight.”

Masters’s Tumbler mech arched through the air for the first several yards then came crashing down onto the hard dirt of the wasteland. Masters gritted his teeth at the impact, but couldn’t fault Stomper. It was a pretty good first throw for a giant mech that had never bowled before.

“FUCK YEAH!” Masters shouted as the Tumbler raced towards the first few rows of deaders. “Here I fucking come, bitches!”

The mech slammed into the wall of deaders, crushing dozens of them as its momentum kept it going for several yards. Rotten bodies flew in every direction. Arms split off and spun this way and that. Heads shot into the air. Legs were left without torsos. A path of squirming, undead destruction was left in the Tumbler’s wake.

Masters didn’t waste a moment. He had the Tumbler up on its feet and he was swinging and slashing with abandon. His fists pounded deaders into pulp; his feet ground them into the dirt. He fought his way back out of the mass of undead and then sprinted back to Stomper.

“Let’s see if we can hit the spare this time!” Masters crowed. “Bowl away, Stompity Stomp!”

Stomper picked Masters back up and took careful aim. His AI had analyzed his first throw and he quickly realized where his errors had been.

“I shall get some spin and curve on you,” Stomper announced. “That will bring you back around and make it easier to exit the horde.”

“I like how you think,” Masters said.

Stomper took his steps and let Masters go. The Tumbler rolled to the left in a wide curve then began to turn back towards the deader horde. It hit the front line at an angle and ripped a path through them twice as long as before. Masters barely had to work to get up, kill some deaders, and then sprint back to Stomper.

“That was outstanding!” Masters shouted.  “Shall we go three for three?”

Before Stomper could answer the air whistled with the sound of incoming RPGs.

“Ah, shit,” Masters swore as he realized he’d have to go back to fighting like always. The brief fun of deader bowling was over. “Time to get to fucking work.”

***

“Do we have a count?” the Pope asked. “I would like to know how many Disciples we should mourn.”

“Close to two thousand,” Brother Reynaldo answered. “The mech attack was innovative and effective.”

“Do I hear a hint of approval, Brother?” the Pope asked.

“Only the approval of anything done well in the wasteland, JP,” Brother Reynaldo responded.

“Well said, Brother,” the Pope laughed. “We do have to give credit where credit is due. Any accomplishment is an accomplishment of God.”

“Amen,” many voices said over the handhelds.

“Shall we show them our innovations, Brother?” the Pope asked as he placed the whistle to his lips.

“I believe it is time, JP,” Brother Reynaldo answered. “Let the Disciples be bound for Glory!”

More amens rang out over the handhelds as the Pope gave three short bursts then two then three then one long burst on his whistle. The deaders started to pick up their pace. In seconds they went from a march to a trot. The deaders that weren’t as structurally sound began to fall back and their places were taken by the stronger ones. The trot turned into a run which turned into a sprint. The deaders lowered their shoulders, their chests hunched over, their hands almost touching the ground.

The fast were on the hunt.

“Glory to you all!” the Pope shouted through his bullhorn. “Glory to the Disciples that bring down the blasphemous metal! Go forth, my children! Wreak your vengeance upon the unclean mechs! DESTROY THE STRONGHOLD!”

The Pope gave two more short blasts on his whistle and sat back and watched as the mass of deaders rushing forward split into two then three then four separate groups. The outer two groups went wide and looked to box in the two mechs, while the center two groups attacked straight on.

***

“I may be leaking hydraulic fluid from my groin region,” Stomper said.

“Yeah,” Masters agreed as he watched the deaders coming at them. “I just pissed myself too.”

Forty-Six

“On your eight!” Lt. Murphy shouted at Specialist Grendetti. “Aim for the knees!”

Specialist Grendetti spun about and fired his RPG. The rocket blazed and shot towards the three Cans that were headed towards them as the Special Ops team ran towards Bisby’s downed mech.

The RPG nailed one of the mechs square in the right knee, shattering the leg and sending the mech falling back into the other two. The wounded mech was quickly tossed aside and out of the way as the two Cans continued their run at Bisby.

“Hit the cockpit!” Specialist Sol shouted as he opened fire with his assault rifle. The bullets ricocheted off the CM like ineffectual bugs. “Mother fuck!”

Lt. Murphy realized that even if they made it to Bisby first they had no cover and were just sitting ducks. It was suicide. She smiled at the thought.

“Sticky packs!” Murphy ordered as she dodged the line of BC bullets that strafed the ground next to her.

“Got ‘em!” Specialist Kafar called as he sprinted towards Bisby’s mech.

“Prime them and get ready to detonate!” Murphy ordered.

“What?!” Kafar shouted. “We won’t get clear in time!”

“Yes, we will!” Murphy countered.

The team was almost to its destination when Kafar pulled the sticky packs from his pack and prepped them.

“How short?” he asked Lt. Murphy.

“10,” Murphy asked as the team dove behind the cover of One Arm, bullets flying about their heads.

“10?!” Sol shouted. “Not enough time, LT!”

“Bullshit,” she replied as she grabbed a sticky pack, activated the detonator and threw the explosive at one of the approaching Cans.

The sticky pack nearly fell short, but the Can walked right into its trajectory and the explosive stuck to the mech’s leg. The rest of the team got the idea and all stood and threw the ones Kafar had handed them.

The first pack detonated and the Special Ops team barely had time to duck back down behind One Arm as tons of BC shrapnel filled the air. The rest of the packs detonated and One Arm’s fallen body shuddered from the impacts of the chunks of BC.

“HEY!” Bisby shouted from inside the mech. “Are you fucks done playing with your fucking fireworks? I could use some help to get the fuck out of here!”

“Keep your panties on, Pilot,” Lt. Murphy said. “We’ll get you out. Hope you can run because there’s some space to cover between here and the Hybrid.”

“I’ll fucking outrun you all,” Bisby shouted. “Just get me the FUCK OUT OF HERE!”

***

The legs had to go first, was what Harlow learned as she spun about battling Can after Can. Separate the legs then kick them away from the mech. It kept the Cans’ BC from auto-repairing. Unfortunately for Harlow there were way too many Cans crammed together for her strategy to be 100% effective. She’d kick a leg away and it would slide next to a different Can that was missing stability below its torso.

So the massive blades of Harlow’s mech never stopped. They tore through the Can ranks in a constant motion of hack and slash ballet. She separated torsos from legs, arms from torsos; she impaled the drive systems and stabbed the cockpits; she rendered RPG launchers and mini-guns useless.

She made her way through the Cans like she was the four horsemen in one deadly mech. Then started over again as the Cans constantly and continuously repaired themselves.

Harlow saw the Special Ops team working to free Bisby from his downed mech, but she couldn’t focus on that. Not with the way the Cans resurrected themselves. If she had been in a laughing mood she would have chuckled over how the Cans were more deader than the dead mechs in the way they could rise from their destruction and keep fighting.

But Harlow was not in a laughing mood.

Her mech twisted and turned. She ducked punches, leapt over mini-gun fire, dodged RPGs, and just kept moving. Her heart rate was through the roof and she’d never felt so exhausted in her life, but she never quit. She made every single move count even if it was futile against the constant self-repairs.

Two Cans dove at her. She leapt over them both, but was blindsided by a third that had come up on her and tackled her about the waist. Harlow lost one of her massive blades and watched as it was kicked into the wasteland by another Can. She took the hilt of her other blade and pounded it against the Can that had tackled her. The BC smoothed back out almost instantly with every impact. She would dent it and it would smooth. Again and again.

Claxons blared in her cockpit as her mech’s systems became critical. Hydraulics on both legs were failing as more Cans converged on her. She was too close to all of them to be blasted, so the Cans just began to beat the holy hell out of her mech. The impacts became so many that she was knocked about inside the cockpit like a pinball. Even being strapped in, her body was slammed from side to side.

A Can fist came down hard on her cockpit and she winced as the exoskeleton buckled in towards her. Another blow and she was pinned.

“Ah, fuck,” she whispered as she watched more fists aimed at her.

***

Lt. Murphy noted that Harlow was down under a pile of Cans and that the other mechs were turning their attention to the Special Ops team.

“We need to pick up the pace!” Murphy shouted as she and Grendetti helped Bisby hobble towards the Hybrid. “We’ve got eyes on us again!”

The team looked over their shoulders and they all stepped it up. The dozen or so Cans sprinting at them was a great motivator.

They were almost to the Hybrid when the bottom ramp lowered and Campbell, with full dog team and mag-sled, came hurrying past them.

“Get the Hybrid out of here!” Campbell yelled as she passed them. “I’ll give you some time!”

Murphy didn’t argue as she hurried her team to the Hybrid. They made it to the ramp and rushed up into the machine. Each of the team member’s eyes fell on Campbell for a split second, making note of her sacrifice.

“Get us the fuck out of here!” Murphy ordered as she sat down and took control of the weapons system. “Grendetti! You’re driving!”

“Yes, sir,” Grendetti answered as he grabbed the control sticks and turned the Hybrid around.

“Where the fuck are we going?!” Bisby shouted. “Harlow is still out there!”

“She’s not reachable,” Murphy insisted. “She’s a big girl and knew the risks. Not everyone makes it, Bisby.”

“So much for not leaving a man behind, eh?” Bisby snapped. “But then I guess Harlow isn’t part of your team so who gives a fuck, right?”

“Cool it, Biz,” Sol said. “You know we have no chance against those things. If you and Harlow couldn’t take them out then what can we do?”

Murphy kept all weapons aimed at the Cans that were pursuing, but didn’t fire. She wanted to conserve ammo for as long as possible. It was a long way back to the Stronghold.

“Fucking cowards,” Bisby muttered, but a voice at the back of his head knew better. Harlow had gone down. There was nothing that could have been done.

***

Campbell pushed the dogs on and maneuvered the sled between the legs of one of the Cans. She was Canadian and she knew the mechs almost better than anyone else. She’d helped with their design over the years and had been part of a hundred field tests. So even though she was a just a small speck to them, she didn’t feel completely hopeless. Or completely helpless.

“Keep steady,” she yelled at the dogs as they jerked to the side when one of the Cans’ feet stomped down next to them. “Stay the course!”

As the sled whipped between the legs of one of the Cans, Campbell looked up and tossed a sticky pack right where the mech’s junk would have been if it had junk. Not that the spot wasn’t equally as vulnerable. Campbell knew that a well placed detonation in a specific spot could lead to an explosive chain reaction in the mech’s power system. She just hoped her aim was good enough.

Campbell kept the dogs moving, pushing them, egging them on, calling to their aggressive nature and competitive breeding. The canines understood her urgency and dug deep, blocking out the battle sounds and imposing sights of mechs rushing towards them. They turned on her command as if they knew where she wanted to go before she did. They intuitively adjusted course, knowing that they only had a split second before being crushed underfoot. Fueled by the excitement and adrenaline of battle, the dogs came alive as they never had before in the snows of Canada.

They had become a wasteland team and they were loving it. Their tongues hung from their mouths as they barked and yipped their way across the packed earth of the wasteland. They didn’t even flinch when the mech they’d just run under exploded in a shower of BC particles, ripped apart by a complete power system detonation. Even a BC mech couldn’t self-repair from that many fragments.

***

The smell of blood was what brought Harlow back around. Her guess was that she was only out for maybe a couple of seconds, judging by the attack that was still coming down on her mech. She unstrapped and squeezed past a broken strut that had come loose and was only a couple inches from impaling her. She reached behind her seat and grabbed her own long blades and affixed them to her back.

The constant attack on her mech made it near impossible for her to get to where she needed quickly, but after a few painful moments she was able to get to a hatch on the floor of her cockpit and wiggle her way into the storage compartment below. She yanked off a panel and keyed in a code on the small number pad. She held her hands over her ears and waited. After a count of three an explosion shook her mech and bitter smoke drifted into the compartment.

Not wasting a second, Harlow wiggled back up into the cockpit and out the front where the cockpit hatch should have been. Smoke drifted up from where explosive bolts had detonated, shooting the hatch directly into the crowd of Cans. It had knocked most of them back and she took the opportunity to scramble from her cockpit and drop to the ground.

She wormed her way through mech legs and was in a dead sprint for the Hybrid before she was noticed. A blast to her right sent her flying through the air, but she tucked and rolled when she hit the dirt, coming up on her feet. She shook her head and ignored the intense ringing in her ears and just kept going. Another blast sent her flying forward and the breath was knocked from her lungs when she slammed into the ground. She pushed herself up and saw plumes of dirt puff up about her.

Harlow realized she was being shot at, but that didn’t scare her one bit. She’d been shot at a thousand times. The fact that she couldn’t hear the gunfire was what sent terror through her. As she struggled to her feet she reached up and felt the warm wetness trickling from both ears. She hoped that whatever damage had been done could be repaired.

With nothing but the ringing in her head to keep her company, Harlow zig-zagged across the wasteland towards the Hybrid. It took her a moment to realize that the Hybrid was getting smaller and smaller instead of bigger as she got closer.

They were leaving her behind and she couldn’t do a thing about it. She tapped at her com, but the blood pooling about it, and the fact she could hear absolutely nothing, meant the thing was worthless to her.

She doubled her efforts and pushed her legs past the point of exhaustion. The odds of catching the Hybrid were pretty small, but Harlow hadn’t made it as far as she had as a mech pilot by just giving up.

***

Campbell angled the sled to the right and cut between five mechs. She tossed her last sticky pack at the center mech, but missed the sweet spot. The sticky pack still exploded and shattered the mech’s legs, sending it toppling into the mech next to it. It gave Campbell just enough breathing space to whip the sled around and head back to the Hybrid.

To say she was surprised to see a sprinting figure in front of her was an understatement. It didn’t take her many guesses to figure out who the person was.

“Harlow! Hop on!” Campbell yelled as she came up on Harlow’s left. The mech pilot didn’t respond. “Harlow! Get on!”

It wasn’t until the dogs passed Harlow that the mech pilot turned to look over her shoulder, her eyes wide with disbelief. She stared at the dogs, the sled, Campbell and shook her head.

“Get the hell on the sled!” Campbell shouted. Harlow pointed at her ears. “Oh, Christ!”

Campbell pointed in turn at the sled then ahead at the receding Hybrid. Harlow looked at the mech transport then back at the sled and nodded. Without losing a step she leapt onto the sled and crouched down. She grabbed the rails and held on as Campbell pressed the dogs faster. The animals’ tongues lulled and foam frothed at their mouths, but the creatures didn’t slack. Instead they lowered their bodies and stretched their legs further, adding just a little more speed to their drive.

Campbell could hear the incoming RPGs and she prayed they’d be wide. The first was well off target, but the second impact was too close for comfort, showering them all with clods of dirt. Campbell risked it and opened her com.

“Hey!” she shouted into the com. “We’re still alive back here!”

There was no response.

“Goddammit!” Campbell snapped. “I have Harlow and we are in pursuit! Slow the hell down so we can catch up!”

There was still no response, but Campbell could see the Hybrid slow ahead, it’s legs skidding to a stop.

“I said slow down, not stop!” Campbell yelled. “I have mechs on my ass and they’ll catch up in seconds! You have to keep moving too!”

The unresponsive Hybrid didn’t budge and Campbell wondered if it had suffered a malfunction. But as she grew closer, and the RPGs nearly blasted the sled to pieces, she saw that there were forms in front of the Hybrid.

Harlow had noticed the forms also and she squinted into the distance. Here eyes went wide when she realized what she was looking at. She motioned for Campbell to stop, but the engineer ignored her. There was no way they could stop with the Cans on their butts.

Harlow drew her sidearm even though she knew it was pointless, and took aim, ready to do her small part to fight off the mechs ahead.

Forty-Seven

Not wanting to risk using the com, Lt. Murphy jumped from the Hybrid’s ramp and approached the group of strange mechs. She raised her hands in peace and slowly walked forward.

“I’m Lieutenant Nancy Murphy, leader of the Special Ops team for the-,” she started.

“I know who you are, Lieutenant,” Shiner said as he raised his cockpit. “We have met before. I am here to help.”

“You got me at a loss,” Lt. Murphy responded, not recognizing the BC form inside the mech cockpit. She looked from mech to mech and shook her head. “You’re gonna have to help me out here.”

“We fought side by side as Capreze took the Stronghold,” Shiner responded. “I am Shiner. I was the AI that was with Mech Pilot Mathew Jespers. Remember?”

Lt. Murphy cocked her head and watched Shiner for a moment. “Weren’t you blown up? Coming back from the dead a new thing for mechs now?”

“My CPU was ejected and retrieved by a team of Canadian operatives,” Shiner said. “I have been reborn in this biochrome form. So, yes, in my case, mechs can come back from the dead.”

“Canadian operatives?” Lt. Murphy asked, hooking her thumb over her shoulder. “Just tangled with some Canadians. Not sure telling me that puts me at ease.”

“Yes,” Shiner nodded. “Intentions were hidden by some. Just as with all governments, the true colors are never shown until it is too late.”

The other mechs shifted from foot to foot, their focus obviously on the Cans that were heading their way.

“There are life forms pulling a sled with two humans on it,” Awl Good said. “Should I go crush them?”

Shiner turned his attention to the far off mag-sled that was coming at them. He adjusted his sensors and would have smiled if he could have. “No, Awl,” Shiner said. “That is Mech Pilot Harlow. She appears to have been rescued by Engineer Campbell. I am pleased to see Engineer Campbell alive.” He looked back at Lt. Murphy. “Not all Canadians have proven to be treacherous.”

“Yeah,” Lt. Murphy agreed. “We have a wounded Commander LaFrance in the Hybrid. I guess he’ll be glad to see you.”

“As I him,” Shiner said. “But reunions will have to wait. There is a threat approaching and it cannot be put off.”

“Can we go kill something now?” Thunk asked. “Standing is stupid.”

“No more talking, Shiner,” Hollow Eye said. “Time for action.”

“Been waiting for this,” Bad Shell said. “Were wasting fighting time.”

“Lt. Murphy, I would advise you wait here until Pilot Harlow and Engineer Campbell arrive,” Shiner suggested. “Then get moving as fast as possible back to the Stronghold. You will be needed there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lt. Murphy said. “Good to see you again, Shiner. Dig the new body.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Shiner said as he started to close his cockpit. “We will catch up later as soon as the Cans have been put down.”

Without another word the mechs stomped past Lt. Murphy and the Hybrid and started to run towards the oncoming Cans, weapons hot.

***

CMP Esther watched as the new mechs took the field. Her scanner showed that they were old metal and armaments were basic. And that they didn’t have human pilots. She shot the scan to the other CMPs and watched as the acknowledgments came in. Even with the superior BC, there were only twenty-two Cans left. She messaged for ten to move forward and engage the new mechs, sure that the tech at their disposal would wipe out the antiquated machines.

And positive that human abilities would easily overpower the AIs any day.

***

“Fools,” Hollow Eye stated. “They send only half their numbers at us? Why even fight.”

“Half of their numbers are twice ours,” Awl Good said. “They may not be foolish. Should we call in the minis?”

“I believe we can easily each take two of the Cans,” Shiner said. “In fact I believe Hollow Eye, Bad Shell and I should take lead. We will disable and destroy while Awl Good and Thunk clean up and make sure the BC doesn’t reform.”

“I don’t want to be the garbage mech,” Thunk said. “I want to crush.”

“You’ll get to crush,” Hollow Eye explained. “You’ll get to crush every last bit of these intruders.”

“Intruders?” Awl Good asked. “Where they intruding?”

“The wasteland,” Hollow Eye said. “It belongs to real mechs. Not shiny abominations that come from the north.”

“I believe we have to get past the thoughts that the wasteland only belongs to one set,” Shiner said. “It is a varied space filled with many different types of survivors and cultures. All have their place.”

The other mechs were silent for a moment.

“As long as I get to crush,” Thunk finally said.

***

The Cans split into two groups, five going left, five going right. Coming at them from two sides, the CMPs figured the mechs would have a hard time keeping the fight up. Mini-cannons raised and RPGs ready, the Cans attacked without hesitation.

Hollow Eye juked right then came up hard to the left, his right fist slamming into the first Can, cracking BC and sending the machine flying back past the others. Without missing a step, Hollow Eye used his momentum to spin about and jam his left elbow into the cockpit of the next Can. He grabbed the Can as it stumbled and tossed it towards Thunk.

Thunk timed his hit just right and when the Can was close enough he leapt into the air and then came down hard with both fists, driving the Can into wasteland dirt. Awl Good was right behind him, his massive drill spinning and screeching. The tip pierced the fallen Can and Awl Good pressed down with all his weight, shredding BC, sending it flying in all directions.

The CMP inside screamed as the drill ripped her to shreds. Blood sprayed from the cockpit and splattered everything within ten yards. Awl Good pulled back and looked for the next victim, completely unaffected by the gore that covered him.

Shiner tucked and rolled, firing his mini-guns at full speed as he strafed the legs of two Cans that rushed him. He knew the bullets would only slow them down, not really harm them as the BC self repaired. But slowing down was all he wanted. It gave him time to move in close and grip both Cans with his mech. He lifted his cockpit hatch and disengaged from his mech. Leaping into the air he landed on the hatch of one of the Cans and punched a hole straight through.

The CMP inside screamed as Shiner yanked him from his harness and tossed him to the ground below. A soft thud could barely be heard as Shiner took control of the Can. He worked his BC skills and the mech started to morph and change for him, turning into the form he had preferred when he trained in Canada.

The second CMP saw what was happening and blasted the mech arm apart that had held him in place. Shiner’s old mech fell to the ground in a crash of rust and metal. The CMP turned his mech and tried to flee; tried to put space between himself and Shiner. But he was too slow.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

“Run,” the message said.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More smash?” Thunk asked.

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

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

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

Forty-Eight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it wasn’t enough.

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

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

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

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

“Stomper?”

“Yes, Pilot Masters?”

“Fuck off.”

“That was rude.”

“Don’t give a fuck.”

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

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

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

“You got a better idea?” Masters asked.

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

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

“Alright,” Stomper said and took aim.

***

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

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

“But, JP-.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Masters sat inside the mech and frowned.

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

***

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

“I should be out there,” Capreze said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you be more specific?” Capreze asked.

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

“How is that possible?” Capreze asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holo, Commander,” Styles corrected.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“I will never-!”

“Nine!”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Eight!”

“I am a man of God!”

“Seven!”

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

“Six!”

“The Disciples cannot be held back!”

“Five!”

“Their day will come!”

“Four!”

“And the righteous will rise!”

“Three!”

“Damn you, Capreze!”

“Two!”

“You will rot in Hell for this.”

“One!”

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

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

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

The com was silent from all ends.

“What?” Capreze finally asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then finish.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

“What now?” Talaria asked.

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

Forty-Nine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But the other mechs-.”

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

***

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

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

“Quite,” Mr. Brown Eyes agreed.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“Yes, sir,” the trooper nodded.

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

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

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

“Kill on sight?”

“But of course.”

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, it is,” Stone replied.

“Why would we follow that?”

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

“Yeah,” Mathew replied. “Mech Pilot Mathew Jespers. Where the fuck are we?”

“On the run,” Melissa said as she checked the rear vid, enhanced it, and watched the other mag-skiff follow them a mile back. “And being pursued.”

Mathew squinted into the distance and could barely make out the skiff. What he could make out easily though was the plumes of smoke on the far off horizon.

“Where is everyone else?” he asked.

“Where do you think?” Melissa snapped. “Captured or killed. And I doubt the Three are taking prisoners, so that leaves the one option.”

“Jeezus,” Mathew swore and then looked down at Beth. “Holy fuck!”

“What?!” Melissa jumped, nearly sending them over the edge of the road.

“Sorry, but…,” Mathew shook his head. “It’s just that she looks so much like…”

“Rachel Capreze?” Melissa asked.

Mathew nearly spun right off the skiff as he turned. “Yes! But she’s… Colonel Masterson said…”

“Yeah, he was right,” Melissa replied. “Sorry. Nothing lived through the destruction of the generator.”

“Then how…?”

“That’s not Rachel,” Melissa said.

“Yeah, I know that. She’s way too young. But who is she?”

“Beth Laughlin,” Melissa replied. “The Vessel.”

“Oh,” Mathew said. “The clone.”

“Yep,” Melissa said. “But she’s more than just that. Beth is her own person. She just looks like Rachel.”

“Yeah. Right,” Mathew nodded. “Just so weird.”

“That’s Beth,” Melissa smiled. She glanced back at Mathew and patted the empty seat next to her. “Get your ass up here if you can. I don’t want to fucking talk over my shoulder.”

Mathew winced as he climbed into the passenger seat. He looked Melissa up and down and frowned. “How old are you?”

“Fucking old enough to save your ass,” she replied. Mathew waited. “Seventeen. No, wait, eighteen. Fuck. Forgot my own damn birthday.”

“And Beth?”

“Same, I guess, biologically,” Melissa replied. “But only about four years old physically.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mathew nodded. “Clone.”

“Homegrown,” Melissa said.

Mathew watched the mountain road for a while then studied the rear vid. “They’re getting closer.”

“I know.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Fuck if I know. This is your wasteland. You fucking tell me.”

Mathew tapped his com twice then once then twice.

“This is Jethro.”

“We still open channel?”

“Matty? Holy fuck, man! You’re alive!” Jethro exclaimed. “Channel is closed again. The Mayor must have gotten bored with all the sharing.”

“I’m sure he’s still listening,” Mathew replied.

“You know he is,” Jethro said. “Where the fuck are you, man? I saw that you and Rache got the shield down. Great job! You on your way back?”

“Rachel is dead,” Mathew replied quickly before he choked on the words. “So is Themopolous.”

“And everyone else,” Melissa added as she found the com channel. “The Americans are toast on the beach. The Three has landed and are heading this way.”

“Jeezus fuck,” Jethro swore. “Dead? Everyone?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” Mathew responded quietly.

“No, man, no,” Jethro said. “Fuck.”

“Listen, Jethro,” Mathew continued. “We have a tail on us-.”

“Who’s us?” Jethro asked.

“American Ghost Melissa Bretton and the Vessel Beth Laughlin,” Melissa responded. “And there is a mag-skiff pursuing us.”

“A what?” Jethro asked.

“A fucking mag-skiff, dipshit,” Melissa responded.

“It’s like an ATV and a car mixed,” Mathew explained. “Although this one is kinda funky.”

“Had to make it myself,” Melissa said. “Vehicles were my dead uncle’s thing. I’m more into body armor.”

“Ok, so just the one mag-skiff?” Jethro asked.

“Yeah, but there will be more,” Melissa said. “Lots more. You wouldn’t happen to have any backup in the area, would you?”

“Not even close,” Jethro replied. “We are tied up here right now with a sea of deaders. Bisby, Harlow and Lt. Murphy’s team are on the way back with Marin and the Railers, but no where near you all.”

“The Rookie and Jenny?” Mathew asked.

“MIA for days,” Jethro said. “Not sure what’s up there.”

“I may be of service,” the Mayor interrupted.

“Dude, I knew you were listening,” Jethro said.

“I find your conversations fascinating, Mr. Jethro,” the Mayor replied.

“Ha, he called me mister,” Jethro chuckled.

“The person you refer to as the Rookie, but is now called by his given name of Dog, is riding towards the Stronghold as we speak,” the Mayor explained. “And his lovely woman, Jenny, is in the Railer train with her people, following close behind. Shall I patch you through?”

“Still no where close,” Jethro said. “Shoot me the com channel, Mayor ol’ pal. I’ll chat with the Rookie.”

“Dog.”

“No fucking way I’m calling him that.”

“That’s his name.”

“Still not happening,” Jethro insisted. “I’ll catch up with him soon. Right now I need to figure out how to get you folks back here.”

“May I suggest the new flying machines?” the Mayor asked. “That would seem to be the logical step.”

“Fucking duh!” Jethro shouted. “I keep forgetting about those things. You go your whole life without aircraft and it’s kinda a hard thing to remember.”

“Aircraft?” Mathew asked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Yeah, what are you talking about?” Melissa asked. “There was only one aircraft in the world and it was destroyed. Who else is building them?”

“Apparently the Brazilians,” Jethro said. “And they cloned a shit ton of crazy cowboy pilots.”

Melissa slammed on the brakes and the skiff skidded sideways. “What the fuck? Cloned cowboys? Are you fucking telling me Styles is in the wasteland?”

“You know the guy?” Jethro asked. “Yeah, he’s here. Along with about fifty copies of himself. They each have numbers. Styles 1 is in charge. He’s with Capreze now.”

“Get him on the com,” Melissa insisted.

‘They’re briefing-.”

“GET HIM ON THE COM!”

“Uh, ok, no need to shout,” Jethro said quietly. “He’s patched in.”

“Hello?” Styles voice came on the com. “Who am I speaking to?”

“Styles?” Melissa asked quietly. ‘This is Mel. Do you remember who I-?”

“Well I’ll be dipped in scab whore puss!” Styles shouted over the com. “Mel? Baby, you okay? Where the fuck are ya? I’ll come get ya right now.”

Melissa smiled through her tears and willed herself not to break down. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Sit tight, doll,” Styles said. “I’ll have that Jethro fella lock onto your com. Be there in an hour tops.”

“Thanks, Styles,” Melissa said as she leaned back in the seat. “Can’t wait to see you. How did…?”

“Plenty of time to chat when you’re aboard my BTT,” Styles said. “Just keep yourself safe, ok?”

“You bet,” Melissa said as she looked at the mag-skiff in the rear vid. “But hurry.”

“That’s all I know how to do,” Styles said. “Well, except for with the ladies. You know what I mean.”

Melissa laughed. “See you soon.”

Mathew turned around and watched the road behind them. “We making a stand or do we keep moving?”

“You up for a fight?”

“I’m barely up for a fart.”

“Nice one,” Melissa smiled as she wiped tears from her eyes. “Then we better keep moving. Styles will find us.”

***

“That’s an HAV on our ass, Stone,” Mr. Gein said. “Can we handle that?”

“You mean can I handle it?” Stone asked. “One HAV? Not a problem.”

“They’ll have heavy artillery.”

“I am well aware of what armaments the HAVs have, Gein,” Stone replied, annoyed. “And they still will not be a problem.”

“I can help,” Charlie grunted from the back of the mag-skiff. “Just free up my shock suit and I’ll take those fucks down.”

“Yes, then put a bullet between Mr. Gein’s eyes,” Stone said. “I don’t think that will be happening.”

“Why won’t he put one between your eyes, Stone?” Mr. Gein asked.

“Please,” Stone frowned. “I just said I’ll take care of the HAV. Do you think one wounded jack will stop me?” He shook his head back and forth. “Gein, you have to start paying attention. Get that gin fog out from between your ears.”

“I’m not wounded,” Charlie stated.

Stone spun about and socked Charlie in the face, sending him almost tumbling out of the mag-skiff.

“You are now, jack,” Stone grinned. “Anything else you aren’t that I can fix? Dead, perhaps?”

“Fuck you,” Charlie said as he wiped his bloody nose.

“Pull over,” Stone ordered and Mr. Gein didn’t even hesitate.

Stone stepped from the skiff and walked back down the road towards the HAV. He whistled absentmindedly as he studied the terrain and his surroundings. It only took a couple of minutes for the HAV to reach him.

***

“Sir?” a trooper asked over the com. “Reginald, sir?”

“What is it?” Reginald asked as he watched the mountains approach. And saw a small tendril of smoke far up the side of one.

“The advance HAV was destroyed, sir,” the trooper said. “They didn’t last a minute. We did get one image from them.”

“And?”

The vid screen in the front of the HAV lit up and Reginald stared at the face of a man he would have called friend in another life.

But that was another life.

Fifty

The ground was shifting shale and protruding rock, but the Great Maker knew it well. He knew every square inch around the Stronghold. His youth, from what he could remember, had been spent running the corridors of the buried fortress. He’d spent hours and hours learning the catacomb like twists and turns that lead to even more twists and turns. The memories of the layout were etched in his cyborg brain.

The memories of the people he had known had been erased long ago.

In a hidden outcropping, the Great Maker found what he was looking for. He disengaged from his arachnimech and walked stiffly to the concealed hatch. It took some effort, but he finally was able to pry it free. He wiggled himself through the small opening and rolled into the darkness, letting the hatch shut behind him.

He waited for his eyes to adjust, which due to their mechanical nature only took a second, and then crawled his way deeper into the Stronghold. He had a specific destination in mind and he had very little time to get there. Letting Capreze get the upper hand with the Pope was not an option for the Great Maker. He wasn’t going to let the blasphemers gain control of the wasteland again.

His cyborg body moved forward, gears whirring quietly, metal braces clacking on concrete, and headed in the direction of the Stronghold’s mainframe.

***

“You will not harm them,” the Pope sated. “That is only one of my conditions.”

The two men faced each other. The Pope had a few hundred thousand deaders, and several Rancher transports, behind him. Capreze had Stomper, Masters in a new mech, the Railers, and Jay in his mech, behind him.

Neither man was willing to give ground, but both were experienced enough leaders to know that ground had to be given or they would all fail. They just had to work out who would give that ground first.

“You can’t be serious?” Masters laughed. “No way we can have that many deaders wandering around!”

“Quiet, Mitch,” Capreze ordered calmly. Masters shut his mouth, but kept shaking his head in disbelief. “I can agree to that, Pope. You lend your forces to our fight and I will guarantee that your Disciples will not be harmed by any of my people.”

The Pope smiled at Capreze’s use of the proper term for the undead. “Harmed by no one,” the Pope pushed. “If the Disciples are to go to war against the other things out there then those that survive are afforded the same rights in the wasteland as the living.”

Many of the Railers swore and spat as they held their carbines. Masters nearly jumped his mech at the Pope, but Jay grabbed his machine and held him back.

“Chill the fuck out, Masters,” Jay growled over the com. “Don’t you blow this, asshole.”

“I don’t know if that is possible,” Capreze responded to the Pope. “Whatever your beliefs are, you are welcome to them, but the undead are a danger to the living. I don’t think protecting them is in my personal best interest, let alone those I have sworn to protect at all costs.”

“Might I interrupt?” the Mayor asked over the com.

“Can I stop you?” Capreze asked.

“Not likely,” the Mayor chuckled. “I believe a compromise is easily attainable. JP, you just want your Disciples the chance to be free and roam as they please, correct?”

“Without being hunted and killed,” the Pope replied. “Yes.”

“Fair enough,” the Mayor said. “And Commander Capreze you want the wasteland to be safe so that people, the living, can be free to thrive and live in peace without the worry of being torn apart, correct?”

“That’s what any sane person would want,” Capreze replied. The Pope smiled at the jab.

“Excellent,” the Mayor said. “Then this is what I propose: when the fighting is over, and Lord willing we all survive, we will create a wasteland tribunal made up of representatives of the many different factions that inhabit this desolate landscape. That tribunal will be responsible for creating a framework for basic laws and codes that will apply to the living and the undead. If the living attack the undead without provocation then they will be brought to justice. If the undead attack the living without provocation, and hunger doesn’t count, then they will be brought to justice. How does that sound?”

“Like a bunch of fucking crazy talk,” Masters mumbled.

“Oh, I have to agree with you there, Pilot Masters,” the Mayor chuckled. “But such is the nature of the wasteland. Insane or not, it is what we have been given and what we have to make do with. Gentlemen?”

“I’m open to working that out,” Capreze replied.

“As am I,” the Pope nodded. “As long as no harm comes to the Disciples during the interim.”

“I can live with that,” Capreze said. “As long as no harm comes to the living. My people won’t go hunting if your Disciples don’t either.”

The Pope thought for a moment then nodded. The two men watched each other.

“It is customary to shake hands after an agreement,” the Mayor said.

“I am not comfortable with your level of surveillance,” the Pope said as he extended his hand. “That will have to be part of what the tribunal works out.”

“I agree 100% with that,” Capreze said as he took the Pope’s hand and shook it. “But until then we have a war to fight. I’ll need your best people inside for the briefing. As long as you can spare them and still keep the undead under control.”

The Pope gave a long whistle that built in pitch until it couldn’t be heard again. The mass of deaders stiffened then dropped to the ground as one. They sat, crouched, lay in silent stillness.

“And I never thought the fucking creep factor could get higher in the waste,” Masters said. “I was wrong.”

***

His legs went out from underneath him and he collapsed onto his office floor. “Why are you just telling me now?”

“You were in the middle of negotiating with the Pope,” Jethro replied. “That involves the survival of everyone. I thought it best to wait.”

“Jeezus…,” Capreze gasped. “Oh fuck. This…this can’t be real.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Jethro said. “I have Matty on the com. Should I put him through?”

“Yes, please,” Capreze said weakly. “Give us a moment.”

“Yeah, sure.”

The com squawked briefly then Mathew was talking a mile a minute.

“Slow down, Jespers,” Capreze ordered. “Start from the beginning.”

Mathew did.

Capreze felt sick. He’d dealt with a lot of loss in life, it was the nature of being a mech base commander, but to lose Rachel? He didn’t know if he could survive that.

“I…I have other news,” Mathew said. “Beth Laughlin is with us. She’s the clone.”

“The clone…,” Capreze repeated quietly.

“Of…Rachel, sir,” Mathew said. “She looks just like her. It’s…freaking me out.”

“And she’s coming here,” Capreze stated.

“Yes, sir,” Mathew said.

“Com me when you are aboard Captain Styles’s aircraft,” Capreze ordered, trying to get his head back in the game. “It’ll be good to have you back here, Mathew.”

“Yes, sir,” Mathew replied. “It will be good to be back.”

“Fly safe,” Capreze chuckled hollowly. “Never thought I’d say that.”

“Never thought I’d hear it

***

“Is he injured badly?” June asked Harlow.

“Just his stupid pride,” Harlow replied over the com from the Railer train. “And he won’t stop bitching.”

“Sounds like he’s fine then,” June laughed. The laugh died quickly though. “Listen, I don’t know if you’ve heard yet or not.”

“Heard what?” Harlow asked. “Is Mitch alright?”

“I knew you still cared,” June said.

“Of course I care,” Harlow responded. “I love the asshole. He just needs to man up. He’s not listening, is he?”

“No,” June replied. “I’m pretty sure he’s taking a nap.”

“Of course he is,” Harlow snorted. “So what’s the news then?”

“Rachel and Themopolous didn’t make it,” June said.

“Oh fuck,” Harlow whispered. “How? What happened?”

“I don’t know all the details. Matty is on his way back with two Americans. Captain Styles is picking them up.”

“Wait, what?” Harlow asked. “Who’s picking them up? In what?”

“We have aircraft on our side,” June said. “It’s mindblowing.”

“Aircraft? How is that possible? I thought aircraft couldn’t work in the wasteland because of the thermals and waste storms.”

“With the shield down that changes the thermal issue,” June explained. “And it sounds like most of that was bullshit anyway. The UDC’s complicity with the outside world to keep movement of the population under control. Easier to maintain quarantines and also to lock down borders.”

“Makes sense,” Harlow said. “Not surprised.” Harlow was silent for a minute. “So does that make you Chief Medical Officer?”

“Temporary and by default only,” June said. “I defer the major stuff to the Railer medics, but Capreze has said I’m in charge of the infirmary and make the last calls.”

“Wow.”

“No, shit,” June sighed. “So what’s your ETA?”

“We’ll be there by morning,” Harlow said. “In time for another beautiful day in the wasteland.”

“See you then.”

“Yeah, you too.”

***

“We have com again,” Marcus said as Jenny watched the wasteland pass by her cabin window. “Want me to patch you through to Capreze?”

“Yeah,” Jenny said. “Please.”

“Done,” Marcus responded as he tapped at his tablet. “Let me know what you need from me. Sun’s about to set and we’ll have topside gunners watching the waste. Don’t need a night ambush.”

“No, we don’t,” Jenny nodded. “Thanks, Marcus.”

Marcus smiled and shut the cabin door as he left.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Capreze asked. “I know you went deep, but this lack of communication is not acceptable.”

“What’s wrong?” Jenny asked, hearing the pain in Capreze’s voice. “What happened?”

“I can’t talk about it right now,” Capreze said. “You’ll be filled in when you get here. What’s your ETA?”

“Dawn,” Jenny said. “Dog may be there sooner. The Cyces have more maneuverability. He’s cutting across terrain we can’t.”

“Dog? Cyces? What the fuck is that all about, Timmons?”

Jenny filled in the commander about her last couple of days.

“That matches what the Mayor told me,” Capreze said. “Ok. I can deal with that.” He was quiet for a minute. “How are you holding up?”

“Sir?” Jenny asked.

“How are you doing? You up for what’s ahead? I’m going to need a strong leader with the Railers. Marin is good, but she’s a mechanic at heart. I’ll need her in the hangar with Jay. You’ll have to be on the front lines with your people.”

“I know that, sir,” Jenny replied. “And I’m ready. My dad trained me for this. I’ll hold up and do him proud.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Capreze responded, a slight hitch in his voice. “Get some sleep. We go to war first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” Jenny replied. “Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight.”

Fifty-One

The night fell from the east across the wasteland; a shroud of blackness that covered the damaged land and its people. For those that took the time to look up they would have seen a brightness, a shimmer, to the stars like they’d never seen before. The shield gone, the air was moving in ways it hadn’t for generations. Clouds began to form slowly in patches, gaining momentum, combining into fronts that were only known in stories.

The wasteland was breathing again.

And so were the inhabitants.

Survivors across the land took deep breaths of air that no longer tasted of only dust and decay. They sucked in the raw air, unchanged by shield filtration and ionization, and remarked to each other how it tasted different. Those that were isolated, cut off from the events that unfolded, couldn’t put their finger on it, couldn’t explain it, but they knew something had changed. The physiological fog of the wasteland lifted and many began having thoughts like they never had had before.

Hope.

The change wasn’t as dramatic for all. Many were too occupied with basic survival to stop and take stock of what their bodies were noticing. But their subconscious minds, the part of them that connected directly to the land, knew. And that knowledge worked its way into their beings.

As the night rolled across the land, everything was transformed. Nothing was left untouched. For better or worse, the wasteland would never be the same.

***

Dog’s tinted faceplate kept the last rays of the sunset from blinding him then switched to night mode, turning the wasteland before him into an illuminated vision of green and white and shadows. Various readings popped up, showing him the temperatures of different areas; whether there was movement or not; the general location of the other riders that surrounded him; and much more data that he really didn’t care about.

All Dog cared about was getting to the Stronghold and getting ready to kill some deaders. The Mayor had informed him of what was marching across the wasteland towards the Stronghold. And Jenny had let him know about Rachel and Themopolous.

The fact that thousands of armed, and apparently self-aware and cognitive, deaders were coming at them wasn’t what bothered him. That he could handle on any day of the week. Life in the wasteland was always one big fucking fight after the next.

But Rachel had been is his mentor when he’d first arrived at the mech base as the Rookie. Her gone hit him hard and he struggled to swallow the pain, to push it down deep into that place where he kept his rage. He knew it would fuel him as he fought, but he wasn’t a total idiot. He’d feel it later.

If he survived.

And he had no intention of doing anything but.

***

Jay slammed his spanwrench against the wall, his face red, his body tense with rage. “Are you all fucking stupid? Don’t answer that! Because the fucking answer is yes! Bunch of fucking Railer morons! What did I say? Huh? What did I fucking say? I said to get all of the mechs prepped, not just one for each pilot! If they need a backup I want it ready! I want it already loaded on a fucking train car and speeding towards battle! You! Yes, YOU! Why are you washing that mech? WHY?! Do you think that will increase performance? Are you trying to blind the enemy with a shiny exoskeleton? WHAT THE FUCK COULD BE GOING THROUGH YOUR MIND?! And you! Don’t think I didn’t see you take that fucking twenty minute nap! If I didn’t need every pair of hands I’d walk you out to that mass of deaders out there and feed you to them! I bet they’re real hungry right now! Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I don’t give a shit if you have to shit! Did I say it was potty break time? You’ll shit in your pants until we get this fucking work done!”

***

June lay in the semi-dark of the infirmary, tucked in a corner on one of the cots. She stared at the small shadows on the ceiling, her hand absently stroking her growing belly. She glanced at the cot next to her and the sleeping form of Stan. She wondered how he’d react to a new baby. He wasn’t hers biologically, but he hadn’t left her side since escaping the Boiler village and she knew he thought of her as more than just a surrogate mother.

She loved the boy and would do anything to keep him safe. But the day that loomed wasn’t about her, it wasn’t about Stan, it wasn’t about any single person in the Stronghold.

It was about everyone in the wasteland. And, if what she’d been told was right, it was about every one else in the world.

June had to put personal fears and insecurities aside. She had to step up and be who everyone needed. She would be the first line to keeping people alive once the chaos and violence started. In her youth, hell, just a few months ago, she would have shied away from the pressure. All she cared about then was stealing Matty from Rachel.

Rachel.

That hurt.

They had patched things up and June knew that Matty was Rachel’s and never would be hers. But now Rachel was gone… Did she dare let her mind drift that way? Did she even have a chance to think that Matty could see her as something other than a comrade in arms?

She didn’t kid herself. That part of her life was over. She had Stan to worry about and a baby on the way. A baby conceived by rape in a time of terror and violence in her life.

No, it wasn’t about her. Not anymore. And possibly never again.

***

As she absently stroked Beth’s sweaty forehead, Melissa glanced up and caught Mathew watching her.

“What?” she asked as she leaned back in one of the oversized seats in the BTT. Styles was in the cockpit, door wide open, singing some tune at the top of his lungs as he flew them back to the Stronghold. “Say it if you got something to say.”

“What’s she like?” Mathew asked. “Beth.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know.”

“To see if she’s like your Rachel?” Melissa regretted the words as she saw the pain flash across Mathew’s face.

“Yeah,” Mathew replied. “I just…I just want to know.”

Melissa eyed him for a moment, unsure of what to tell him. He had a perception in his head that she doubted would match who Beth was. It had taken Melissa months, and more than a few near death experiences, to really get to know Beth. How could she explain that to a total stranger?

“She’s sweet,” Melissa started. “But she’ll rip your face off if she has to.” Mathew smiled. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Keep going.”

“Well, she cares,” Melissa continued. “She cares a lot. Probably too much. She’s beyond loyal, even when I was being a total twat. She can fight like a motherfucker. That girl has gifts with BC like you’ve never seen. Uh, well I guess you haven’t seen any at all.”

“I watched you tweak that skiff. Like that?”

“Sorta,” Melissa said. “Except Beth can do it with her mind without touching it. It’s like she’s connected to BC on a psychic level.”

“Technopathy,” Mathew said and nodded for her to go on.

“Yeah, that.” Melissa looked down at Beth. “She’s so sad, though.”

“Like how?”

“Like she knows she doesn’t belong. Like she has a secret in her that she can never share. I don’t know. She’s always been that way. It’s as if she’s resigned to die at any moment. And she knows that no matter how much she lives, how much energy she pours into living, it’s all for nothing.”

“You love her, don’t you?” Mathew asked.

“Don’t get pervy,” Melissa snapped.

“And don’t get all defensive,” Mathew returned. “You love her like family is what I meant. Like blood.”

“Yeah,” Melissa answered without even thinking about it. “That’s because she is family.”

“I get that,” Mathew yawned. “Thanks for telling me everything.”

“Is she like your Rachel?”

“Maybe,” Mathew shrugged. “A little. But I’m sure she’s totally her own person. Genes don’t make who you are. Your life does.” He yawned again. “And your family.”

Melissa watched Mathew close his eyes, but she could tell he wasn’t sleeping. With all he’d been through she doubted he’d sleep for a long time.

And she was right there with him.

***

The race began as soon as the mag-skiff had reached the summit of the overgrown pass. Stone didn’t have any illusions that the skiff could outrun the HAVs that pursued them. By the look on Gein’s face as it was illuminated by the dashboard lights, Stone could see the man didn’t have any illusions either.

“We’ve got a twenty minute lead,” Mr. Gein said as he checked sensors and readings. “We run into any interference at all and they’ll rip us apart.”

“Pretty fucking clear on that,” Stone responded. “But nothing we can do.”

“Would have been nice to have one of those BTTs pick us up like they did the jacks,” Mr. Gein stated.

“Again with the fucking obvious,” Stone stated. “So glad I keep you around, Gein. It’s like having a mental parrot.”

“Fuck you, Stone,” Mr. Gein replied lazily, tired of always saying it. “You want to go it on your own then put a goddamn bullet in my head and toss me out of this skiff.”

“No, you don’t get off that easy,” Stone replied. “You see this through to the end with me.”

“And where do you see that end being, Stone?”

“Not a fucking clue, Gein. Not a fucking clue.”

***

The mini-mechs sat upon the Railer cars, their bodies magnetically secured as the train sped across the wasteland.

Shiner, out of his mech, paced back and forth on top of a car, his eyes scanning the far distance, waiting for the first signs of the Stronghold.

“They will not be on sensors for hours,” Bad Shell said from atop a different car. Each of the mechs had secured themselves to a Railer car, saving energy and taking advantage of the speed of the train. “Stop that pacing before I crush you.”

“You cannot,” Shiner replied, but stopped and stood still. “I just reform.”

“Nice trick,” Awl Good said as the mech reluctantly let several Railer mechanics check him over. “We get a chance and I want an upgrade like that.”

“Blasphemer,” Hollow Eye said. “You shame yourself.”

“Don’t think so,” Awl Good said, pointing in the direction they were headed. A Railer that had been working on his arm hydraulics clung tightly to a strut as he dangled two stories in the air over the speeding ground. “If the com chatter was right then that Pope man believes those are the Chosen before God. If that’s true then what is the Great Maker? What are we?”

“Not for us to think about,” Hollow Eye stated. “We are just His servants.”

“Too much thinking,” Thunk added to the conversation.

“Very true,” Hollow Eye agreed.

“No,” Thunk explained. “You all do too much thinking. We are mechs. We fight. That is what we do. Anything else is pointless.”

The mechs all observed him carefully. It was the deepest comment Thunk had every said.

“We are more than just mechs made for fighting,” Hollow Eye responded. “The Great Maker has said-.”

“Fah,” Thunk grunted as he turned away. “Too much thinking.”

Shiner nodded, understanding what Thunk had meant, but not agreeing with it. He didn’t agree with Hollow Eye either and wondered if that was what humans dealt with: too much thinking, too many opinions. He went back to pacing and waiting. And thinking.

***

On top of his transport, miles away in the darkness outside the work lights of the Stronghold, the Pope grinned at the mechs’ conversation, having had one of his techs hack their com channel. He had been curious about the thinking mechs ever since he’d met the Great Maker in person.

It amused him that machines had moral and intellectual crises. He found it more than academically interesting that they could reason on such a high level and deal with existential issues that even the Pope doubted many of his Brothers and Sisters dealt with. He had to wonder if maybe there was room in God’s plan for more than just the Disciples. Maybe God had intended for all non-living in the wasteland to be saved.

That thought brought him comfort, for he wondered what his place would be once the allied forces of Capreze and the Disciples defeated the Three’s army (which he had no doubt they would do). Perhaps his next mission was to bring in the metal. Perhaps his next mission was to find more lost metal and teach them the way of God.

Perhaps.

He let his mind wander, occasionally coming back to that thought, but mostly just exploring any random idea that came into his head. He found that to be very meditative, the opening of the mind, the free flow of his synapses. And since he knew he would not sleep that night, he resigned himself to the little bit of rest his wandering mind allowed.

***

Masters winced as he sipped the crap coffee he had just made. Others in the Stronghold’s cafeteria did the same, but kept their complaints mainly silent for fear of pissing off the obviously upset mech pilot. While Masters certainly wasn’t a grouchy asshole like Bisby, or a deadly threat like Harlow, he was still a mech pilot and no one in their right mind took that for granted.

He punished himself again with another sip and then another, ignoring the scalding of his tongue. He wanted –he needed- some other type of pain than what he felt in his heart. He’d known Rachel for years, even before she became a full fledged mech pilot. He remembered her running about the base as a teenager, always hanging out in the hangar, always insisting that one day she’d out pilot them all.

For once in his life, Masters didn’t have a joke or smart ass comment in his head. No internal mocking of one of the Railers or of Bisby’s occasional lack of basic hygiene. Masters had nothing in him except sorrow.

The year hadn’t been his best.

He’d nearly gotten everyone killed when he had blown Dr. Johnson’s brains out, setting off a self-destruct sequence in the Stronghold. He’d been lucky that Jethro had stopped it. Of course, he had been semi-suicidal because he thought Harlow was dead. Which, as it turned out, she wasn’t.

When Harlow had found out he’d bailed on his fellow pilots and left them to be destroyed, she’d shunned him. For months. She still didn’t really talk to him.

And to add insult to injury Capreze had benched him. No mech piloting. At least until earlier in the day. And that hadn’t worked out so well. He could still hear Jay yelling at him for letting the Tumbler get destroyed.

He didn’t feel too much like Mitch Mother Fucking Masters. He felt more like Mitch Useless Fucktard Masters.

He sipped more coffee and winced again.

***

Harlow and Bisby sat in silence as the Railer train zoomed through the night. No one had bothered them since the news of Rachel and Themopolous had been broadcast. Marin had given strict orders that all Railers let them be. She knew how explosive the situation could become.

Grief was a deadly fire that could burn out of control quickly.

The two mech pilots said nothing to each other. They didn’t need to. Each was lost in their own thoughts about the people lost.

Harlow tried to bring up happy memories of Rachel. She thought of the times she’d spent with Rachel and how they’d bonded over both being in love with mech pilots. It wasn’t easy for a woman in the wasteland and it wasn’t easy for a mech pilot. Combine the two and it was a recipe for a long lonely life. Rachel had known how lucky they had been to find their men when they did.

That brought up other feelings and regrets and Harlow had to shove those aside. No time for self-pity. Friends had died and it was possible more would die soon. She had to push her conflict with Masters down deep.

Bisby, on the other hand, thought only about revenge. He had been Rachel’s mentor, teaching her everything he knew about being a mech pilot. They had spent long hours out in the wasteland on target practice and sparring. He’d showed her the physics of a mech, how it wasn’t the same as a person. He taught her to use the momentum of the massive battle machines as a weapon in and of itself.

He gave her all the knowledge he had. Even though she wasn’t his daughter, Bisby had considered Rachel his legacy. And in a flash that was gone. The future was gone.

Harlow and Bisby’s eyes met for a second, but still neither of them spoke.

***

Further down the Railer train, Campbell and LaFrance sat in a double cabin, the sled dogs quietly sleeping at their feet. Their mourning was for the lives they watched snuffed out by people they had believed to be friends and partners.  Neither of them knew what lay in store for them or their country.

If the American’s and the people of the wasteland were able to fight back the Three’s forces, and defeat the Canadian mechs and troops, then what? Would an invasion of Canada be next? What about all the people that weren’t military? That weren’t a part of the Council’s deception?

LaFrance and Campbell both knew a lot of innocent blood would be spilt if things weren’t handled properly.

But who would do the handling?

***

With the Three’s forces, led by Reginald, miles and miles ahead, Ms. Isely stepped from the water skiff to the Monterey beach. The moonlight reflected about her, casting strange shadows on the wreckage of the day’s battle. She made her way slowly through the debris to a command tent set up by a set of small dunes nestled between two large rock formations.

“Mum,” a guard nodded as she slipped into the tent.

The Three all stopped talking and motioned for her to take a seat.

“Ms. Isely,” Mr. Plain nodded. “A nice surprise.”

“I would think your ship would be a more secure location,” Ms. Isely said as she looked at the thin material of the tent.

“Oh, please, Ms. Isely,” Mr. Continental said, noticing where her attention lay. “This tent is more secure than you think. We wouldn’t willingly put ourselves in harm way.”

“But to dine in the wasteland on the eve of our total victory is just something we couldn’t pass up,” Mr. Brown Eyes stated. “You can understand, I’m sure.”

“There is a lot of ground to cover before victory, gentlemen,” Ms. Isely said. “You may be getting ahead of yourselves.”

“Your lack of confidence is troubling,” Mr. Plain noted.

“I can assure you all that confidence is never something I lack,” Ms. Isely replied. “Neither is justified caution.”

The Three watched her then Mr. Brown Eyes nodded. “Well then join us for a drink and maybe some of that caution will rub off.”

“Maybe,” Ms. Isely said as a guard brought her a gin and tonic. “Let’s hope it does.”

***

The maintenance tunnel was dank and wet, just as it had always been. The Great Maker proceeded along, careful of the slick flooring beneath his feet. He found the hatch he had been looking for and quickly undid the bolts. He set the hatch plate aside and peered into the cramped space beyond.

He slowly lifted himself inside then reached out and lifted up the hatch plate. He carefully set it in place and then warped the metal just enough to wedge the plate into the hatch opening. Unless someone happened to come by and do a thorough inspection of the tunnel and the hatch itself, the Great Maker expected no one to know he was in the Stronghold. And where he was going.

***

“Get some sleep,” Talaria said as the Mayor watched the wall of vid screens. “You’re going to overload that mind of yours. You’ll be useless tomorrow.”

“I won’t be able to sleep,” the Mayor said. “I’m better use here.”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him from his seat. “You are of no use here. Not right now. You listen to me, Young. Go get some rest or I’ll knock you on your ass and carry you to bed.”

The Mayor grabbed her up and kissed her hard. “I am not against that scenario.” He kissed her again and she cupped his ass, giving it a hard squeeze.

“Come on, old man,” Talaria said as she took him by his hand and led him out of the control room. “Let us find some happiness before the hell that will be coming.”

“Yes,” the Mayor smiled. “Let us.”

***

The nightmares didn’t come for Capreze as he thought they would.

Instead, all he saw in his dream was a stretch of wasteland before him and a far off figure walking away.

He knew that figure, he knew that walk, and he knew why she was walking away.

He didn’t break down in his dream and cry. He didn’t fall apart. Something in him knew it was just a dream and that any sorrow or grief he felt would just be empty. The real pain would be when he woke up.

“Hey, Papa Bear,” a voice said as it floated on the wind to his ears. “Don’t you worry. I’m coming home. Juts hang on, okay?”

“Okay, Baby Girl,” he whispered as he turned away from the fading figure. “Okay.”

Fifty-Two

The hangar was the only place everyone, including the new arrivals, could all meet together. And it was exactly where Capreze wanted everyone before he sent them off to what could easily be their last moments on Earth.

“We’ve got a lot of new faces here,” Capreze said as he looked about the hangar. “Some of you know the wasteland as well as anyone. Some of you have no idea what you are in for.”

He tried to catch the eye of everyone in the hangar, even the mechs that stood just outside in the wasteland dawn.

“But know that no matter who you are or where you came from, I am thankful you are here now,” Capreze continued. “When we first took this Stronghold I had sent out a broadcast to the entire wasteland. I had sent an invitation that those that wanted to join us could and those that wanted to oppose us would die.” Capreze paused and took a deep breath. “I was wrong.”

The mech pilots and Railers that had been there for that broadcast all looked confused and worried.

“It wasn’t my place to threaten anyone,” Capreze said. “I am not the judge or jury. I have no right to put myself up as the executioner of the wasteland. I am a mech base commander. That is my training, that is my calling, that is my job. Anything else and I’m stepping into dangerous waters.”

The Pope stood to the far side of the crowd and smiled. Capreze noticed him and nodded.

“That isn’t to say that I will let brutality and cruelty rule,” Capreze said. “I have no intention of just sitting by while the insane terrorize this land. While my duty has always been to protect the people of the wasteland against the undead, and let the humans be, the world has changed. In fact, we now know there actually is a world.”

A couple people laughed and Capreze took a hold of that and pressed forward.

“So this is my promise to you and everyone in the wasteland,” Capreze announced. “When we kick the ever loving shit out of the Three I have no intention of taking any type of leadership role, other than what I’m doing right now. I’ll keep the Stronghold in place in order to maintain the new ranks of mechs and pilots that will come forward. I will swear to protect the freedoms of all that live in the wasteland.” He swallowed hard and gave the Pope a stern look. “Even the deaders. When this is all said and done, it will be up to you, all of you, to decide how the wasteland shall be governed. And while I cannot take away all the danger the wasteland and the world present, I can assure you that I will do everything in my power to protect your rights to build something new from the rubble of society we struggle with. No more UDC, no more Three, no more Councils or Control or whatever the fuck else wants absolute power. This wasteland will be yours and you will be safe, secure and protected so that from the ashes can rise up a place to live that we can all agree with.”

The silence was thick, but Capreze knew it wasn’t empty.

“And that is all that I can tell you. Today will be hard. Many will die. But for all of you that fight today you can know that you are fighting for something. Not just survival. Not just for your slice of Hell. You are fighting for the future of us all and for generations to come. Because as fucking insane as this wasteland is, it’s our home, all of ours, and we won’t give it up for nothing.”

The hangar erupted in cheers and applause while Capreze just stood there and nodded.

“Now, I need key people to meet with me right now,” Capreze said as the hangar finally calmed down. “We have a war to win.”

***

The sea of deaders was beyond intimidating, but Dog had been assured that he could get through them unmolested. As soon as the cyces had appeared a whistle blew and a wide path was created for the riders of Eden. Slowly, cautiously, Dog and the others rode up to the Stronghold just as everyone was breaking up and heading to their duties.

“Damn,” Dog said as he got of his cyce and walked into the hangar. “What’d I miss?”

“There you are!” Jenny shouted as she sprinted at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What took so long?”

“Had to make sure we didn’t lose anyone,” Dog replied. “Had a few riders nod off back there and had to get them up and going. It’s not easy riding all night long. My ass hurts and I could use about ten hours of sleep.”

“I can’t help you on either of those,” Capreze said as he walked up and offered his hand. “Good to see you…Dog, is it?”

Dog shrugged. “That’s the name I was born with. Sucks ass, but it’s mine all mine.”

“Well, glad you could make it back,” Capreze grinned. “Come on, we were about to meet and get this ball rolling.”

“Sure thing, Commander,” Dog replied. “Let me get the riders squared away with Immy and Agnatha and I’ll be right there. Give me ten minutes?”

Capreze smiled at Dog’s tone of authority and nodded. “Ten will be fine. But don’t be longer.”

“Not planning on it,” Dig said. “Thank you, sir.”

Capreze nodded and walked off.

“Huh,” Dog said as he looked around the hangar at all of the different people that were hustling about. “This is different.”

“Isn’t it?” Jenny replied. “Ranchers, Railers, whatever the Eden people are, mechheads, the Styleses, even freaking thinking mechs. All together.”

“Not what we were expecting when we left on that train to go back to my village, huh?”

“Not at all,” Jenny replied as she squeezed Dog’s hand. “When this is all over are you still going back to Eden?”

“That depends,” Dog said.

“With what?”

“Well, with whether I’m alive or not,” Dog replied. “I get past that part and then I’ll know for sure.”

“You? Die?” Jenny laughed. “I don’t know if you can.”

“Don’t fucking jinx me!” Dog exclaimed. “Jeezus!”

“Oh, calm down,” she said as she kissed him. “You’ll live through this or I’ll kick your ass.”

“I bet you will.”

“Hey! Rookie!” Jay shouted as he walked over, not giving a shit whether he was interrupting or not.

“It’s Dog now,” Dog replied.

“Fuck you, kid,” Jay smirked. “I’ll call you Rookie for the rest of your miserable life. Fucking get used to it.”

“I guess I’ll just have to,” Dog grinned.

“Damn fucking right you will,” Jay said. “So what’s this I hear about you riding some fucking tricycle to war? You’re a goddamn mech pilot, kid! You telling me one of my mechs isn’t good enough for you anymore?”

“I would never say that,” Dog replied. “At least not to your face.”

“Ha ha, asshole.”

“But, yeah, I’m gonna be on a cyce when we move out,” Dog continued. “I have about three hundred crazy motherfuckers that will be looking to me to take the lead.”

Jay eyed him for a minute the shrugged. “Then I guess you better show me these cyces. I’m not gonna have you going out there with some piece of crap between your legs. You already got one of those!”

“You’re wrong there,” Jenny laughed.

“Ah, shit,” Jay frowned. “I don’t need to hear that. Come on, kid. Let’s make sure those two-wheeled freak shows have enough boom in them to make a difference in this fight.”

“Oh, they do, don’t worry,” Dog said as he followed Jay out of the hangar.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll decide that,” Jay replied.

***

“Clear me for duty,” Mathew snapped at June. “I’m not fucking around here!”

“And neither am I, Matty,” June said. “You nearly got your ass blasted apart out in Monterey. My job is to make sure you don’t get in a mech and do more harm than good. It’s not about you, it’s about the safety of everyone else around you.”

“Themopolous wouldn’t think of benching me,” Mathew argued. “We need every capable mech out there on that battlefield. You don’t clear me and how many people will die because I’m not there to back them up or protect them? Huh?”

“Problem?” Capreze asked as he stepped into the infirmary.

“Yeah,” Mathew growled. “June’s being a total cunt and won’t clear me for duty.”

“Hey!” June shouted as she slapped Mathew across the face.

Capreze raised his eyebrows as Mathew and June looked at each other, stunned.

“We done here?” Capreze asked. “Got that shit out of your system?” The two barely glanced at him. “Good. I know you are hurting, trust me, I know, but you two need to put whatever it is that’s going on behind you and get your heads straight. June? Clear him. Mathew? Apologize for being an asshole and go get prepped.”

“Fine,” June said as she checked off the clearance on her tablet. “He’s set to pilot.”

Mathew looked at her sheepishly. “Sorry for giving you a hard time.”

“It is what it is,” June said. “Now get the fuck out of here and go get yourself killed.”

“Gee, thanks,” Mathew said as he got off the exam table and started out of the infirmary.

Capreze grabbed him by the arm. “You’re being cleared because I need you. But if you don’t feel up to the challenge at any point then you hustle back here and work support. Got me?”

“Yes, sir,” Mathew nodded. “I got you.”

Capreze nodded back and let him go. Mathew hurried out of the infirmary to the hangar.

“What was that about?” Capreze asked. “You know we can’t spare a single pilot.”

“You can spare me,” June said.

“Is that what this is?” Capreze asked. “Are you pissed because you can’t get out there and fight?”

“No…yes,” June replied. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s all just so fucked up.”

“You have a job to do here,” Capreze said. “And with Themopolous gone I need you more than ever.”

“I’m not a doctor!” June yelled. “What can I do? I know a little more than basic first aid, for fuck’s sake!”

“True,” Capreze grinned. “There are Railers that have way more medical knowledge and skills than you. But I don’t trust a damn one of them to be in charge when the shit hits the fan. I need you to make sure that those with the right skills are in the right place at the right time. Understand?”

“So I’m administration? Great,” June frowned.

“You’re leadership!” Capreze barked. “And wipe that sulky look off your face! This is hard on everyone, got that? Suck it up!”

June took a deep breath, held it then nodded. “Okay. Fine.” She watched Capreze look about the infirmary. “She’s in iso room 3, sir. The American girl is in there with her.”

Capreze turned his attention on isolation room 3 and slowly walked forward.

***

“I…can do it…Papa Bear,” Beth mumbled just as Capreze walked into the isolation room.

“What did she just say?” Capreze asked, rushing to Beth’s bed.

Melissa jumped up from her chair and blocked Capreze. “She’s not your daughter! Back off!”

Capreze saw the dangerous look in Melissa’s eyes and took a step back. “I know that. I just wanted to know what she said.”

“I don’t know,” Melissa said. “She’s been mumbling ever since the shield generator. I don’t know half of what she’s saying.”

Capreze watched Beth for a moment, but the girl didn’t speak again.

“She doesn’t have the scars,” Capreze mentioned.

“What?” Melissa asked.

“She doesn’t have the scars that Rachel had,” Capreze explained. “Otherwise she looks just like my daughter did at her age.”

“But she’s not your daughter,” Melissa insisted.

Capreze turned his focus back to Melissa. “Yes, Ms. Bretton, I am painfully aware of that. Thank you for pushing the point. My daughter is dead and that is not her. Couldn’t be more clearer.”

Melissa plopped into her chair. “Sorry. It’s been a bad few days.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Do you?” Melissa asked. “No offense, but you’ve been here in this Stronghold while I’ve been on a ship for months. I’ve watched my friends and fellow Americans die by the scores as we’ve been chased halfway across the globe.” Melissa choked back tears. “There’s a man I love that I have no idea if he’s alive or dead.” She pointed at Beth. “She’s all I have left. She’s it. She isn’t blood, but she is family. And she won’t wake up. So I’m sorry for your loss, but don’t even pretend to know what I’ve been through.”

“You’re young and hurt,” Capreze responded. “So I’m not going to argue with you. But do know I understand what you are felling 100%. You need to talk with someone just come find me.”

Capreze stood there and watched Melissa for a minute.

“What?” Melissa snapped. “Is there more?”

“Yes,” Capreze said. “I’ve had some time to talk with Mr. Styles, the First. He says you have skills with that biochrome that could be useful. I need to ask for your help.”

“Yeah, I’m good with BC,” Melissa said. “Fabrics, outfits, uniforms, stuff like that. You need body armor? I’m your girl.” She laughed and the new look in her eye worried Capreze. “But that takes BC! You see any in this wasteland of yours? I fucking don’t! All you have is fucking rust. Tons and tons of rust.” Melissa shivered. “Fucking disgusting.”

“Nice speech,” Capreze said. “You like to hear yourself talk, don’t you? Makes you feel tough and important.” Capreze held up a hand before Melissa could respond. “Shut up. Just shut your spoiled fucking mouth. Yeah, lot’s of rust. Tons of it everywhere. That’s life in the wasteland. And guess what? We’ve gotten by without your fucking precious biochrome.” He moved in close, towering over Melissa. “But now we could use that biochrome and any help it can give. More importantly we need you. Because from what I know it sounds like a whole hell of a lot of biochrome is coming at us. I need you in the fight so you can use your skills to take some of the BC down.”

“Whatever,” Melissa said as she turned away and put her feet up on Beth’s bed.

Capreze slapped her feet down. “Not whatever, you little bitch!” He grabbed her by her uniform and yanked her to her feet. “You are going to help. Got it? Styles says he’ll sacrifice a couple of the BTTs for scrap. You get to make some of the body suits he told me you can make. I have three hundred riders from Eden that will be exposed out there. They could use a little assistance.”

He tossed her back into her chair. They stared at each other, neither of them blinking.

“Fine,” Melissa said. “But you won’t get three hundred suits out of two BTTs. Not the kind that those riders will need. We’ll need more BC.”

“Then we make it,” Capreze said. “There are parts of this Stronghold that can handle the production. In fact, I almost have a feeling the UDC was about to get into the biochrome business. It would explain a lot.”

“Good for you and your manufacturing facility,” Melissa clapped. “But I have no idea how to make biochrome.”

“True,” Capreze said. “But Beth does.”

“Maybe,” Melissa smirked. “But she’s unconscious. Un-con-scious. Not much help there.”

“Actually that won’t matter,” Jethro said over the room’s speaker. “I just need her hooked up to the cerebral integration unit. I can find the data from there. Because of who she is she’s wired for that kind of interface. If the info is in there I’ll find it.”

“You want to hook her up to a machine and suck out her brain?” Melissa laughed. “Over my dead body.”

“Don’t tempt me, Ms. Bretton,” Capreze said coldly. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”

“Seriously?” Melissa asked. “Jesus Christ. You people are fucking crazy.”

“There is zero risk to her,” Jethro insisted. “Trust me.”

“I can’t trust someone I can’t see,” Melissa said. “Come talk to me face to face and then we’ll see.”

“That’s actually a great idea,” Capreze smiled. “I have a war to coordinate, but I’ll have June take you to Jethro. This should be enlightening.”

“Commander, what are you doing?” Jethro asked. “I don’t think it’s-.”

“All you do is think, right Jethro?” Capreze smiled. “So let’s show that to Ms. Bretton.”

***

The conference room was thick with tension, fear and excitement. Dog, Jay, Marin and the mech pilots all rested in their chairs, feet up on tables, eyes closed. They were used to it. Lt. Murphy was going over data on her tablet, checking the readings of the enemy and working with different attack scenarios. The Pope sat with his back straight and eyes studying everyone in the room. Styles was busy cleaning some lint from his cowboy hat. Engineer Campbell and OC LaFrance were back in the corner, there to listen and advise, but not part of combat operations. Which left Shiner, the only one of the mechs that could fit in the human areas, standing in the middle of the room, patiently waiting for Capreze.

“Sorry I’m late,” Capreze said. “Kinda busy today. Go figure.”

“Hurry the fuck up, Commander,” Bisby said. “There’s a war I have to get to.”

“Not that you’ll be much good,” Capreze grinned. “You look like shit, Biz.”

“I feel a ton worse,” Bisby replied. “Which is when I’m at my most dangerous.”

“I thought you were at your most dangerous when you ate those synth-blueberry muffins,” Mathew said.

“No, that’s when he’s at his most gaseous,” Masters responded. “Which is ten times more deadly than his mech piloting. We got any of those fucking things around? We could feed them to Biz and drop him in the middle of the enemy.”

“An ass bomb,” Mathew grinned.

“You folks done?” Capreze asked. “Good. Let’s get to work. Lieutenant?”

Lt. Murphy activated the main vid screen and it mirrored what was on her tablet. “This is what we’re looking at, people. See the red mass there? That’s those deader soldiers. From what Campbell and LaFrance have told us they are dead just like our deaders, but aren’t brain dead. They have retained their living reasoning and thinking skills.”

“How the fuck can they do that?” Bisby asked.

“It’s the fucking nanobots,” Jay growled.

“Yep,” Murphy replied. “And these nanobots are worse than the ones we faced. They can actually repair the soldiers, making them almost indestructible.”

“So how do we stop them?” Harlow asked.

“Permanently?” Campbell said. “Phosphorous. Melts them completely and keeps the nanobots from executing any repairs.”

“Uh, we don’t have that much phos,” Marin said. “Not even close.”

“Then you crush them,” Campbell said. “Obliterate them. Make it near impossible for them to self-repair.”

“Jeezus,” Mathew swore. “So a head shot won’t work? We have to blast them apart?”

“Yes, and make sure they can’t self-repair,” Campbell said. “If they do then they come back as the mindless monsters you are used to. But faster and stronger.”

“We have to kill them twice?” Harlow asked. “Kill them dead and then undead.”

“Worst case, yes,” Campbell replied.

“Fuck,” Harlow said and all the mech pilots nodded.

“But we have good news,” Murphy said. “Jethro may have an answer to the nanobot issue.”

“I do,” Jethro said. “It’s more nanobots.”

“More?” Dog asked. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve worked with Johnson’s design and come up with a design of my own,” Jethro replied. “Basically if we can infect the soldiers coming at us with my nanobots then they should be able to override the other nanobots. Or at least keep them occupied so that the soldiers can’t self-repair.”

“Nothing like a little hot nano on nano action,” Masters said. No one laughed. “Ah, come on! That was gold!”

“Shut up, Mitch,” Harlow said.

“So who kills the nanobots that kill the nanobots?” Dog asked.

“Yeah, I was waiting to see if someone would catch on to that,” Jethro said. “That is the risk. That the default programming of my nanobots will come out once they interact with the other nanobots. I have no doubt mine can kill theirs, but I do have doubts about how well they can be controlled after that.”

“A technological plague, then?” the Pope asked. “How very wasteland.”

“Can’t you just kill the default programming?” Masters asked.

“No, dipshit, it’s why it’s called default,” Jay responded. “I know Jethro isn’t the brightest, but even he would have thought of that.”

“Gee, thanks, Jay,” Jethro said. “Fuck you too.”

“We can lay down a rain of hell on them once the nanobots take hold,” Styles said. “It won’t be phos, but it will be nuclear. Y’all will just need to be clear when that happens.”

“Your aircraft have nukes?” Mathew asked.

“Our aircraft are nukes,” Styles said. The room got the implication and Styles grinned. “Listen I know what you’re thinking. Y’all think that’s suicide. Trust me, it ain’t. The Stylses know what they’re made for. As long as one of us makes it then we’re all good.”

“Seriously?” Mathew asked. “None of them care?”

“Oh, fuck yeah they care!” Styles laughed. “We just want to see this shit finished. This isn’t the first time we’ve tangled with these techno-zombies. Bastards are near impossible to kill.”

“ETA?” Harlow asked.

“We’re taking the fight to them,” Lt. Murphy said. “They are about four hours out.”

“That’s pretty close to be setting off nukes,” Bisby said.

“That’s where I come in,” Jay said. “Styles here has given me specs for the environmental containment shields.”

“The shit Rachel just died for?” Mathew snapped. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Smaller scale,” Capreze said, catching Mathew’s eye. The mech pilot calmed down.

“I can get it set up close to the battlefield,” Jay said. “If the nukes go off then all I have to do is contain the fallout and let the shield do its work. The area will be clean in just a hundred years or so.”

“Oh, that’s all,” Mathew grumbled.

“Let’s move on from this,” Capreze said. “Jethro has full specs for the nanobots and the containment shield on all of your tablets. Study them quickly as soon as we are done. What’s next?”

“The Three,” Murphy said. “As you can see they made landfall at Monterey and are getting close to us. They’re a half day out, but coming from the west. That means they can flank us or come straight at the Stronghold.”

“How many are there?” Harlow asked.

“About twenty HAVs, those are like super transports,” Lt. Murphy said. “Each HAV can hold about forty troopers.”

“We’re going at them,” Dog said. “I have three hundred riders. It’ll be better for us to handle the living than the dead.”

“Speaking of the dead,” the Pope said. “Where do you want my Disciples?”

“I need them as a wall,” Capreze said. “Spread them out so that they create a deader barrier between anything that gets past the others. If the undead soldiers get through and we can’t nuke them then we’ll need your Disciples to fight them off until we can regroup. Same for the Three’s troopers.”

The Pope nodded, but didn’t say anything else. Capreze watched him for a moment then turned his attention back to the group.

“That’s where we are at, people,” Capreze said. “Study your tablets. Dog and his riders are going at the Three’s HAVs. Everyone else is going at the…what did you call them? Techno-zombies? Those things. We head out in one hour.”

Everyone was quiet as they got up and left the conference room.

***

“What the fuck am I looking at?” Melissa asked as she stepped into the mainframe room with June. They each held a side of the gurney that Beth was on. “Jesus…”

A Railer tech was busy with a handful of wires behind a bank of vid screens while a Railer medic checked Jethro’s life support systems and made sure his body was stabilized.

“Is that…?” Melissa trailed off.

“That’s Jethro,” June nodded as she wheeled Beth over to an interface hook-up. “We are able to keep his body fairly healthy while his mind is in the mainframe.”

“When does he come out of the mainframe?” Melissa asked, eyeing the tubes connected to his body. “That can’t be good long term.”

“No, it isn’t,” June said. “And he can’t come out. The integration is permanent.”

“Whoa!” Melissa cried. “And you’re going to hook Beth up to that? Fuck that shit!”

“No, it’s different,” Jethro said. Melissa stared at his body, watching the still lips. “I’m on speaker. It’s magic!”

“Knock it off, Jethro,” June said. “Be nice.”

“Listen,” Jethro said, his voice serious. “Beth will be safe. All I’m going to do is hunt around for the biochrome manufacturing info. Once I have that data I’ll be out of her head. She’s designed for this so it isn’t like I’m breaking new ground here.”

“But there’s still danger, right?” Melissa asked. “You could fry her brain, right?”

“There’s danger everywhere,” Jethro laughed. “Welcome to the wasteland. But you have to trust me here. What I’m going to do is perfectly safe. Hell, it might even help her.”

“We’ll see,” Melissa said.

June finished placing the nodes about Beth’s head. “All set. Ready?”

“Ready,” Jethro said.

“No,” Melissa said. “I’m not.”

June and Jethro ignored her as Jethro began the cerebral integration process. The vid screens all went blank for a moment then came alive with visuals streaming across them.

“Is that normal?” Melissa asked.

“Holy shit,” Jethro whispered. “This can’t be.”

“What?!” Melissa asked. “What did you do?”

“Jethro?” June asked. “What is that? What are we looking at?” June watched the images flash by. Many were of scenes she knew, of places she knew, of people she knew. They were images of life at the mech base. “Jethro?”

“I just called the commander,” Jethro said. “I’ll wait until he gets here to explain.”

Fifty-Three

“All satellites are up and feeds are coming in,” a Canadian tech reported.

“Good,” Norton replied. “Let me see our troops.”

An image came up on the main vid screen. Norton studied the thousands upon thousands of enhanced troopers that marched towards the Stronghold. Mixed in with them were close to sixty mechs and about twenty transports. The man smiled at the force of power that was going to crush Capreze and all of the mutant inhabitants of the wasteland.

“Where are the Three’s HAVs?” Norton asked. The view turned, zoomed and changed, showing the group of HAVs speeding across from the west. He frowned at the small dot that was a few kilometers ahead of them. “What is that?”

A tech studied some readings and a data report that was sent to them. “Rogue, sir,” the tech replied. “That’s all we know. They are painted as enemy combatants.”

“Then why doesn’t that Reginald guy catch up and blast them?” Norton grumbled.

“They can’t catch them, sir,” the tech said. “The mag-skiff they are driving is actually pulling ahead.”

“They’ll reach Capreze first,” Norton stated. “They better not be important.”

***

Mr. Gein awoke with a start and spun about in his seat, his eyes on the pursuing HAVs.

“I’m surprised you haven’t passed out yet,” Mr. Gein said as he checked readings on the HAVs.

Stone turned and gave him a withering look. “Did you have a dream about being stupid and forget how to think, Gein?”

“What? What are you blabbering about?” Mr. Gein asked.

“I’m not human,” Stone stated. “I don’t sleep, asshole.”

“Oh, right,” Mr. Gein said. “I forgot. Ms. Isely did such a great job in the fabrication. Your BC body looks real.”

“Oh, it is real,” Stone replied. “I can eat, fuck, shit and puke. Or not. Depends on what I want to do.”

“Jesus,” Mr. Gein said. “And I thought you were scary when you were flesh and blood.”

“No one has any idea how terrifying I can be,” Stone grinned, sending shivers up Gein’s spine.

“Are they going to catch us?” Mr. Gein asked. “They don’t seem to have made any ground.”

“They haven’t,” Stone replied. “I was able to change the power structure of the skiff. We’re running off the electromagnetic field of the wasteland and also solar. The second the sun came up we added a 35% boost. The HAVs are too heavy to catch us now. We’ll lose them in a couple hours.”

“I need to piss,” Charlie said groggily from the back of the skiff. “Want to pull this thing over?”

“The jack awakes!” Stone laughed. “Wasn’t sure if you were going to make it back there. Good to know our ticket to safety didn’t die in the night.”

“You really think they’ll let you live?” Charlie asked. “From what I know of these people they don’t shy away from brutality. This isn’t the UK. No tea time in the wasteland.”

“They aren’t complete animals,” Stone replied. “Or they would have died out long ago. The intel I have on Capreze says he’s rational and compassionate.”

“But he doesn’t know me,” Charlie said as he sat up. He adjusted his shock suit and angled his piss out of the mag-skiff. “He isn’t going to risk anything for a stranger.”

“We’ll see,” Stone said smugly. “Try not to get any piss in the skiff, will ya? My sense of smell is considerable. I don’t want your stink to be all I smell for the next few hundred kilometers.”

Charlie almost sprayed the inside of the skiff with his urine, but decided he didn’t want to smell it for hours either.

“You got anything to eat?” Charlie asked. “Or some water? My head feels like it will explode if I don’t hydrate.”

“Mr. Gein?” Stone asked.

“Why are you asking me?” Mr. Gein frowned. “I don’t have anything.”

“Your luck is shite today,” Stone laughed. “Jack.”

“The name’s Charlie,” Charlie replied. “Stop calling me jack or I’ll rip your head off.”

Stone reached back and grabbed Charlie by his shock suit before he knew what happened. The BC started to shrink and constrict.

“Don’t ever assume you can tell me what to do, jack,” Stone said as he gripped Charlie’s suit. “Or I crush the life right out of you.”

“What the fuck are you?” Charlie gasped.

“The future,” Stone said. “Shut the fuck up and I’ll let you live to see it.”

***

“Who the fuck are you?” a Railer tech asked, shocked at the sight of the Great Maker walking towards him in one of the lower maintenance corridors. “What is that shit on-?”

The Great Maker was on him in a second. The tech’s neck snapped, the sound echoing down the corridor. Without wasting a moment, the Great Maker lowered his mouth to the dead man’s throat and tore into the flesh, ripping out chunks of skin and tendons. He chewed nosily and thoroughly, making sure that he masticated sufficiently so that his system wouldn’t reject the fresh food.

“Oh, yes,” he moaned as he swallowed. “I have missed that. Not ideal, but so satisfying.”

He ripped the man’s head entirely off and raised it above his mouth, letting the blood drip down his throat.

“Oh, my yes,” the Great Maker said as he drank. “Sweet, sweet nectar.”

He finished as much of his meal as he could before he became worried about being discovered. He found a small alcove and tucked what was left of the body away so it wouldn’t be discovered. His tongue lapped and licked up the blood that had spilled on the concrete.

“Waste not, want not,” he said as he got to his feet. He hadn’t felt so energized in years. Deader mush had only kept him alive. The taste of fresh blood actually made him feel alive. “Now let us find Capreze. Time to end this affront to God he has built.”

***

“What the fuck are you telling me, Jethro?” Capreze asked.

“That’s Rachel,” Jethro said. “She’s in there.”

“Can you get her out?” June asked.

“And put her where?” Jethro countered. “In my handy dandy pocket person I keep hanging around?”

“Don’t be a dick,” June snapped.

“I’m not,” Jethro said. “I’m just saying that I have no idea what to do here.”

Capreze watched the images flash across the screens. “So what do we do?”

“I’m still trying to get through all of this and locate Beth Laughlin,” Jethro said. “It appears her consciousness completely retreated when…”

“When what?” Melissa asked, her eyes watching everyone, looking for any sign of deception. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” Jethro said. “It could have something to do with their shared technopathy. If they were in contact when Rachel died, then maybe…”

“Finish your sentences,” Capreze said. “I need information here, Jethro.”

“I don’t have any,” Jethro admitted. “This is all new to me. All I can do is try to find Beth. Maybe she knows more.”

“And how do you intend to talk to her?” Melissa laughed. “I thought you were just going to find data.”

“After seeing this, and some of the readings I’m getting, I don’t think it works that way,” Jethro replied.

“You don’t seem to think shit,” Melissa snapped.

“Do what you can, Jethro,” Capreze said. “I can’t wait around for this. Ms. Bretton? You are needed now. You have suits to fabricate. Jethro will get whatever data he needs to start manufacturing BC. Until then make as many as you can.” Capreze turned and started to walk from the mainframe room. “Ms. Bretton?”

“You expect me to leave Beth here with her brain hooked up to some yahoo that can’t tell me what’s going on?” Melissa snarled. “Fat chance, asshole.”

Capreze closed on her quickly. “I guess our earlier talk didn’t sink in. You are needed. Thousands of lives depend on your skills. You can help and be a hero or not help and be a murderer. Your choice. But I need it right now.”

“You have got to be kidding-.”

“NOW, MS. BRETTON!” Capreze roared.

“Jesus fuck!” Melissa called out. “Okay, I’m coming.” She whirled about and pointed a finger at June. “She dies and I hold you responsible.”

June shrugged. “I’ll do what I can, but I make no promises.”

Melissa shook her head and stalked past Capreze. “You people are fucked up.”

Fifty-Four

“We’ll have a small window of time,” Jay said as the convoy of mechs, mini-mechs, the Hybrid, and Railer train proceeded north across the wasteland. The BTTs flew overhead, invisible from eyes and sensors. “Once we hit those fucks then I’ll fall back and start dropping generator relays. When things go kaboom I have a fraction of a second to activate the shield. I miss that timing and the EMP from the blasts will knock out the generators. We all clear on that?”

“I heard ‘Kill shit, fuck shit up, kill shit, Jay is whining, kill shit’,” Masters said. “That about it?”

“I’m gonna make sure you’re inside that shield, Masters,” Jay growled. “Fucker.”

“We got it, Jay,” Harlow said. “Ignore the idiot.”

“Hey, we could both die today. Don’t you want to make up before that happens?” Masters asked.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Bisby bellowed. “Are you gonna do this now, Masters? While we’re all listening?”

“I just wanted witnesses when she says she loves me,” Masters replied.

“Man, you are sad,” Specialist Grendetti said from the Hybrid. “Seriously fucking sad.”

“Nothing sad about being able to tell someone you love how much you care for them before you can’t ever say it again,” Mathew said. There was a long silence on the com.

“Way to bring it down, Matty,” Masters said. “Anyone know a good war song we could sing to get in the mood?”

“It’s when you say shit like that, Mitch, that I’m glad I’m not sleeping with you anymore,” Harlow snapped. “Fucking asshole.”

“Whoa, is this pick on Mitch Masters day or something?” Masters asked. “Come on, guys! We’re marching to fight fucking techno-zombies! Let’s get pumped!”

“I believe you have let your mouth run again, Pilot Masters,” Stomper said from the front of the convoy where the thinking mechs took point. “It is a character flaw you have not worked on since I have known you.”

“Thank you!” Jay shouted. “Out of the mouths of mechs come the truth!”

“You guys all suck,” Masters said. “Big, rotten deader cocks. Suck, suck, suck.”

“Hate to break up this fascinating conversation, folks,” Styles 2 said from above. “But you are two ridges away from thumpin’ and bumpin’ with some serious undead. Oh, and if you have taken the time out from the school girl drama, you’ll see on your sensors that it ain’t just walking dead that’s coming at ya.”

Everyone checked their scans.

“That’s a lot of metal mixed in there,” Jay said. “You folks think you can handle it?”

“As long as we aren’t tripping over your scrawny ass,” Bisby said. “We’ll be fine.”

“What the hell did I do?” Jay barked. “Don’t be turning on me, Biz.”

“Dear, God!” Lt. Murphy shouted. “Will everyone shut the fuck up and focus!”

“I might suggest y’all focus on the metal,” Styles 13 said. “We can zero in on the zombies.”

“So you want us to march out there while you’re firing all around us?” Bisby asked. “What could possibly fucking go wrong?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Styles 37 laughed. “The BTTs can surgically remove a donkey’s cock from 10,000 feet.”

“Jeezus,” Masters said. “I have no idea what that means, but I’m glad you do.”

“Okay, folks,” Lt. Murphy ordered. “Weapons up. All systems double check right now. From this point on we’re running hot and won’t stop until we wipe these fucks from the planet!”

“See!” Masters whooped. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

***

“I want a count!” Norton ordered. “I want to know exact numbers!”

“There are ten normal sized mechs, sir,” a tech announced. “One Hill Stomper, and seventeen mini-mechs. There’s that hybrid transport. And a train. I believe they are called Railers in the wasteland.”

“That’s all they sent?” Norton laughed. “Sad, really.”

“Sir? We have strange readings above them,” another tech spoke up. “Not sure what it is.”

“Above them?” Norton asked. “Nah.” He tapped his chair’s console and brought up the readings. “Shit. BTTs.”

“But, sir, wasn’t the only one destroyed?” a tech asked.

“Maybe,” Norton said. “That’s what the Three reported. But I don’t trust anyone with facts unless I can verify. Have all transports ready missiles. The second we have confirmation of aircraft I want them to lock on and fire. I don’t know how many there are, but I want them brought down!”

“Yes, sir,” the tech replied and relayed the order.

***

The mechs crested the last ridge at a dead run with Stomper in the lead. They came down the side with mini-guns rolling and cannons ready. Lt. Murphy parked the hybrid at the top of the ridge while Jay prepped the shield generator relays. The Railer train was a mile off and circling about, switching tracks to get closer to the action.

“Once you engage do not stop for anything!” Lt. Murphy said. “Launch the RPGs with the nanobots first! Get that shit spreading! But remember what Jay said, once we know that we have to nuke it all there is a very small window! Listen! Stay sharp! And stay safe!”

“Fuck yeah!” Masters hollered as the mechs hit the front line of techno-zombies.

“And don’t break that mech, Masters!” Jay shouted. “I can’t keep building new ones for you! You too, Harlow! And Bisby!” Jay muttered under his breath. “Like damn toddlers with their damn toys!”

“Never tell a mech pilot not to break something as he’s going into battle,” Bisby replied. “Like telling a deader not to get teeth marks in their food.”

“Shut the fuck up and fight, dumbasses!” Harlow said. “Here we go!”

Stomper began to do what he was made for and stomp the hell out of as many techno-zombies as possible. He was surprised by the screams of pain that echoed across the field. He was not used to deaders crying out. He had to fight the urge to apologize for every group he smashed under foot.

Bisby, Harlow and Masters let their nanobot laden RPGs fly. The Cans used counter measures and detonated the RPGs in the air, which was just exactly what Jay had expected them to do. The rockets exploded and cast the nanobots all across the techno-zombies, showering them with their own possible demise.

Harlow, outfitted with new blades for her mech, dove at an oncoming Can as she kicked techno-zombies out of her way. She too was troubled by the screams and howls as she crushed the undead troopers, but she pushed the sounds away. Her focus had to be on the big metal. The nanobots would help with the techno-zombies, she needed to take out some Canadian mechs.

She hit one in the cockpit with her shoulder and rolled off it to her right, coming up on one knee. Her left blade slashed out as the Can tried to get to its feet, slicing the torso in half. Blood splattered across the field as the Canadian mech pilot had his legs taken off. Hunks of metal and pilot fell to the field.

Harlow moved on quickly as the techno-zombies feasted on the screaming pilot.

Bisby, wishing he had One Arm as his mech (he shoved that thought quickly away, as guilt for leaving the mech behind at the sight of the first battle bubbled up), made due with the mech Jay had given him. It was big, it was ugly, and it had one arm, but it wasn’t One Arm. That mech had true guts. But Bisby didn’t let that stop him as he lowered his shoulder and dropped down onto a Canadian transport, crushing the front completely.

Living troopers poured from the back, but Bisby was ready for them as they brought up their rifles and took aim. He rolled to the side and opened up with his 50mms, shredding the troopers into human confetti. Techno-zombies from all around leapt onto the fresh blood and body parts, creating chaos for the others trying to continue marching. Bisby didn’t stay to watch. He got up and ran towards the next transport, ready to repeat the move.

***

The Styleses watched and waited. The plan was to let the mechs do as much damage as possible and only reveal themselves if they were needed. Or when it was time to go boom. If the mechs could handle the army then they’d just play clean up.

“18 here,” Styles 18 said. “You guys get the feeling we’re being watched?”

“I always have that feeling,” Styles 23 replied. “Comes from being grown in a fucking test tube.”

“It was a vat,” Styles 29 said. “A test tube couldn’t even hold our dicks.”

They all laughed in unison.

“Well, keep eyes open boys,” Styles 18 said. “We may be stealth, but if they start shooting up that will end quickly.”

***

The mini-mechs stood in a row, spaced out with fifty yards between them. Their mini-guns whirred to life and opened fire, mowing down the first row of techno-zombies.

“Do not let them pass,” Hollow Eye ordered. “You are unmovable metal.”

None of the minis responded, but Hollow Eye knew they would do as ordered.

“Take you marks,” Hollow Eye said as he sent a scan of the Canadians to the other mechs with individual Cans color coded for each of the thinking mechs. “Be smart in your attacks.”

“To do less would be blasphemy,” Bad Shell replied as he sent three RPGs at his first target. “I will not shame myself today.”

“There will be no shame for any of us,” Shiner said as he ducked under an oncoming missile. He returned fire at the transport that had attacked and ripped the front to shreds. “Today is what we were made for.”

Thunk landed in the middle of a transport, nearly flattening it completely, as he unloaded his 50mm guns into a Can that had turned to engage. The Can shuddered and danced as the BC was ripped apart. He watched it try to auto-repair, but a well timed RPG turned the machine into a cloud of shrapnel. Thunk rolled off the transport and lifted it up as a shield, letting the smashed vehicle take impacts for him.

He got up and tossed the transport into another one, sending a fireball high into the air. Thunk ducked a swing from a Can as it came at him, but he missed the follow kick that caught him in the left knee. His bulk crumpled to the dirt and he barely blocked another blow that came straight for his center, looking to take out his control system.

“Here,” Awl Good said as his massive drill pierced the Can and sent twirls of BC flying in all directions. The scream of the CMP was cut short as the pilot was turned into blood mist by the drill. Thunk grunted his thanks. “Always, brother.”

The thinking mechs pressed the attack, joining Harlow and the others as they moved deeper into the fray.

***

“Precise shots!” Marin shouted as the tops of the rail cars opened and manned missile arrays raised into the air. “Paint your targets and fire! Do not just open up! We have friendlies in that shit!”

She received the acknowledgement she was looking for and flipped a switch, arming all missiles. Each of the Railers took careful aim, making sure the targets were far enough away from a friendly mech as possible.

But the chaos of war is not one of perfection.

***

“Incoming!” Harlow shouted as she dove to her right, splattering a few dozen techno-zombies, as a missile impacted just a few yards from her. Her mech shuddered from the explosion and from the impact of the transport that was just obliterated. “Looks like Railers are up and firing!”

“We are,” Marin confirmed. “So keep eyes open, people!”

“You get too close to me,” Bisby warned. “And your people will end up with an oversized mech boot in their asses. Got that?”

“Same team, Biz,” Masters said as he grappled with a Can. He brought up his knee, expected the mech to counter, which it did, and then used the Can’s momentum to flip the machine over onto its back. “Dial down the threats.”

Masters put an RPG directly into the Can’s cockpit. He couldn’t help but notice the look of terror on the pilot’s face. He didn’t care, though. That’s what they get for being rookies trying to fight in a real mech pilot’s war.

“Sucker bitch,” Masters said as he spun and fired into a Can closing on his back. The explosion sent him onto his ass, but sent the Can into ten different directions. “Looks like the ‘blow them to shit so they can’t repair’ plan is working. Hell, yeah!”

“Shut the fuck up, Masters,” Bisby said. “We don’t need your play by play. ”

“Hey, Biz,” Masters laughed. “Remember when the Rookie kicked your ass that first day he showed up? That was great. Loooooved it!”

“Fuck you,” Bisby snarled as he ripped the arm off a Can and swept its legs out from under it with it. “When we’re done here let’s see who’s still standing.”

“The only thing worse than fucking girl drama is listening to you two bicker,” Harlow said. “How about you put your tiny dicks back in your pants and just fight. Sound good?”

“Hey, baby,” Masters replied. “Maybe instead of me fighting Biz, you and I can go out and paint the wasteland red? Maybe reconnect? Maybe?”

“How about you go out into the wasteland by yourself and let me know how it goes,” Harlow suggested. “Try not to chafe too much. Be sure and bring your lotion.”

“Okay,” Bisby laughed. “If that’s gonna be the chatter then I’m all for it. Keep on talking, Mitch. Can’t wait to hear what she says next.”

“You guys suck,” Masters responded as his legs were taken out by a transport. He lashed out with a fist and ripped through the transport’s hull. He snagged about ten troopers in his fist and crushed them into pulp. “I die today you’re going to wish you were nicer.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Bisby smirked.

***

The techno-zombies swarmed up Stomper’s exoskeleton, threatening to topple him. He grabbed at them, flung them into the ground, stomped them, ripped their limbs off, but they kept coming. As fast as he could destroy a group, another group would attack. Then the first group he’d destroyed would reform and join the attack.

It was wave after wave of the same techno-zombies; a relentless cycle of reanimated violence.

“Coming in to help,” Styles 15 announced. “Looks like the tide is turning.”

Styles 15 was right. The techno-zombies, Cans, and transports had gotten over their shock of the brutal abilities of the attacking mechs. Now they were on the offensive, pushing forward with everything they had.

BTT after BTT materialized in the air above the battle, their cannons aimed at the massive swarm of techno-zombies. As one they opened fire and row after row of marching undead fell. The other mechs had to watch their movements carefully, no longer able to wildly attack, otherwise they’d catch the hell that was raining down on the enemy.

“Close shave, guys,” Harlow said as bullets ripped into zombie troopers by her feet. “Make sure not to nick me. It stings when I moisturize my legs.”

“You just hold tight, little lady,” Styles 39 laughed. “This ain’t the first time I’ve gotten this close to a pretty woman. I’ll have you smooth as can be in no time.”

“You’re lucky that accent you have is charming,” Harlow said. “Or I’d have to make you eat those words when we’re done.”

“Darlin’, I’d eat anything you gave me,” Styles 39 replied. “And then go back for more.”

“Hey!” Masters shouted. “Not cool, man.”

“Hey, bud,” Styles 39 said. “From what I’ve heard you ain’t got no brand on that heifer no more.”

“Okay, I don’t know what a heifer is,” Harlow growled. “But I’m not taking that as a compliment. You just blew your chance, airboy.”

“Ha!” Masters yelled. “In your face, cloney!”

“Shut up, Mitch,” Harlow grumbled.

“You keep telling me to shut up, but all I hear is ‘I love you, Mitch’,” Masters said.

“You need to have your ears checked,” Harlow responded as she put her fist through a Can and ripped the pilot right from his seat.

“Don’t need to,” Masters replied, almost mirroring the same move. “Because all I hear is the sweet sound of an angel in this com.”

Harlow couldn’t help but smile. “I fucking hate you.”

“Oh!” Masters exclaimed. “It’s like an angel from above is sitting in my cockpit! Glory hallelujah!”

***

Missiles fell, the BTTs were relentless, the mechs pushed on, yet the army that came at them never waned. It was an unyielding onslaught of sheer numbers.

“Jay,” Marin called over the com. “How’s it coming? Our folks are losing ground. They’ll be to you shortly.”

“I’m working as fast as I can,” Jay grumbled as he dropped and set another relay. “Ain’t those nanobots working? That should slow them, down?”

“They are working,” Marin said. “Less and less of the undead troopers are self-repairing. But there’s just too many of them! You’ve got to hurry!”

“I ain’t fucking playing cards here, Marin!” Jay snapped.

“Jay Rind! Don’t take that damn tone with me, you old ass!” Marin barked back. “Our people won’t last much longer. Get your shit together and get that system up and running!”

“Jeezus, Jeezus,” Jay replied. “Don’t need to bite my head off. I’m almost ready.”

He ran a few more yards and set another relay. He checked all readings and readied the environmental containment shield.

“Time to get the fuck out of there!” Jay shouted over the full com. “I can activate as soon as you are clear and the Styleses blow themselves to shit!”

He heard confirmation from everyone except Murphy’s team. He checked his scans and realized the Hybrid was no longer showing up. He didn’t have time to wonder where the hell they had gone. They were professionals and could handle themselves.

***

The RPG slammed into Bisby’s cockpit, but he was able to turn in time, letting the impact roll off of him. But the explosion was close enough that every warning claxon in his cockpit blared and he watched as systems failed one after the other.

“Fuck!” he shouted. “Can’t I get a mech that doesn’t fucking break down during every single mother fucking battle? Is that too much to fucking ask for?”

“I got him,” Mathew said as he rolled under heavy caliber fire and came up blasting, sending two Cans falling to the battlefield. He ran at Bisby, but barely made it half way when the two Cans were back up on their feet and firing at him. “Fuck! This BC bullshit sucks!”

Mathew tried to work his way to Bisby, but he was cut off by another Can. He had to make a choice of staying alive or rescuing Bisby. It was a hard choice, but one with a clear answer.

“Biz, I’m sorry man!” Mathew shouted as he took several hits to his right knee. The hydraulics whined and he had to switch systems to keep from blowing the lines. “I can’t get over there!”

“Are you people listening?” Jay roared over the com. “Get the fuck out! I’m watching the numbers and we’ve barely made a dent! We need to nuke this shit before they can march to the Stronghold!”

“He’s right,” Styles 43 said. “We are setting our drives to critical. Only need about ten of us, though. That’ll wipe them out. Y’all better book it or you’ll get caught in the blast radius.”

“You heard the clone!” Jay shouted. “I ain’t fucking around! We have a very small window!”

“Harlow! On your right!” Masters shouted, but she didn’t see the attack.

Three transports converged on Harlow and unloaded their missiles at once. Harlow was able to duck a couple, catch and toss two back at the transports, but three hit her dead center. Her mech flew through the air in pieces as the missiles detonated.

“HARLOW!” Masters screamed.

Stomper ran past Masters and scooped up what was left of Harlow’s cockpit. “I have her, Pilot Masters. She is unconscious, but shows signs of life.”

“Get out of here, Stomper!” Masters yelled. “Get her to the train!”

“Yes, that is what I will do,” Stomper said as he turned and ran.

“We all have to get gone!” Masters shouted. “Can anyone get to Bisby?”

Masters tried to make his way to the downed pilot, but he was swarmed by hundreds of techno-zombies, their rifles sending automatic fire at his hydraulics’ junctions.

“Fuck!” Masters cried. “Anyone?”

“Leave me, Mitch!” Bisby shouted as he pulled his sidearm and kicked his cockpit open. Techno-zombies came at him and he put six down and leapt from his mech. He picked up a dropped rifle and turned and fired, emptying the rifle in seconds. He grabbed another and fired more, but he was surrounded. He backed up against his mech and tried to find an escape, but there was nowhere to go. “FUCK ALL YOU MOTHER FUCK-!”

“Biz?” Mathew shouted. “BIZ!”

There was no response.

***

“We must fall back also,” Hollow Eye ordered. “The humans are outmatched.”

“We can take these things,” Thunk said. “We can crush them all.”

“Hollow Eye is correct,” Shiner said. His mech took a direct RPG and he stumbled back, but was able to stay upright. Systems were critical, but nothing failed outright. “We are outmatched also.”

“I will not retreat,” Bad Shell said. He lifted a transport and tossed it into the air. He would have smiled if he could at the look on the transport driver’s face. As the transport tumbled through the air, Bad Shell took aim and blasted it apart sending fiery shrapnel raining down on two other transports and a hundred techno-zombies. One of the transports exploded in a fire ball that sent the machine flying straight up in the air. “I am doing fine.”

“I am not!” Awl Good called out as he was surrounded by six Cans. The Canadian mechs took aim and fired everything they had. Awl Good tried to duck under and roll, but he was caught by a Can and tossed back in the center. “Save yourselves! Live so that my final death can be worth something!”

The Cans surrounding Awl Good took friendly fire from each other, but their mechs just kept repairing. Awl Good was torn apart by heavy caliber gun fire. Slowly he was whittled down to scrap, his parts twitching until their energy was drained and spent.

“Retreat is cowardly,” Thunk said. “But final death is permanent.”

The mech turned and fought his way out of the battle, heading for the ridge and cover.

“You will never see glory!” Bad Shell called after him. “Coward!”

A missile hit the mech square in the back and his cockpit exploded outward, spraying the techno-zombies around him with hot metal. Most were taken out as the nanobots did their job, but some still repaired and kept marching and fighting.

“A waste of a good mech,” Shiner said. “We should not waste ourselves also.”

He turned and followed Thunk. Hollow Eye was right behind him.

“We are leaving the field,” Hollow Eye announced. “End this battle.”

***

Jay watched as several BTTs started their doomed descent to the battlefield. He was so transfixed by the sight of the willing sacrifice that he didn’t notice the proximity alarms until it was almost too late.

“Oh, fuck!” Jay shouted as barely dodged an incoming RPG. He spun his mech about and faced three Cans, their guns hot and firing at him. “Double fuck!”

Jay was able to roll to the side and return the fire, but his worst nightmare happened before he could do anything to stop it.

Three relays exploded as they were hit with RPGs.

“God dammit!” Jay shouted as he fought for his life. “The shield relays are down! Repeat! THEY ARE DOWN! Do not nuke the field! We can’t hold back the blasts!”

All but one of the BTTs was able to pull up and abort the attack.

“I’m too far critical!” Styles 27 said. “All controls are fried!”

There was a blinding flash and a second later Jay felt his mech lifted into the air. He could hear the cries of the others, but had no idea who had gotten clear or not. As his mech skidded across the wasteland dirt he saw all systems shut down.

The EMP had taken out his mech. He just hoped it took out the enemy as well.

Fifty-Five

“Well we just lost all visual and audio on the mechs up north,” the Mayor said over the com. “That isn’t good.”

“Should we split and send some cyces back?” Dog asked as he sped across the wasteland towards the Three’s forces. “We can spare a few.”

“No point,” the Mayor said. “I’m guessing an EMP took out the surveillance. That means all machines will be down, even the enemy’s. There’s just the undead roaming wild up there now. I hope those pilots have some good rifles and ammo or they won’t be walking out of there anytime soon.”

“Fine,” Dog replied. “Then we push on as planned.” He checked the scans on his visor readout and noted how close the Three’s HAVs were. “Agnatha? Time to split and send your hundred to the left. Immy? I need you to the right. I’m going dead on.”

“Hey, cuz?” Immy asked. “You see the little blip?”

Dog double checked his visor and did see the blip he’d missed before. “That’s a small vehicle. What’s it doing out front of the others?”

“You’ll be finding out soon,” Agnatha said as she and her cyces peeled off from the pack. “Good hunting.”

“You too,” Dog replied.

“Try not to crash,” Immy giggled. “Rookie.”

“Oh, so now you’ll call me that?” Dog laughed. “You be careful, cuz.”

“Careful doesn’t exist in the waste,” Immy giggled again as her cyces peeled off.

Dog had to laugh to himself over the turn of events. He had one messed up family. It was incredible the lengths Eden went to hide their true nature just to see if he was who his uncle thought he was. He felt bad about killing the two guards at the Maze, but the Mayor had said they were going to be deader food anyway, they just didn’t know it.

“You ready for this, boy?” the Mayor asked. “You don’t have 50 tons of metal wrapped around you.”

“I’m also not stuck in a cage without weapons and a 300 pound deader coming at me,” Dog said. “I call this a draw.”

“Good way to look at it,” the Mayor replied. “You’re coming up on that blip.”

“Any idea of what it is?” Dog asked.

“It’s biochrome,” the Mayor said. “My techs have figured out that signature. Two life forms for sure.”

“For sure?”

“There’s a third that they can’t get a fix on. It keeps coming up as human then biochrome then human. Could be just some sensor interference.”

“Could be, but I’m not taking any chances. You see that blip act aggressive and let me know. We’ll blast it on the run. Won’t even stop to piss on the rubble.”

“Ah, there’s the Boiler talking,” the Mayor chuckled. “Don’t let that take over. Keep your wits about you.”

“I always do,” Dog smiled. That set the Mayor off laughing. Dog couldn’t help but notice that the Mayor’s laugh and Immy’s giggle were a lot alike.

Family.

***

“What are they?” Mr. Gein asked.

“They look like magcycles,” Charlie said. “A lot of them.”

“They are motorcycles, I believe,” Stone answered. “But adapted to the rigors of this wasteland, of course. I believe our ride ends here. Time to talk our way out of execution.”

“You mean talk our way out of mine and the jack’s execution,” Mr. Gein said. “You’ll wiggle out of it like you always do.”

Stone shrugged as he stopped the mag-skiff. “I am a survivor.”

The pack of cyces halted as one and they watched a single rider come towards them.

“You the advance team offering to surrender?” Dog asked as he stopped his cyce and flipped up his visor. “If so then I accept.”

“Wit in the wasteland,” Stone grinned. “Who would have thought? No, we’re not part of the army that is pursuing us.” Stone snapped his fingers. Nothing happened. He snapped his fingers again and looked over his shoulder. “Don’t make me pull you out, jack.” Charlie stepped from the mag-skiff awkwardly in his warped shock suit. “That’s better. I need to speak to someone in charge. I have a deal to make.”

“Not in the deal making business today,” Dog said. “We’re in the ripping off heads and shitting down necks business.”

“Graphic and humorous,” Stone replied. “But hardly productive. As you can see I have one of the Americans here. Maybe one of the last. We need safe passage and he needs to keep his life. You let us pass and proceed to the ‘Stronghold’, I believe you call it, and we’ll make sure he doesn’t have an untimely accident.”

“Um, I’m sorry,” Dog said as he pulled a pistol from his hip. “Did you not hear that I’m not making deals? Kill him. See if I care. I don’t know Americans from shit.”

***

“Looks like that Dog guy is having a pow-wow with someone down there,” Styles 1 said as the BTT hovered over the cyces, waiting to see what move Dog made. “I’m picking up nothing but BC from those folks.” He zoomed in and scanned the three men. “Jesus, is that one of our troopers?”

Melissa leaned forward. “Put it on holo.” A detailed image of the mag-skiff, Stone, Mr. Gein, Dog and Charlie came to life in front of her. “Holy fuck! That’s Charlie Masterson!”

“Damn,” Styles replied. “Then that deal the other guy is trying to make may be worth something.”

“Wait…,” Melissa said as she looked closer. “I know that…no…”

She stood up immediately and stalked from the cockpit. “Land us.”

“Are you insane, girl?” Styles said. “If I land then we have to come out of stealth. That kinda gives away our hand.”

“We’re here to make BC suits as we come across the scraps once this battle starts,” Melissa snapped. “We weren’t going to be hidden forever anyway. Fucking land us!”

“Okay, okay, calm down now,” Styles said as he piloted the BTT away from the cyces and set it down. As soon as he took the aircraft out of stealth all eyes turned towards it. “There ya go. Naked as a jay bird.”

But Melissa didn’t hear him as she was already out of the BTT and running towards Stone.

***

“Damn if this isn’t a surprise,” Stone said as he watched Melissa close on him. “Ms. Bretton, I certainly didn’t expect you to be here.”

“You’re fucking dead, Stone!” Melissa shouted as her BC uniform morphed and she raised her forearm. She fired three shots and all hit Stone square in the forehead.

The man didn’t even stumble. His head quickly repaired and he shook off the affects.

“Those were some well grouped shots,” Stone said as Melissa skidded to a stop, stunned. “If I was real flesh and blood you’d have taken me out with the first one. But, as you can see, I am not flesh and blood.” He lifted his right hand and it shifted faster than Melissa could see. By the time she’d registered what Stone had done with his hand, the bullet had slammed into Melissa’s chest, knocking her onto her back. “I’m really just about the blood now.”

“Motherfucker,” Dog yelled as he aimed his cyce at Stone.

“Calm down, rider,” Stone said. “She’s just winded. I could sense the BC suit before she fired her first shot.” Melissa painfully pushed herself up onto her elbows. “See? Perfectly fine. Just making a point.”

“What’s…he want?” Melissa asked as she got to her feet. “What’s the deal?”

“Safe passage to the Stronghold,” Dog replied. “I’m guessing he wants to meet with Capreze.”

“And I thought all of you wastelanders were mutants and inbred morons,” Stone smiled.

“He rides with us,” Melissa said. “Or he dies here.”

“Well, I’m not so sure about the dying,” Stone said.

“I am,” Melissa replied. “Styles?”

“I have everything locked on the bastard,” Styles replied over the loudspeaker so all could hear. “Just say when.”

“You okay, Charlie?” Melissa asked, looking past Stone.

“Fine, Mel,” Charlie nodded. “Is my dad…?” Melissa shook her head. “Damn.”

“You ride with us and see this shit through,” Melissa said. “Then we take you to Capreze. That’s the deal.”

Stone locked eyes with Melissa for a few moments then nodded. “Fair enough. I have a feeling I could survive a ten thousand foot drop even if you wanted to toss me out of that aircraft.”

“I may put that to the test,” Melissa smiled. “Now get your ass inside.” Stone nodded and slowly walked past to the BTT. Melissa grabbed Mr. Gein by the arm. “Do I know you?”

“The name’s Gein,” Mr. Gein said. “I used to be someone. Now I’m nothing.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Melissa said. “Being on my radar right now isn’t healthy for anyone.”

“Point taken,” Mr. Gein nodded and continued past.

“Good to see you, Mel,” Charlie said as he hugged her. “Did anyone make it off that beach?”

“Not that I know of,” Melissa said.

“Des?”

Melissa shrugged. “Trying not to think about it.”

“Me too. You coming?”

“Styles will get you settled,” Melissa said. “I have some work to do here.”

Melissa moved to the mag-skiff and started working on suits right away. Dog pulled up next to her.

“Sure we shouldn’t off the fucker now?” Dog asked. “Might be safer.”

“I don’t know what he is,” Melissa said. “So he stays alive until I do. That way I can make sure he stays dead when I kill him.”

Dog smiled and motioned for riders to come get their suits. “Sounds good.”

“Feels bad,” Melissa said as she finished converting the BC from the skiff into suits. “I’ll get more made once you guys start fucking up those HAVs. That’ll be plenty of BC for all.”

“Well then we better get to the fucking up,” Dog said as he lowered his visor and sped off. The rest of the riders quickly followed.

Melissa dashed back to the BTT and climbed aboard. “Cocktails are in the bar,” she said to Stone and Mr. Gein. “Make the best use of them. Could be your last.”

Mr. Gein was up and at the bar before she’d finished speaking.

***

“Do not slow down,” Reginald ordered. “Push through those little bicycles.”

“Sir,” his driver replied. “They are heavily armed.”

“So are we,” Reginald said. “But why waste ammunition and resources. We have size on our side. They will be crushed.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver said, relaying the order to the rest of the HAVs. “ETA is five minutes.”

***

“Here we go, Eden!” Dog shouted over the com. “Let’s take this fight to them!”

The cyces all accelerated towards the HAVs. Dog wondered why they hadn’t started firing, but he really didn’t care. Less shit coming at him the better.

That didn’t stop the cyces from opening up on the HAVs, though. Their mini-guns fired at full speed, sending thousands of rounds at the armored vehicles. The gunfire wasn’t as effective as Dog had hoped as he watched bullets ricochet off and fly around in all directions. Everyone got the picture quickly and stopped firing. They would have to bring out the big guns.

***

Reginald watched the cyces zoom about the HAVs and cursed as the highly maneuverable machines dodged easily out of the HAVs’ way. Not a single cyce went down under massive wheels.

“Now you can open fire,” Reginald ordered. “Spread wide and blast them to fucking hell!”

“Yes, sir!”

***

Dog took the first bullet in the right shoulder and it nearly tore him off his cyce, but Melissa’s suit made sure he wasn’t ripped open by the heavy caliber round and he was grateful for that. The built in anesthetic release also made the impact bearable. He knew that if he lived through the day, though, that he’d be lucky to use the arm ever again.

“Rockets!” Dog ordered. “Clean sweeps then turn and pursue!”

The cyces, almost as one, launched their RPGs at the HAVs as they roared by, leaving explosions in their wake.

“It’s like you were born to do this,” the Mayor said over Dog’s com.

“I was born to kick ass,” Dog said. “Just took me a while to find the right ass.”

“Ha!” the Mayor laughed. “Well said, son, well said.”

Dog smiled as he dodged a swerving HAV and slid his cyce across the path of a second one, ducking under a line of heavy caliber bullets. He brought his cyce back up without missing a beat and powered past two more HAVs, launching RPGs into their wheels. He barely cleared them as the RPGs impacted and exploded, sending BC flying everywhere.

“These don’t reform, do they?” Dog asked the Mayor.

“Doesn’t look like it,” the Mayor replied. “But they do have a hell of a lot of troopers! Watch your ass!”

Dog saw what he meant when the back ramps of several HAVs dropped and the Three’s shock troops unloaded, their guns firing at anything with two wheels.

***

Agnatha held up her hand and the cyces behind her skidded to a stop. She watched the battle closely, waiting for their moment.

“Why are we holding?” a rider asked from her left.

“Just wait, you’ll see,” Agnatha replied, her eyes studying the movements of the HAVs. When she saw what she liked she circled her hand above her head then pointed at the battle. Her rear wheel kicked up sand and grit as she accelerated at full speed into the fray.

The closest line of HAVs had turned towards Dog and his riders, trying to box them in. Agnatha smiled at the idea. It was like an old saying her grandmother had about herding cats. She’d never seen a cat, only hearing about them in tales around the campfire, but she got the feeling they were hard to catch and never did what they were told.

By the time the HAVs had noticed their attack it was too late. The first line of riders sent RPGs into the rear ramps of six HAVs. Not only did the explosions lift the backends of the HAVs right off the ground, they sealed the ramps, trapping the troopers inside. Their shouts and screams echoed from inside as Agnatha and the other riders sped past.

***

The Mayor held his breath, Talaria by his side, as he watched Immy study the battlefield before speeding towards the fight. Talaria took his hand and held it tight.

“She will be fine, Young,” Talaria said. “Relax.”

“That temper of hers could cloud her judgment,” the Mayor said. “I should never have let her talk me into letting her go. Let alone leading an attack group.”

“Do you think you could have stopped her?” Talaria laughed as she kissed him on the cheek. “Have you met your daughter? Have you met yourself?”

The Mayor gave Talaria’s hand one more squeeze then stood up. “Where are we with the Lines?”

“Powered up and ready, Mayor,” a tech nodded. “Should we have the riders deploy?”

“Yes,” the Mayor nodded. “But let me warn Dog first. He doesn’t know we’ve kept this in our back pocket.”

“Was it wise to keep him in the dark?” Talaria asked.

“We didn’t know who to trust,” the Mayor replied. “It’s quite a weapon. It will change the landscape of the wasteland.”

***

“The cyces can do what?” Dog asked, struggling to keep control of his cyce and listen to what the Mayor told him at the same time. He ducked under cannon blast and was thankful for his helmet’s protection or he would have had two burst eardrums. “Lines?”

“In just a minute we will enable the Lines tech,” the Mayor said. “When two cyces get close enough to each other, with a target between them, a line of energy will connect the cyces. Anything that comes in contact with that Line will be sliced clean through.”

“And you’re just telling me this now, why?” Dog asked, pissed.

“Because now is the right time to tell you,” the Mayor replied. “This is the first battle test for this system. There could be glitches.”

“Could be?”

“We hope not,” the Mayor said. “But you’ll need the extra help soon.”

Dog swerved around an HAV and came to a hard brake. A line of shock troops were running straight for him, their rifles barking at full auto. Dog took several hits to his chest, but held tight to the cyce, his suit keeping him from being opened up.

“Yeah,” Dog gasped as he spun his cyce around and sped away. “Could be right.”

“Hang tight, boy.” The Mayor said. “This will even the score.”

Dog didn’t know what to expect, but he did know that the battle had started to turn. The HAVs were no longer trying to run down the cyces or blast them from the earth. Most had stopped and taken a position where they could concentrate their fire and target the cyces more easily. They had also unloaded their shock troops and the soldiers were busy picking of riders one by one.

Immy came up on Dog’s right and nodded.

“You ready?” she asked over the com. “This is gonna get freaky real fast.”

Before Dog could respond a Line of blue light shot from his cyce and connected to Immy’s. No matter how he dodged and swerved, the Line stayed with them. A group of four troopers held their ground and fired at Dog and Immy, but were sliced in half as the Line ripped right through them. Dog looked over his shoulder as they sped past and blood sprayed into the air.

“Holy shit!” Dog shouted. “That’s gonna help a fuck ton!”

***

Lines formed between most of the riders on the field. Those that had experience with the new weapon used them to their best advantage, targeting loose groups of troopers first then HAVs. Flesh and metal fell in large chunks and slices as the riders carved their way through the battlefield.

Reginald watched all of it from his HAV and grew increasingly irritated. “How do they develop a weapon like that in this backwards hellhole?”

His driver was smart enough not to answer.

As guts spilled from sliced torsos of his troopers, Reginald shot to his feet and stormed back to the rear ramp of his HAV.

“Alert the troopers that I am entering the field,” Reginald said. “They should follow my lead.”

“Yes, sir,” his driver said as he immediately sent the news across the com.

***

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Agnatha called over the com as Reginald stepped from his HAV and walked right into the battle. “Interesting time to commit suicide.”

Agnatha spun about and started firing her mini-guns at Reginald. The man turned as the slugs hit him and his body danced and stuttered. He fell to the ground quickly and Agnatha laughed.

“Idiot,” she said as her cyce zipped past him.

She never saw the BC that shot out at her.

Reginald got to his feet as the thin line of BC that extended from his hand pierced Agnatha’s helmet, splattering the inside of her visor with blood. Reginald twisted his hand and the end of the BC became barbed as he yanked backwards. The back of Agnatha’s helmet was ripped open and her brains and skull showered the wasteland earth. Her body was pulled right off her cyce and the vehicle slammed into two other riders, sending them tumbling to the ground.

Reginald whipped the BC back to him and it melded right into his hand. He looked down at the holes that were in his chest and abdomen, frowning at the damage.

“Non-biochrome bullets,” he frowned. “Inconvenient.”

He walked over to a destroyed HAV and placed his hand upon it, drawing the extra metal into his body. The bullet holes filled instantly and the slugs dropped from his body to the ground, having been pushed out by the extra mass of BC that Reginald absorbed. He shivered all over and then looked at the battle at hand.

The grin on his face as he casually walked towards an approaching duo of riders would have terrified anyone, but the riders were too confident in the Line that connected their cyces. Reginald let them come at him, not bothering to dodge the Line that would surely slice him in half.

The riders cheered as the Line sliced Reginald at mid-thigh. They spun about to see the damage then both gasped as Reginald acted as if nothing had happened.

“Your cheese slicer is a nice trick,” Reginald said as BC ripped from his fingers as deadly flechettes and ripped through the riders’ suits like they were nothing. “But useless on a man of my kind.”

The riders fell from their cyces and Reginald picked up a stray hunk of BC to replace the mass lost by the flechettes. He kicked the dead riders with his foot to make sure they were down then looked about for more targets, the smile never leaving his face.

***

“New player on the field,” Styles 1 said over the com as he lowered the BTT towards a chunk of HAV wreckage. “This guy ain’t like everyone else.”

Melissa hung from a harness under the BTT and grabbed onto the chunk of BC, instantly sending it flowing up a line that led into the belly of the aircraft. She followed the BC and shut the cargo bay door as she unhooked from the harness and began to form the BC into suits for more riders.

“What was that about a new player?” Melissa asked. “I was a bit busy there, cowboy.”

“I am interested also,” Stone said as he grabbed onto the BC.

“Hands off, killer,” Melissa growled.

“I can help,” Stone replied. “In fact, I can fabricate the suits much faster than you can.”

He quickly formed a half-dozen suits in the time it took Melissa to create one. She grabbed one of Stone’s and studied it, looking for any intentional flaws or weaknesses.

“I have no intention of helping you lose this battle,” Stone smiled. “You’re about to do that on your own if who I think is out there is actually out there.”

Finding no flaws, Melissa tossed the suit aside and picked up another one. “And who do you think is out there?”

“An old friend,” Stone said as he made six more suits. “In fact, before this gets too out of hand, I should pay him a visit.”

“You think I’m going to let you out of my sight?” Melissa asked.

“You don’t really have a choice,” Stone responded, a wicked grin on his face. “I could tear this aircraft apart in seconds, if I wanted to. All this BC? Putty. You know what I am talking about and you just watched what I can do.” Stone leaned forward, but Melissa didn’t flinch. “And I was holding back.”

“Styles?” Melissa called. “Give me a holo of the fight. I want to see this new player.”

***

Dog and Immy roared towards Reginald, ready to join the dozen or so riders that were converging on the new threat.

“Oh, fuck!” Dog roared as all of the riders were decapitated by a swing of Reginald’s hand. He couldn’t see the BC microfilament, but he knew it was there and ditched his cyce into the ground.

The bail threw Immy off balance and her cyce in turn went down.

“What the hell, cuz?” Immy shouted as she got up to lift her cyce back upright. “You go coward all of a sudden?”

“Stay down!” Dog shouted as he pulled her feet out from under her.

Immy dropped to the ground just as the whip-crack sound of the BC microfilament filled the air where her head had been. Dog rolled them both behind his cyce and pulled his pistol.

“Stay here,” he ordered as he crawled around the side of the cyce and took aim at Reginald. His pistol split in half and Dog felt a sting across his shoulder. He rolled back behind the cyce, gasping and grabbing at the wound.

“Oh, crap, cuz,” Immy said as she pressed a hand to Dog’s shoulder. “That got you good.”

“Perhaps I can help,” Stone said as he walked up next to them. “Just stay low and I’ll take care of this.” Stone motioned to the rest of the battle. “In fact you’ll want to tell all of your people to stay clear. Focus on the troopers. Leave the new guy to me.”

“Who the hell is that?” Immy asked as she pulled her hand back, the BC suit finally tending to Dog’s wound and stitching up the sliced shoulder.

“Not a fucking clue,” Dog said. “But he must know something we don’t if he’s just going to walk up to that guy.”

Fifty-Six

“What am I seeing here, Jethro?” Capreze asked as he stood in the mainframe room. “I’m a little busy. Couldn’t you have filled me in over the com?”

The Railer techs and medics had all gathered about the gurney that Beth had been rolled in on. June walked over to Capreze and took his hand.

“I think we have good news, but it may be a shock,” June said. “That’s why we couldn’t tell you over the com.”

“Good news?” Capreze asked. “This isn’t the time for fun or frivolity, people. Did I not mention the busy part of my schedule-?”

Capreze stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Beth sitting up on the gurney. But it wasn’t Beth. He could tell instantly from the smile on her face.

“What is this?” Capreze whispered.

“You can see it, can’t you?” June smiled. “That’s Rachel. That isn’t Beth Laughlin.”

“Hey, Papa Bear,” Rachel smiled from Beth’s body that was actually a clone of Rachel’s body. “I’m back.”

“Baby Girl?” Capreze asked. “Is it really you?” He took a step back as Rachel reached for him. “It can’t be. It’s not possible.”

“For most, no,” Beth’s voice said over the loudspeakers. “But Rachel and I shared a bond based on DNA and our technopathy. My body instantly grabbed her consciousness and held it when Rachel’s body was destroyed. We couldn’t function as two beings in one body, but once Jethro hooked me up to the mainframe I was free and so was your daughter.”

“What the fuck?” Capreze gasped as he looked at the wall of vid screens. “Jethro? I need answers now.”

“Beth just told you, sir,” Jethro said. “Her consciousness uploaded into the mainframe as soon as I started digging around. Let’s face it, her mind was too big to be held in a vessel like Rachel’s clone. She would have had a massive cerebral breakdown at some point soon. It was actually lucky we needed the data on how to make BC.”

Capreze, still wary, held his place just out of reach of Rachel. “And where are we with that?”

“No go,” Jethro said. “At least not short term. Long term we’ll have production up and going in the next few months. If we survive.”

“Papa Bear?” Rachel said as she got up from the gurney. “It’s me. Honestly.”

“No,” Capreze barked as he held up his hand. “You look like my daughter when she was a teenager. But you aren’t her.” He turned on June. “What were you thinking?”

“Okay, I know this is hard to take in,” June said. “But I’ve been asking her questions only Rachel would know. It’s her, sir.”

“No,” Capreze said again as he turned and walked from the mainframe room.

“Sir?” Jethro said over the com. “I’m sorry to spring that on you. I was hoping the good news would buffer the bad news.”

“What’s the bad news, Jethro?”

“An EMP went off north,” Jethro replied. “We have lost all intel on the fight up there with the Canadians.”

“Do we have any information?”

“No, sir,” Jethro said. “We are completely in the dark.”

“If any of our people survived then what are they in for?” Capreze asked. “How does this affect the techno-zombies? Will an EMP take them out?”

“It’ll take out their nano-tech,” Jethro said.

“But not the deaders themselves?”

“I don’t know,” Jethro said. “I wish I did, but this nanobot stuff is all experimental at best.”

“So if any of our folks survived they could be just fine and walking home or…?”

“Or they are facing a fuck load of deaders that are pissed off and under no one’s control,” Jethro replied. “Odds point to the latter.”

“Fucking great.”

***

Brother Reynaldo, Sister Gloria and Sister Candide stood next to the Pope as he watched the Disciples form into a wide line of defense around the perimeter of the Stronghold. The Disciples were six deep and spanned the entire length of the perimeter, almost stretching them out of sight.

“The commander is coming,” Sister Gloria said and they all turned to Capreze’s approaching ATV.

“Looks like we’ll need you pretty soon,” Capreze said. “We’ve lost contact with the northern front.”

“And those riders of Eden?” the Pope asked. “How do they fair?”

“They’re struggling,” Capreze said. “There’s some new weapon at play that we weren’t aware of. The Mayor says they have it under control, but I think he is being optimistic.”

“So these wonderful creatures are the last line of defense?” the Pope asked. “Humanity’s only hope.” He smiled broadly. “Fitting.”

“I’m going to assume you are referring to some irony that only you get,” Capreze said. “I just need to know that you can control these things. If we get hit then your Disciples are all that stand between whatever is coming and the Stronghold. If we go down then there’s really no chance anyone can stand against them.”

“And that ‘them’ is still a mystery, correct?” the Pope said. “Since we don’t know what is actually coming towards us.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Capreze said. “We’ll know soon, though. Once anything gets clear of the EMP blast then we’ll be able to pick it up on sensors. But nothing’s shown up yet.”

“Well, let us pray that your people haven’t completely fallen and are still fighting for us all,” the Pope said.

“Yeah, praying is a good idea,” Capreze answered.

***

“Ah, fuck me!” Masters shouted as he kicked at the cockpit hatch over and over again. “Fucking open!”

The hatch finally broke free and Masters grabbed his pump-action shotgun, his 9mm, and all the shells and magazines he could stuff into his uniform’s pockets. He pushed the hatch open and climbed out onto his mech as it lay on its back, surrounded by a sea of techno-zombies. Masters would have taken himself out right there with the numbers he faced, but luckily all of the techno-zombies were flat on their backs and unmoving. He guessed that the EMP had disabled the nanobots and sent them to the mat.

He grabbed his binocs, put them to his face, then tossed them back into the cockpit. No good, the electronics were fried. He slowly spun in a circle and took in what he could see. Which was a lot.

There were mechs down, transports on their sides, and what looked like a few BTTs in various states of impact. The main thing that took his attention was remnants of a small mushroom cloud billowing up into the sky. It was a few miles off, but he could see by the damage around him that the shockwaves had reached that far. He thought about radiation for a minute, but shoved it aside. There was nothing he could do.

Masters squinted and shaded his eyes as he searched the battlefield. He thought he saw a few mechs that weren’t Canadian, but he couldn’t find the exact one he was looking for.

Harlow.

He had an idea of which direction from him she was when the blast came, but after the slam his mech had taken he wasn’t really sure where he was anymore. Masters started to slide down the side of the mech then grabbed a strut and froze halfway.

One of the techno-zombies had stirred.

Masters waited until he was sure he didn’t see anymore movement then slowly made his way to the ground. He tiptoed his way around the zombies, careful not to make a sound, and started off in the direction he hoped Harlow was in.

***

Jay trudged across the wasteland, carbine at the ready, his eyes sweeping the landscape. He still couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the Hybrid or Murphy’s team. He knew he had one, maybe two more ridges to crest before he could get to the Railer train. He doubted that the train wasn’t affected by the EMP, but he at least wanted to be with others. Safety in numbers was a rule to live by in the wasteland.

“There it is,” Jay said, as he stood on the first ridge, the Railer train a mile off. “Oh, sweet Jeezus.”

Beyond the train was a scene of total devastation. The mushroom cloud in the distance had reached far into the sky and was being blown apart by the intense winds the blast had created. Around the cloud was a crater that could have held two Strongholds in their entirety.

Surrounding the crater were husks of transports and parts of mech exoskeletons. The damage was less severe further from the crater, but for all Jay could see, nothing moved, everything was still. But Jay had been alive in the wasteland long enough to know that nothing stayed down forever. He started to jog towards the train, hoping he could make it to the relative safety of one of the cars before something did start to move.

***

“I want every inch of this train visually inspected!” Marin shouted as she ran from car to car. “Get your feet on the ground and let me know what you see. We can’t just sit here, people! I want solutions and I want them now!” She rammed into one of her mechanics and shoved him aside. “Dammit, Watts! Watch where the fuck you’re going!”

“Sorry, Marin,” mechanic Randy Watts said. “I was heading to the back engine. Moss had an idea.”

“Moss? Jonathan? Since when did that moron have any ideas worth a crap?” Marin laughed.

“I don’t know,” Watts shrugged. “Usually he just likes to sit up in his seat and shoot things down, but he sent someone to find me and they said he’s pretty fired up.”

“Why you?” Marin asked.

“He married my sister last year,” Watts shrugged. “He kinda follows me around like a puppy.”

“Isn’t that cute,” Marin mocked. “Take me with you. If he’s got an idea on how to get us moving when every single electronic component has been fried then I’d love to hear it.”

Watts shrugged again and they made their way to the back engine. More than a few people had also heard that Jonathan Moss had an idea and the compartment was crammed.

“All non-essential personnel need to clear the fuck out!” Marin ordered. When no one moved she pulled her sidearm. “I will start shooting you motherfuckers.”

The engine compartment cleared out quickly, leaving only Marin, Watts, Jonathan Moss, and two other mechanics he’d called to consult with.

“So?” Marin asked. “What genius idea do you have?”

Marin noticed that Moss was holding something in his hands. He gently set it down on a useless control console. Marin blanched when she saw what it was.

“Have you lost your mind, Moss?” Marin asked, willing herself not to take a step back. “That’s a fucking missile core! You fucking sneeze and that will blow us all to hell!”

“Not if the blast is directed properly,” Moss replied. “And if the other cars are shielded. That little guy, and the hundreds we have on board, can get us out of here.”

Marin looked from the missile core to the other mechanics. They all had fear in their eyes, but each one nodded in agreement.

“You’re wanting to detonate the cores to push us forward?” Marin asked, the implications of what could happen if it went wrong speeding through her mind. “You want to literally rocket propel this train?”

“All of the electronics and firing mechanisms have died,” Moss said. “But we can use what we have and rig new manual detonators. We set this up right and we can be shooting across the wasteland in just a few hours.”

“One wrong weld and we all die,” Marin said. “You know that, right?”

Moss nodded. “I’ve also been on top of the train and can see what’s out there. Those things wake up and we’re dead. No mechs to save us. No BTTs to blast them from above. This train will be overrun in minutes and we’ll all be fucking deader food.” He looked at the other mechanics and straightened his back. “I’d rather be blown up trying to do something than eaten doing nothing.”

Marin watched him for a while before speaking. “Yeah, well, so would I. Get everyone that you need on this. I want us moving down the tracks as soon as possible.”

***

Blades drawn, Harlow stepped around the motionless techno-zombies that littered the ground. She’d fought off her fair share of zombie hordes, but even she didn’t think she could take all that surrounded her. Each footfall was carefully planned and executed. She had zero intention of a misstep being her downfall.

She thought she caught movement far off out of the corner of her eye, but every time she looked she saw nothing but the haze of the wasteland as the nuclear winds blew sand and dust into her eyes. Just like Masters she had to shove the thoughts of radioactive fallout aside. She’d deal with that once she knew she wouldn’t be zombie food.

By the angle of the sun she knew she was heading towards the Railer train, her only hope to make it back to the Stronghold. She had no idea if the train was out of the EMP blast radius, but she didn’t care. It would at least put some metal between her and the undead. She felt completely naked walking the wasteland, stepping over inert zombies, with nothing but her uniform on.

Even the heft of a long blade in each hand didn’t put her at ease. The feel of the carbine across her back and the 9mm on her hip helped, but she would be kidding herself if she thought she could shoot her way out of the horde if they all decided to wake up. To pass the time she started calculating how many she could take out if she was attacked. With each step she was in a new situation and she revised her plan constantly, step by step, until she had a hundred scenarios in her head.

Harlow had to smile at her own ego. In more than a few scenarios she actually thought she could do enough damage to get away. She knew she couldn’t kill them all, but as she saw an end to the mass of techno-zombies off in the distance, she believed she could cut a path to open ground and then outrun them.

She ignored the thought that the techno-zombies probably could run just as fast as she could. Maybe faster. That thought ruined every plan and made every footfall seem heavier than before.

Harlow was a few more yards when she noticed twitches of activity about her. She’d hoped that the EMP had fried the nanobots enough to destroy the zombies’ cerebral cortexes. Basically just like the Reaper chips. But from the movement that started to build around her, Harlow knew her hope had been foolish. She was never that lucky.

In seconds Harlow let go the idea of stepping softly and started to pound her feet against the dirt as she picked up speed. She was in a full on run by the time she saw the first zombie sit upright, its dead eyes focused on her, its teeth bared, mouth hungry. A second one sat up then a third. She watched hands reach for her and mouths moan. Whatever the techno-zombies had been before the EMP, they were just plain deaders now.

Her right blade slashed out and severed the heads of two deaders. They tumbled from their undead necks and rolled against the legs of other deaders that were getting to their feet. Harlow buried her left blade into the abdomen of a deader and ripped upward, slicing the zombie in half from its navel to its forehead. She lowered her shoulder and shoved it into three deaders that were coming at her.

A hand gripped her ankle and Harlow took a hard fall, one of her blades skidding out of reach. She kicked out at the deader that had her, snapping its neck as her heel slammed into its face. Harlow rolled to her feet, dove for her blade, grabbed it, rolled, and came up slashing. Four deaders were split apart at the waist. Their torsos fell to the ground, their mouths still chomping and moaning. They weren’t going anywhere so Harlow didn’t waste a moment even thinking of ending them.

A group to her right charged her and she ducked under swiping arms, taking legs out at the knees with one blade, and clearing a path ahead with another. She had to shoulder more deaders out of her way and a claw grabbed her by the hair, almost pulling her off her feet. She kept her footing and reached back, snapping the clawed hand off at the wrist and tossing the appendage aside.

Her eyes could see the edge of the zombie line, but that line was up and turning towards the sound of her struggles. If the deaders had been slow shamblers, broken like many in the wasteland were, she knew she could make it. But her heart sank as she watched the speed with which the deaders charged her. She dropped a blade and pulled her 9mm, blasting away at the ones blocking her path.

Two fell, three fell, then her slide locked back and she released the spent magazine. Letting the metal fall to the ground. She slammed another mag from her belt into the pistol, but couldn’t rack the slide before the 9mm was knocked from her grip.

Teeth pierced her fingers as a deader grabbed her forearm and brought her hand to its mouth. Harlow screamed, not so much from the pain as from the shock of having been bitten. A sure death sentence. She didn’t know if the techno-zombies had the same virus inside them as what had ravaged the continent, but she doubted she would have to wait long to find out.

If it walked like a deader and bit like a deader then it was a deader. And she was as good as gone.

Harlow clutched her hand to her chest and swung wildly with her other blade. She took some heads, opened some chests, and made sure a few deaders would be walking around without arms for the rest of their undead existence, but there were just too many. She almost wanted to cry as she could see the break in the deaders just ahead. There was open ground only a few yards in front of her. If she could get through she could make it. The adrenaline coursing through her system told her that.

But the hands that grabbed her, the teeth that came for her throat, told her that the last thing she would see wasn’t empty wasteland before her, but the hungry mouths of death.

Then a deader head exploded right next to her. And another. And another. The gunshots reached her ears as the fourth head was obliterated.

A path was being opened in front of her and she didn’t waste the opportunity. Even with her hand pouring blood from the deader bite, she had hope that she’d at least be alive for a little while longer. She shoved everything around her out of the way as more and more deaders were dropped. When she reached the end of the line, with all deaders behind her, she saw something that she’d never thought she’d be so happy to see ever again.

Mitch Masters stood about twenty yards away with one of the undead troopers’ rifles against his shoulder. She could see the shit eating grin on his face as he took aim and made sure she wouldn’t be grabbed from behind. Harlow didn’t even flinch when she felt the air crack next to her ear as a bullet came just a fraction of an inch from her head. Normally she would have ripped Masters’s head off for the close call, but at that moment all she wanted to do was get to him. She just needed to reach him and it would all be okay.

“Hey, baby,” Mitch smiled when she was only a few feet away. “Miss me?”

“God, yes,” she said as she skidded to a stop next to him. She wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him hard then pushed him away quickly. “We better keep moving.”

“I have to agree with that,” Masters said. Then he saw her hand. “Oh, baby, no… No, no, no!”

“It may not kill me,” Harlow said, but neither of them believed that. “So let’s just keep moving.”

Masters nodded and emptied the rifle into the zombies that were running for them. He picked up two more rifles that were on the ground and slung them over his back. He pulled his own 9mm and fired behind him as he and Harlow took off in the direction of the Railer train.

***

Bisby watched from under his mech as the techno-zombies started to stir again. He’d had several grabbing at him, trying to pull him from under the nook he’d wedged himself into, but the EMP had dropped them before they could get at him. The only problem was that he was trapped. The bodies of techno-zombies blocked his way out and with only one arm he couldn’t get the leverage to shove and push them out of the way.

What he thought was a saving grace had ended up being a nail in his coffin.

The deaders began to take notice of him, their noses finding the smell of his living flesh almost instantly. Bisby, his firearms already empty, just had to sit there and watch as the undead fought each other to be the first to get to him.

The ground shook slightly and Bisby figured somewhere some ordinance was detonating. Then the ground shook again and again in a rhythmic pattern that suggested something else.

Footfalls. Very large footfalls.

A mech? No fucking way, he thought. The EMP would have taken them all out.

The footfalls got closer and closer until he saw a massive foot stomp down on the deaders right in front of him. Several missed being squashed because they had wiggled under the mech and were only inches away from grabbing Bisby.

But that was solved quickly as Bisby’s mech was lifted into the air and tossed across the wasteland.

“Pilot Bisby,” One Arm said over his loudspeakers. “I am not surprised to find you in the middle of this chaos.”

“Holy fuck,” Bisby said. “But you…wait…huh?”

“You and your comrades left me,” One Arm said. “Once my systems rebooted I was able to make some repairs and began following the army’s path here. I was luckily out of the blast range of that nuclear detonation.”

“Yeah, fucking lucky for me,” Bisby said then laughed. “You know what?”

“I do not.”

“You could be the only functioning mech in this wasteland!” Bisby exclaimed. “A one armed mech and a one armed mech pilot! Fucking hilarious!”

“I am unsure about the humor,” One Arm stated. “Or the offensive language. But I am sure that there are a lot of undead about. Would you like a lift?”

“You bet your metal ass I would,” Bisby said. He took a look at One Arm’s leg. “That doesn’t look too functional.”

“Too functional? No,” One Arm said about the leg that had been blasted and he had to repair. “But functional enough.”

The leg was welded onto his exoskeleton with a mismatched patchwork of struts. It stuck straight out from his body and Bisby could see by the swath the mech cut through the deaders that he was dragging it more than walking on it.

“Whatever keeps you moving,” Bisby said as he hopped into One Arm’s hand for the quick ride up to the cockpit. “That’s all that fucking matters.”

“In which direction shall we go, Pilot?” One Arm asked.

“Straight ahead,” Bisby said. “There’s a Railer train we may be able to catch.” The cockpit hatch opened and Bisby stared. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Hey,” Mathew said, his feet up on the control console. “You’re riding bitch.”

Fifty-Seven

“We are the same now, Stone,” Reginald said. “Equals. Of a sort.”

“Oh, Reg,” Stone said, shaking his head. “Is that what you think? We’re equals? Why would you even think that?”

Reginald thumped his chest. “Because we are both improved. The new men of the world.”

Stone walked casually closer to Reginald then stopped when he was about five yards away. “We aren’t men, Reginald. We aren’t anything. We’re biochrome amalgamations of what Ms. Isely thinks we should be.”

“But we still have our minds,” Reginald said as he tapped his temple. “We still have what makes us ‘us’.”

“Do we?” Stone asked. “Are you sure? How would you even know? That woman could have easily altered everything about us. You assume too much, Reg.”

Reginald frowned and stared at Stone for a long moment as the battle waged around them.

“Why do you have to do that, Stone?” he finally asked.

“Do what, Reg?” Stone asked.

“Cut me down to size,” Reginald replied. “You’ve always done that. When we were partners –partners- you made sure I was behind you, never next to you. You can’t stand it that I am finally on the same level as you and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Stone chuckled for a second then lashed out with blinding speed. BC shot from his hands and slashed Reginald across the face and chest. Reginald fell back, his body bleeding, shocked at the sudden attack.

He stood up and his wounds closed as if they hadn’t happened. “That wasn’t very mature of you, Stone.”

“Never claimed maturity, Reg,” Stone said. “Just ferocity.”

The two former partners locked eyes and stayed perfectly still, each waiting for the other to make the next move. Each trying to figure out what that move would be since, as far as they knew, neither of them could be killed.

***

“Those are your boys down there,” Charlie said as he watched the battle safely on a holo in the BTT’s cabin. “Care to wager on which one will win?”

“Neither,” Mr. Gein said. “It’s a lose lose situation.”

“I don’t buy that,” Charlie replied.

Mr. Gein stood up and refilled his drink. “Fine, there will be a winner.” Mr. Gein shrugged as he downed his gin and tonic and made another. “And it will be the one that always wins.” He went and sat back down, his face drawn and pale. “The one that always wins. I don’t know how, but he can’t lose. Even death can’t beat him.”

“Great,” Charlie said. “That’s just great.”

“Can anything beat him?” Melissa asked. “A Ghost, maybe?”

“Possibly,” Mr. Gein responded. “But I wouldn’t test it. You’d have to be touching him to manipulate the BC he’s made of. If you are that close then you’re already dead.”

“I’ve gotten out of worse,” Melissa said. “I’m pretty hard to kill also.”

“But not impossible,” Mr. Gein said. “Stone, and Reginald, were designed to be impossible to kill. A nuclear blast? Possibly. But even that I have no illusions about.”

“Sweet god,” Charlie said. “You people really fucked this world up.”

Mr. Gein shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I was just a bureaucrat following the easier path. I don’t fuck anything up. I just push the papers that order the world to be fucked up.”

***

“Come on, cuz,” Immy said as she helped Dog up and onto his cyce. “Can you ride?”

“Don’t have a choice,” Dog said. “Let’s finish this shit. New guy is busy with other new guy. Let them duke it out while we wipe the wasteland clean of these fucks.”

“I like that spirit, cuz,” Immy grinned as she hopped on her cyce and powered it up. “Cleaning up fucks is a great way to spend the day.”

“Enough of the talk,” the Mayor said over the com. “We have already lost a third of our people. And we’re losing more as you chat!”

“Sorry, daddy,” Immy said. “We’ll get them rallied.”

Dog and Immy roared away from the stalemate of Stone and Reginald. They opened up on anyone that wasn’t from Eden. They didn’t care if it was a shock trooper or if it was a tech running from a burning HAV. Everyone in their path was ripped to bits by their gunfire.

“Riders of Eden,” Dog said over the com. “We are losing ground. That ain’t cool, folks. I signed up to be the future leader of Eden because I saw strength in you all. You were able to pull off one pretty amazing farce for my benefit. Now let’s pull some truth on these fucks. Time to truly make the Three know what it’s like to tangle with the wasteland. Let’s show them nothing but defeat. That’s all they deserve.”

A chorus of voices responded and Dog could instantly feel the mood change. Where he had seen cyces avoiding conflict, ducking in and out to make random, safe attacks, he watched packs of cyces converge on shock troopers and lay into them until there was nothing but a bloody mess of biochrome and bodies.

Riders that had been wounded and knew they wouldn’t make it out alive rammed their cyces right into HAVs, ripping the massive transports apart in a suicidal explosion of bravery.

Shock troopers spun about, their rifles barking wildly, never able to get a solid target. They’d have one cyce in their sights, but be blindsided by another behind them, unable to turn in time to save themselves. Men and women screamed as they had metal ripped from their bodies. They cried out in agony as their shock suits were compromised and their jack ports yanked straight from the bone they were fused to.

Troopers fell, HAVs burned, and cyces roared.

***

“Enough,” Stone said. “Call your people off and leave. Tell the Three that they’ve lost. That the wasteland isn’t for them.” Stone spread his arms wide. “And why would they want it? Look at this hell! It isn’t suitable for the lowest scab junkie! You want to call this home?”

“No, I want to go home,” Reginald said. “Sit by a fire with a cup of tea. Maybe a biscuit or two. Just relax for a change.”

“You actually think the Three will allow that?” Stone scoffed. “If so then Isely really did mess with your head. They own you, Reg! You are their dog, their puppet, their bitch! You will never be done because men like that will never let you be done!” Stone smiled devilishly. “Ask yourself this, Reg:  what happens to the Three when they do win? When no one is left to conquer? You think they won’t split and start fighting each other?”

Reginald didn’t answer.

“Haven’t thought about that, have you Reg? That’s why we will never be equals. You follow. I refuse to. Why? Because following gets you killed for someone else. I’ve already done that. Fool me once, and all that shite. Trust me, Reg, when the Three get bored they will be at each others’ throats in no time because that is their nature. What will you do then?”

“Words,” Reginald said. “That’s what you’ve always been, Stone. The man with the words. Words get you nowhere anymore, Stone. Only brute force will win. That is the nature of the world now.”

“Brute force?” Stone laughed. BC shot out from his hands and attached to the wreckage of two HAVs. Stone brought his hands together and the HAVs slammed into Reginald from either side of him. “You have the stones to lecture me on brute force?”

Stone shot out more tendrils from his body. Tentacles from his shoulders, his back, his legs, searched the field for as much BC as possible. He grabbed it, amazed at how his mind could distinguish equally between all of his new appendages, and added to the mass of BC that crushed down on Reginald.

“Brute force,” Stone chuckled. “I’ll give you brute force, you simpering suck-ass.”

A thick rod of BC shot from the pile that held Reginald and impaled Stone. He stumbled for a minute and looked down at the BC that was sticking from his abdomen. BC that he couldn’t seem to control. The BC broke off and fell to the ground then pooled and reshaped in a blink.

Reginald stood nose to nose with Stone.

“You think too much, Stone,” Reginald grinned. “You forget to shut up and just act.” Reginald grabbed Stone by the neck and ran him backwards until they slammed into the overturned husk of an HAV. “I think I’ll shut you up forever.”

***

“Christ,” Melissa said. “I wish I was down there.”

“Don’t do it,” Charlie said. “You’re an endangered species.”

“So are you,” Melissa said.

“Aren’t we all,” Mr. Gein added, lifting his glass. “Well, maybe not me, but it sure is fun to toast and talk desperate times with you two. If I’d known Americans were such great company I wouldn’t have helped wipe you from the planet.”

“There’s more of us,” Charlie said. “Hidden, secure. We’ll find them and make sure the Americans survive as a people.”

“Bully for you, boy!” Mr. Gein cheered and finished his drink. “This calls for another, don’t you think?”

***

The Line between Immy and Dog’s cyces sliced through everything in its path as if metal and flesh were made of air. Behind them lay the carnage of their attack. Nothing was left whole, nothing was left living. What the Line didn’t kill, Dog or Immy did, whether with their cyces’ guns or with a well placed shot from their pistols.

The two that were born of the wasteland did what came naturally to them: they destroyed. From deader hordes, to freak waste storms, the wasteland was nothing but barren destruction and open chaos. The cousins channeled that, made it their own, and brought the entire force of the wasteland down on the Three’s troopers.

With all cyces in synch with what had to be done, the riders of Eden painted the wasteland earth with foreign blood. The parched dirt soaked up the crimson liquid with a thirst that would have seemed animalistic if anyone had paid attention.

But no one did. They were too busy killing or dying.

***

“Getting a little bloody around here,” Stone said as he landed a right hook into Reginald’s cheek knocking him sideways and tumbling through the air into a pile of dead troopers. “With you playing patty cake with me it seems your forces have lost focus. And lost their lives.”

Reginald threw all the BC he could gather at Stone. Spears, blades, shards of sharpened metal, all imbedded themselves in various parts of Stone’s body. He stumbled back, but absorbed what he could and let the rest fall to the ground.

“That stung, but what was the point?” Stone asked. “We can be here all day, Reg. We can be here all decade. Nothing will change. You’ll fight me, I’ll fight you. Forever.”

“Then admit we are the same, Stone,” Reginald said as he fashioned a long sword from the shock suit of a broken trooper. “Just say the words and I’ll walk away like you want. That’s all it takes.”

Stone smiled at the sword and created his own. It was about two inches longer than Reginald’s. The other man noticed it and lengthened his. Stone replied in kind by extending his a fraction more.

Reginald’s face balled up with fury.

“STOP IT!” he roared.

“No,” Stone said as he gripped his sword with both hands. “Not until you recognize that we are not the same. You are Reginald. I am Stone. Two different people. Or machines. Or whatever the fuck we are. Get over your fucking need for equality and suck it up, Reg!”

Reginald charged Stone and their swords clashed, the clang of metal echoing across the wasteland making trooper and rider alike turn at the sound. The force of the impact created a small shockwave that sent dust and debris whipping through the battle. But neither Stone nor Reginald budged an inch.

“I will kill you, Stone,” Reginald said. “Then you will be right. We won’t be the same. You’ll be dead. I’ll be alive.”

***

“Call them back,” Ms. Isely said. “Those damn magcycle mutants, or whatever they are, are winning! Call the troops back! Have Reginald withdraw so we can reassess this plan and strike again!”

“Oh, Ms. Isely,” Mr. Plain said as he watched the battle on the holo in the center of the Three’s command tent. “Your lack of faith is sad.”

“Disappointing,” Mr. Brown Eyes nodded.

“Pitiful,” Mr. Continental almost spat.

“But, sirs, you have to realize-,” Ms. Isely started.

“No, we do not,” Mr. Plain said. “Have a peek outside, will you?”

Ms. Isely watched the men closely then cautiously got up and opened the tent flap. She looked past all of the work on the beach and at the rows of ships setting anchor in the bay.

“Dear, god,” Ms. Isely said. “Where did they all come from?”

“We have resources even you do not know about,” Mr. Continental replied. “So losing one skirmish in the desert isn’t an issue.”

“Not even a hiccup,” Mr. Plain said.

“Barely registers,” Mr. Brown Eyes added.

“So take your seat, Ms. Isely,” Mr. Continental ordered. “And watch it all play out.”

***

The riders rounded up the last of the troopers. No one said a word as they cut them down, executing them on the spot. The wasteland wasn’t about prisoners.

“Couldn’t have carried them on our cyces,” Immy said as she watched the range of emotions play across Dog’s face. “And I wouldn’t if I could. Not after what happened to Agnatha.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dog replied turning his attention to the battle between Stone and Reginald. “What do we do about those guys?”

“Your call,” Immy said. “What can we do?”

“Leave them,” Dog replied. “I’m sure your father can keep tabs on them.”

“Already am,” the Mayor replied over the com. “Just sat down with some drinks and snacks. All of Eden is watching this fight. Quite a show.”

“He’s kidding, right?” Dog asked.

“Kidding?” Immy laughed. “Not even close. Half the wasteland is our entertainment. Better than the vids that the UDC used to broadcast. Reality is stranger than fiction.”

“That’s just messed up,” Dog said. “But I like it.”

Some of the riders pulled sidearms as the BTT shivered into existence just a few yards away.

“Let’s get the wounded inside and get the fuck out of here,” Melissa said from the door as the ramp extended to the ground. “Just heard from Capreze. They have a feeling a whole lot of undead are about to come down on the Stronghold. The couple BTTs that are available are on their way. You folks will be flying in style shortly. No time to waste.”

Fifty-Eight

The zombies were only yards behind Masters and Harlow as they ran to the Railer  train they could see in the distance.

“HEY!” Masters shouted. “HEY! OVER HERE!”

“Mitch,” Harlow gasped. “Mitch…I can’t…”

“Bullshit,” he said as he draped her arm over his shoulder and helped her along. He turned and emptied his 9mm into the crush of zombies coming at them. He had no idea if he took any out, but he was glad to do something, anything. “Just hang on to me.”

“We won’t make…it,” Harlow said. She looked over at her hand on Masters’s shoulder and saw the black lines extending up her wrist and arm. She knew she had an hour or less. “Leave me. Baby…leave me.”

“Fuck that shit,” Masters said. “Not a fucking chance in hell I’m leaving a hot piece of ass like you to those things. You may hate me, but I still love you. And your ass. It’s mine, baby, all mine.”

Harlow couldn’t help but smile as she pushed herself to jog along with Masters. “You’re…going to…die too,” she croaked. “I can’t…have that.”

“Not your choice, sweet cheeks,” Masters said. “We keep going. Together.”

Harlow risked a look over her shoulder and gasped. They were so close. The smell and the sounds grew with every step.

“STAY STILL!” a voice boomed from above. “JUST STAND STILL FOR A MINUTE!”

Masters and Harlow looked up and both nearly fell over. A badly scorched and scarred BTT was just above them, the cargo bay door sliding open. Masters skidded to a stop and held Harlow to him.

“See, baby?” Masters said, kissing her feverous cheek. “All good. Cavalry arrived.”

The BTT settled over them and Masters shoved Harlow up into the cargo bay. He grabbed onto the edge and pulled himself up, barely escaping the grabbing hands of a hundred deaders. Some were able to leap at the BTT and grab the edge of the cargo hold, but as the bay door slid shut their hands were severed and the zombies fell away.

“Fuck,” Masters said, looking around at the BTT’s cargo hold. “Uh, hello?”

“Up in the cockpit,” Styles 7 said. “Come up, y’all. I have drinks.” The BTT lurched and Masters and Harlow felt it lose altitude. “Better drink up while we can still fly. This baby took a beating when that blast hit. Almost knocked me out of the air.”

“Are we heading back to the Stronghold?” Masters asked as he helped Harlow up the stairs from the hold.

“No can do, bud,” Styles 7’s voice said over the speakers. “This baby will never make it. I’m gonna put us down by that train. Maybe we can figure something out with them.”

“Great,” Masters said thinking of the zombie horde that was still below. And heading straight for the train because of them.

***

“Hold that still!” Moss shouted. “You drop that and we’ll all blow up!”

“Kiss my ass, Jonny,” Watts said. “I’ve got it steady. You just hurry up and bolt those straps down.”

“You’re going to kill us all,” Marin said as she watched the two mechanics bolt missile engines to the back of the rear train engine. “This will blow us to a million pieces.”

“Certainly will,” Jay said as he limped up to Marin. “Hey.”

“Still alive,” Marin nodded. “Good to see that. Any word on the others?”

“Nope,” Jay said. “If they’re alive then they’re in a world of shit.” Jay hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “We’ve got company.”

Marin turned around and squinted into the sun. “Ah, shit.”

“That ain’t gonna work,” Jay said. “Unless you have them angled perfectly those engines are just going to send this car flying off the tracks.”

“I don’t think so,” Watts said.

“Oh, well,” Jay said as he started walking away. “Your funeral.”

“Where are you going?” Marin asked.

“I’m gonna keep putting distance between me and those fucking deaders,” Jay said. “And I’m not getting on this train.”

“You’d rather get eaten alive?” Marin glared.

“I’d rather have a fighting chance than being on a derailed train when they come for me,” Jay said. “But that’s just me.”

“You really think this won’t work?” Watts asked.

“I know it won’t,” Jay said. “Plus, how are you going to coordinate them? You have no electronics! You’ll have to manually fire them all at once. Think you can really do that?”

Watts and Moss looked at each other.

“Yeah,” Jay grinned. “That’s what I thought. Marin, get your people to hoofing it. You have a small head start. Take that opportunity.”

“Ah, fuck,” Marin swore. “You two, get down. We need to evacuate.” They hopped down and Marin slapped them both upside the head. “I can’t believe you two talked me into this.”

“But, you-,” Moss started.

“Shut the fuck up,” Marin growled. “Go get weapons and water. We have a long fucking hike to make.”

Jay stopped where he was and looked up in the sky. “Well, I’ll be.”

“What?” Marin asked then the shadow fell over her.

“Those things sure are quiet,” Jay said. “Even when beat up.”

The BTT landed next to the train and the ramp descended. Masters helped Harlow down the ramp.

“Hey, Jay,” Masters said. “Looks like the train can use some power?”

“What’s wrong?” Jay asked, his eyes on Harlow. “Oh, sweet Jeezus…”

***

Jay had a hard time concentrating on what Marin and Styles 7 were discussing. His attention was fully on Harlow as Masters wiped her forehead with a wet cloth.

“Rind?” Marin snapped. “Are you listening?”

“No,” Jay admitted. “What?”

“Do you think this support structure will hold?” Styles asked. “And how long will it take to weld it together?”

Jay studied the rough schematics that Marin had drawn and nodded. “Yes and an hour if everyone works on it.”

“We don’t have an hour,” Masters said as he glanced out the train window at the mass of zombies. “Maybe twenty minutes.”

“What if we tow the train for the first few miles?” Styles 7 suggested. “Get us a little more breathing room?”

“We can rig a tow cable in a few minutes,” Jay said. “But how long can your BTT stay in the air?”

“Long enough to get us a ways off so we can then weld it to the front engine,” Styles 7 said. “But it will be a slow launch. I take off at full speed and I’ll destroy your train. Probably rip the front engine in half.”

“Then we get some guns and we hold off as many as possible,” Marin said. “Every able bodied person that can pull a trigger will be on the end of the train.”

“That won’t be needed,” Masters said. “I can provide a distraction.”

“How the hell are you going to do that?” Jay asked. “You have Harlow to look out for. You aren’t…going to…” Jay shook his head. “No, Masters. No fucking way.”

“She’s already gone,” Masters said. “Look at her, man.”

They all did and could see that Harlow was well on her way to turning. The bite from the techno-zombie not only was potent, but the strain used obviously had an accelerated incubation timeline. Harlow’s cheeks were sunken in and her eyes flicked madly behind her lids. Her skin had turned gray and her breathing was shallow and irregular.

“That doesn’t mean you have to die,” Marin said. “You have a whole life ahead of you!”

“No, I don’t,” Masters said. “You saw what happened to me the last time I thought I lost Harlow. I was a fucking mess!” Tears welled in his eyes and he struggled to speak. “I can’t. I just can’t. She’s the only thing that makes this life worth it for me.”

“Jesus,” Styles 7 said. “You’re gonna make me cry, man. That’s some fucking love right there.”

“No, it isn’t!” Jay said. “It’s fucking suicide and it’s bullshit!”

“Jay…,” Masters said softly. “I’m not coming with. I’ll sit up on top of that rear engine car. You guys leave it with me and Harlow. I’ll make sure the deaders come for me and you all have a head start.”

“You can’t shoot them all, Mitch,” Jay said, shaking his head. “They’ll tear you apart. What, are you going to eat your own gun? Fucking coward.”

“Eat my gun?” Masters laughed. “I’m Mitch Mother Fucking Masters. I’ll be going out in style, bitches.”

***

“Tow line is in place,” Jay said as he stood on the side ladder to the roof of the rear engine car. The car had been decoupled and was standing alone thirty yards from the rest of the train. “You sure you won’t change your mind?”

“Never been so sure about anything in my life,” Masters said as he sat on top of the car, Harlow cradled in his arms. He looked down through a roof hatch at what lay below inside the car. “This will be quite a show. Make sure you guys are watching.”

“I won’t take my eyes off of you,” Jay said. “I promise.”

The two men looked at each other for a while then both nodded.

“Crazy fucker,” Jay said.

“Grumpy old fuck,” Masters replied.

“See you in Hell,” Jay said as he climbed down the ladder. “Save me a seat.”

“I’ll keep it warm for you,” Masters said as he watched the wave of zombies coming at them. “Now move ass, Rind!”

Jay didn’t have to be told twice. He ran faster than he ever had before and grabbed onto the railing of the rear train car. He pulled himself up and gave a quick wave. The train lurched as the BTT in front started to slowly pull it away.

Masters gave a return wave then looked at the zombies. Quite a few had split from the main wave and were running towards the train. Masters picked up his pistol and fired a shot into the air. All undead eyes fell on him.

“Feeding time!” Masters shouted. “Come and get it!”

He set the pistol aside and pulled his knife, cutting a long gash into his forearm. He flicked the gushing blood off the car and onto the dirt below. The zombies picked up their pace as the scent of fresh blood hit their noses. Masters flicked more and more as his arm poured blood.

“Oooh, ouch,” he said. “I think I nicked something big.”

Harlow stirred and her face scrunched up as she caught a whiff of Masters’s blood. Her eyes opened slowly and Masters winced at what he saw.

“Ah, baby,” he said as he looked into the clouded, yellow eyes of a deader. “Oh, my sweet, sweet girl.”

He gripped her to him as she started to become more animated. She struggled against his arms, her head twisting and twisting, trying to find the source of the delicious smell. Masters had to use all of his strength to keep her from full on attacking him. As the blood left his body he knew that strength was going to follow.

He glanced down at the pistol next to him.

“Almost time,” he whispered in Harlow’s ear. She jerked and snapped at his face. “Ah, fuck. What the hell, right?”

Masters looked out at the mass of zombies that had surrounded the train car. There were thousands and thousands and he felt them crushing against the car, their weight starting to rock the train car from side to side. The pistol slid slightly and Masters grabbed it.

“Okay, baby,” he said as he tilted his head, exposing his neck. “One last taste of Mitchy before we go.”

The creature that had been Harlow opened her mouth wide and clamped down on Masters’s exposed flesh. He held in the cry that almost escaped his lips and aimed the pistol down through the top hatch in the train car. He took careful aim, making sure he had the exact spot Jay had pointed out in his sights.

“I...love you,” Masters gasped as Harlow ripped out part of his throat.

Before he could choke on his own blood he fired.

The bullet hit the mark perfectly and the payloads from twenty-seven missiles exploded in a split second chain reaction.

***

Chief Mechanic Jay Rind wept openly as he watched the fireball soar into the sky. He knew Masters and Harlow had been vaporized and hadn’t felt a thing, but he couldn’t help thinking that he could have done something else. He could have come up with a plan that would have saved them.

Marin, by Jay’s side, looked at him as a small laugh escaped his lips. “What the hell can you find funny?”

“I just thought I could have done something,” Jay said. “I could have come up with someway that they didn’t have to die. But Harlow was bit? She’d already turned. I was born in this shit and yet my fucking ego thought I could fix her. I actually thought I could save someone that had turned deader. That’s what’s funny. Me.”

The flames from the explosion, and the blast wave that followed, wiped out a quarter mile worth of deaders. Marin nodded towards the destruction. “They gave us the space and time we needed. The train is up to speed and we’ll be at a safe distance soon. They didn’t die for nothing.”

“Yeah,” Jay said. “But they still died.”

***

“Ah, where the fuck are they going?” Bisby asked as he peered through binocs at the Railer train. “And what the fuck was that boom all about?”

“Beats me,” Mathew said. “But I’m glad I’m fifty feet up above all of those fucking deaders.”

“Eventually they’ll start figuring out that meat is up here,” Bisby said. “Then we’ll have a problem.”

“I don’t think so,” One Arm said. “I hate the dead. None will be allowed to climb me.”

“Works for me,” Mathew said. “Is there anything to eat in here?”

“Shut the fuck up, Matty,” Bisby snapped. “We’ll eat when we get to the Stronghold.”

“Ifwe get to the Stronghold,” Mathew replied.

Bisby didn’t argue with him.

Fifty-Nine

“Wounded to the infirmary!” June shouted as the BTTs landed. “Fucking move, people!”

Stretchers were hurried from the bellies of some of the BTTs and set on ATVs. The small vehicles raced inside the Stronghold, heading for the infirmary. Other BTTs unloaded cyces and riders, Immy and Dog among them.

“Jenny inside?” Dog asked as he walked up to Capreze.

“She is,” Capreze said. “She’s in the mess I’m pretty sure.” Capreze looked Dog up and down. “So, how does it feel?”

“How does what feel, sir?” Dog asked.

“To be a leader,” Capreze said. “Is it a rush? Do you have that surge of power running through you like you can do anything you want?”

“If by surge of power you mean does my ass hurt, my shoulder hurt, am I exhausted, hungry, stressed and pretty much scared out of my motherfucking mind?” Dog replied. “Then yes, that’s exactly how I feel.”

“Good for you,” Capreze nodded. “Welcome to the club.”

“Does it get easier?” Dog asked as they walked into the hangar.

“Nope.”

“Fucking great.”

“Hey!” Immy shouted. “You just gonna leave me here?”

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Dog said. “Come on. Let’s get some food before we have to get back to it.” He looked at Capreze. “Any word on when the deaders hit?”

“Scans are still sketchy because of the radiation,” Capreze replied. “But it’s going to be sometime in the night.”

“Fuck,” Immy said. “A night attack by the undead is never good.”

“No, it’s not,” Capreze agreed. “But we have some help with that.” He stopped and looked Dog square in the eye. “I’m gonna need you at your best. Think you’re up for it?”

“You know I am,” Dog said. “We can put riders on the line. They won’t be as effective at night, but they can still shoot and bullets don’t need a halogen to find their targets.”

“Thank God for that,” Capreze nodded.

***

“Still no sign of the Great Maker,” Brother Reynaldo said. “All Brothers and Sisters have reported in. He must have slipped away to save himself.”

“Colonel Maker isn’t that type of coward,” the Pope said. “He must have his own agenda.”

“The Stronghold?”

“Possibly,” the Pope shrugged. “But that is Capreze’s problem. Are the blood cannons ready?”

“Yes, JP,” Brother Reynaldo nodded. “Everyone donated. When the infidel dead arrive we will paint them red and our Disciples will tear them apart, sending each and every one to Hell.”

“Good,” the Pope nodded. “Tell the Brothers and Sisters to get some rest. This will be a big night.”

“Yes, JP,” Brother Reynaldo nodded. “It will be glorious.”

***

The voices in his head grew stronger and louder as the Great Maker made his way from familiar corridor to familiar corridor. The base smell of the Stronghold hadn’t changed in all the years he’d been gone and the olfactory triggers sent memories flying through his mind. He wanted to argue with the memories, to fight with the voices, but the Great Maker knew that none of it was real.

But it felt so real. So very real.

He’d feasted once more before hiding again and his body felt energized as he went from shadow to shadow, making his way so slowly, so carefully to the mainframe room. Oh, when he reached that room then the days of the blasphemous flesh would be over. It would be the true rising of the metal!

He rounded a corner and stopped in his tracks. A young boy stood before him, his eyes as wide and big as his abnormal ears. The two just stared at each other for a brief moment.

“Are you afraid of me?” the Great Maker asked. “You do not need to fear me boy.” The Great Maker looked about the corridor. “I used to play in this place when I was a child. I used to explore and run and pretend. Can you pretend something for me, boy?”

Stan just stood there, frozen with fear.

“Do you not speak, child?” the Great Maker asked. “Or has fear taken your tongue?”

Stan opened his mouth to show the Great Maker his lack of tongue to take.

“Oh, I see,” the Great Maker nodded. “Another victim of humanity’s kindness.” The Great Maker shook his head, his red eyes glowing brightly. “I would wager that there is no love lost between you and the blasphemers, am I correct?”

Stan cocked his head, questioning.

“Oh, you are too young to explain it all to,” the Great Maker. “But too old for me to allow you to go free.”

Stan took a step back and the Great Maker was on him. He grabbed the boy about the head, his hand clamped over the boy’s mouth. Stan’s feet dangled above the concrete as the Great Maker lifted him up.

“I should kill you and feed,” the Great Maker said, more to himself than to Stan. “But I am not a monster. I am not what they make me out to be. I’ll bring you with me.”

Stan struggled and the Great Maker smacked him hard at the base of his skull; he went limp instantly.

“Very good,” the Great Maker said. “I may be able to save you, boy. May be able to make you into the next generation that this wasteland needs so very much.”

***

The vid screens went completely dark for a moment and then flashed back to life.

“That was intense,” Jethro said. “I never could figure out how to defrag the entire mainframe without losing essential systems.”

“Just a matter of compartmentalizing each system then creating a redundancy so that nothing goes down,” Beth replied. “Then toss the redundancies once the defrag ends. This mainframe has more than enough storage to do this on a daily basis. Can’t you feel the increased speed?”

“Yeah,” Jethro said, breathless if he had breath. “It’s better than sex.”

“Oh,” Beth replied quietly. “About that.”

“What?” Jethro asked, shocked. “Hey, that wasn’t a proposition. I mean we don’t even have bodies. Well, technically I do have a body, but it would be like doing it with a deader since I’m kinda shriveled up and-... I should stop talking.”

“You can, but it doesn’t really matter,” Beth said. “I know what you’re thinking anyway.”

“Whoa...really?” Jethro exclaimed. “But I thought I’d firewalled our personalities. Did I miss something?”

“The firewall just blocked you from me,” Beth said. “Which I appreciate. But you left a few holes in the code that I can see right through.”

“Well, turn away!” Jethro said. “Oh, man, turn away! Don’t look through the holes!”

“I’m gonna have to ask,” Beth giggled. “What’s the Shocker? It sounds kind of kinky.”

“Oh, sweet Jeezus,” Jethro moaned. “This isn’t happening.”

“Well, sounds like you two are getting to know each other,” Melissa said as she walked into the mainframe room. “He behaving himself, freak? Or do we need to figure out how to get me in there too so I can kick his ass?”

“Nah, he’s being a perfect gentleman,” Beth said. “Except for that last visual of the two of us trapped in here with him. I don’t think that’s physically possible, Jethro.”

“Oh, some one pull my plug now, please,” Jethro begged. “I’m going to go find an offline system and hang myself. Nice knowing you.”

“He’s cute,” Melissa said. “Well, not the shriveled up meat bag over there. That’s gross. But he sounds cute. You doing okay?”

“I’m actually better than, well, ever, actually,” Beth said. “For the first time in my short life I feel free. I don’t feel confined and jammed into a too small box. I’m me and life is wide open.”

“Except for the fact that you aren’t alive,” Melissa frowned. “Not sure I’m too happy about that. How the fuck are we going to go drink wine together and laugh about all the stupid shit that stupid people do? My freak is in a box and the box can’t fit through the door.”

“Bullshit,” Beth said over the com. “I’m always in your ear.”

“Okay, now you’ve hit creepy level,” Melissa said. “You better not spy on me when I’m having some alone time.”

“Oh, for the love of God!” Jethro shouted. “Do you hate me?”

***

“You can’t avoid me forever, Papa Bear,” Rachel said as she ran down the corridor to catch up with Capreze. “You’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later.”

“You were ordered to stay in the infirmary,” Capreze said, not slowing down or turning to look at her. “You will comply with that order or you will be placed in the brig. Do you understand me, uh...?”

“Rachel,” Rachel grinned. “It’s okay to call me that because that’s who I am.”

“Not possible,” Capreze said. “Look at you.”

Rachel grabbed her father by the shoulder and spun him around. His eyes went wide at the strength she had. His instinct was to go for his sidearm, but Rachel slapped his hand away from the holster.

“Yes, look at me!” Rachel said, holding her father firmly in her grasp so he couldn’t look away. “Who do I look like?”

“You look like my daughter when she was younger,” Capreze said. “Which is the problem. You aren’t my daughter.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Rachel yelled. “I’m telling you that I am! How can I get you to believe that? Huh? Ask me anything. Anything you think only Rachel would know.”

“Makes no difference,” Capreze replied. “You shared a mind with my daughter. I’m sure you have all the data you need to fool me.”

He wrenched himself away and was able to unclasp his holster, but he didn’t pull his sidearm.

“Now, listen to me, clone,” Capreze said. “You are alive, I will give you that, and it’s my basic belief that all life deserves a chance to live that has kept me from tossing you into the incinerator.”

Rachel took a couple steps back, surprised that the thought had even occurred to him.

“But if you do not keep yourself in the infirmary as ordered,” Capreze snarled. “And way the fuck away from me then I will have no choice than to turn you to ash. Understood?”

Rachel held back the tears that welled and she took a deep breath. “Understood. Sir.”

“Good,” Capreze nodded. “Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

***

“You hanging in there, sir?” Campbell asked as she sat next to LaFrance in the infirmary.

“Yeah,” LaFrance answered. “Just tired. I took quite a beating, didn’t I?”

“You did, sir,” Campbell replied. “Just rest, sir. I’m going to check on the dogs. They need a walk. Capreze said I can use one of the sub-basements to run them in. That should burn off some energy.”

“Good, good,” LaFrance replied. “Take care of them. Those are the first dogs the wasteland has seen in hundreds of years.”

“You know I put my team first,” Campbell replied and frowned.

“Trouble?” LaFrance asked.

“Just wish I could do more,” Campbell replied. “I’m a damn engineer! I can help with this fight!”

“But we’re Canadian,” LaFrance replied. “And they don’t think we can be trusted.”

“Then why aren’t we locked up?”

“Because they want to believe we can be trusted,” LaFrance responded. “And that shows a lot about the person Capreze is. Just push it from your mind, Campbell. Take care of your team and pray we get through this nightmare and the right side wins.”

“And that isn’t the Canadian side,” Campbell stated.

“Unfortunately, no,” LaFrance sighed. “Now get.”

“Yes, sir.”

Campbell left the infirmary, nodding to some of the Railer medics. They were friendly and nodded back, but instantly went back to their work of taking care of the wounded that had just come in. Campbell tried to stay out of everyone’s way as she stepped into the hall. A quick jog and she was away from all the chaos and glad she would see her team again. She didn’t like being away from them for long.

The dogs were kenneled in a large room a few floors down and Campbell smiled as they all rushed her when she opened the door. She knelt quickly and took the happy licks of greeting then gently pushed them away.

“Ok, ok,” she laughed. “Let’s get you guys out for a run.”

She gave a quick whistle and stepped aside, letting the dogs barrel from the room. She followed close behind, but didn’t hold them back, letting them run down the massive corridor as fast as they wanted. The dogs instinctively didn’t stray further than where they could see her. They shot quick glances over their shoulders to make sure she was keeping up.

Campbell was winded quickly as the fatigue and stress of the past few days caught up with her. She let out two sharp whistles and then clapped as the dogs went around a bend in the corridor.

But instead of instantly seeing her team rushing back to her, she heard a series of short, hard barks. Campbell pushed herself and sprinted towards the sound, wishing she had a sidearm. The barks were ones of alarm and warning.

She made it around just as one of the barks ended in a high scream.

“What the hell?!” Campbell shouted as she saw Brand down on his side, blood pouring onto the concrete. Coal and Lesh stood in front of the fallen dog, their hackles up and teeth bared; low, threatening growls rumbled from deep in their throats. Kook slowly started to circle what they’d found.

“Interesting,” the Great Maker said, Stan draped over his shoulder. The Great Maker’s right hand dripped blood and Campbell’s eyes went wide when she saw a bloody heart gripped in his fingers. Brand’s heart. “I never in a million years would have thought I would see acanis lupus familiaris in person.” He lifted the heart to his lips and took a tentative nibble. “Oh, now that is quite something.”

“What the fuck have you done?” Campbell shouted. “You fucking monster!”

She rushed him and he waited patiently. Just as she was about to collide with him, the Great Maker stepped to the side and struck Campbell in the temple. She flew to the side and slumped against the wall. The Great Maker set Stan down and looked at the still form of Campbell.

“If I had known the Stronghold would be this easy to penetrate,” he said aloud. “I would have come earlier. This place is a veritable buffet.”

He stepped towards Campbell and the dogs’ growls turned to ferocious barks and they attacked. The Great Maker was able to punch Kook in the throat as the dog leapt at him, crushing the animal’s windpipe. The dog hit the floor, its legs flailing as it struggled to breathe. Coal and Lesh went for his legs, but found nothing but metal when they clamped down.

“There is a reason, other than the need for food, that dogs did not survive the wasteland,” the Great Maker said as he kicked out, sending Coal flying in the air. The dog slammed into the far wall and the sound of his spine snapping echoed off the concrete walls. “You do not have the reasoning to survive. You act first and cannot think.”

He tried to kick Lesh off, but the female let go and backed up, her eyes locking onto the Great Maker’s. Her body was tense with violence and the dog looked from Campbell to Stan and then back at the Great Maker.

“Did I speak too soon?” the Great Maker said. “Do I see intelligence in those eyes?”

Lesh made a lunge for Campbell, but the Great Maker blocked her path. She then turned and ran to Stan, grabbing the boy’s shirt and pulling as hard as she could. The Great Maker rushed her and she had to let go and retreat. The cyborg watched her closely and then knelt by Stan. With a hard shove he pushed the boy over by Campbell and away from Lesh’s reach.

“I do not have time to do this all day,” the Great Maker said as he reached back and grabbed Brand’s back leg. “So I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

He swung the dead dog at Lesh and caught her across the snout. She yelped in pain and scrambled away. The Great Maker stood and threw Brand’s corpse at Lesh as hard as he could. The body hit the spot Lesh had just been and blood sprayed everywhere.

Lesh stood far down the corridor, her fur bristled with primal rage. She watched the Great Maker for a moment then her eyes fell on Brand, Coal and Kook’s corpses. She slowly backed up then turned and fled, her tail hung low as she sped around a turn and was lost from sight.

“Not so stupid,” the Great Maker said. “Admirable.” He looked at the corpses about him. “And delicious. But I have to eat the best first.”

He knelt by Campbell and tore into her throat. The unconscious engineer came awake instantly and struggled to fight the cyborg off, but her life poured out of her throat and her strikes and punches grew weaker and weaker until her eyes glazed and her life faded away.

The Great Maker stood up and wiped his mouth, his teeth red-black in the gloom of the corridor.

***

“TRAIN INBOUND!” a Railer shouted.

The Stronghold hangar emptied and everyone ran to the platform that was a hundred yards away. Capreze was right on their heels, having been alerted by Jethro of the train’s arrival.

The crowd stood with their mouths covered and eyes wide as they saw the BTT secured to the top of the front engine. The look of the train and the BTT told a story of what had happened, but when the Railers started to step off the train that’s when everyone knew that they had been through real hell.

“Where are we at?” Capreze asked as he walked up to Jay. “Bisby? Jespers?”

“Not sure,” Jay shrugged. “The EMP took out all com. If they’re alive they’re out in the waste somewhere.”

“Fuck,” Capreze swore. “Harlow? Masters?”

Jay shook his head. “Didn’t make it.”

“Are you sure?” Capreze asked. “You have confirmation?”

“We all do,” Marin said as she walked up. “Harlow had been infected and turned. Masters stayed with her. He sacrificed himself to give us the head start we needed.”

“Motherfucker,” Capreze snarled. “The mechs?”

“EMP,” Jay said. “They’re all down. If any have hardened CPUs then we may be able to salvage them later. I don’t know about the thinkers, but I know Stomper wasn’t hardened.” He rubbed his face and Capreze thought the Chief Mechanic had aged a hundred years since he last saw them. “I didn’t see Lt. Murphy and her team either. Have no idea on their status.”

“They should have made it clear of the EMP,” Capreze said. “They had different orders.”

“That would have been nice to know,” Jay said. “Do I even want to know?”

“Later,” Capreze said. “So we’re looking at no mechs, a handful of BTTs, a hundred riders of Eden, and anyone who can fire a rifle.” Capreze looked out at the far perimeter and the line of the Ranchers’ Disciples. “Never thought I’d be so glad to have that many deaders that close.”

“What about the Three’s forces?” Jay asked. “How’d the Rookie do?”

“Dog?” Capreze laughed. “He did well. But we owe most of that to something else entirely.”

“I’ll let you tell me later too,” Jay said. “Right now I’m going to get some chow before we go to war. Looks like I’m back in a mech.”

“Me too,” Capreze said.

“Me too,” Rachel announced behind them.

“Holy fucking ghosts!” Jay yipped. “What the hell?”

Capreze whirred around and Rachel slammed her palm against his chest before he could say or do anything. “Now you fucking listen to me, Papa Bear. Whether you believe I’m your daughter or not doesn’t fucking matter right now. You need mech pilots. I’m a fucking mech pilot. In fact, with this snazzy new body of mine, I’m the fastest, most skilled mech pilot you’ve ever fucking seen. I won’t need cerebral integration. I won’t need the mech AI. I’llbe that fucking mech and wipe out everything coming at us. So shut the fuck up and let me fight.”

Capreze watched her for a second. “No.”

“Fuck you,” Rachel said and looked at Jay. “Get me a mech.”

“The commander said-.”

“Jay Rind, you remember when your fucking shine still exploded and took out most of the east wall at the mech base?” Rachel asked. “You remember how I covered for your ass and said it was a misfire from my mech while I was circling the base, bored?”

“Oh…right,” Jay said, avoiding Capreze’s glare. “I think I remember that.”

“Get me a mech, Jay,” Rachel said. “Or I’ll take a mech. And I’ll rip out the cerebral integration unit and the AI and make do with what I can.”

“You have any idea what that’ll do to the controls if you don’t properly disengage and remove those systems?” Jay nearly shouted. “You’ll ruin a perfectly good mech!”

“Then you better do it for me,” Rachel smiled.

“Jay,” Capreze warned. “Don’t you dare.”

“You know what, James?” Jay said. “It’s been a fucking shitty day and is about to be a fucking shitty night.” He looked over his shoulder at the Railer train and the sun setting beyond it. “We need all the help we can get. We’ve lost everyone, man. EVERYONE!”

Heads turned and voices quieted at Jay’s outburst. Even Capreze took a step back.

“I’m giving the girl a mech,” Jay said. “She may be Rachel, she may not, but no one gets that fired up and has plans to turn on us. I don’t give two fucks if you are onboard with this or not. I just want to kill some deaders and hope we don’t die in the process.” He looked at Rachel and nodded. “Come on. I have the perfect mech for you. I’ll have the systems removed while I get something to eat. We have two hours before the deaders get here, that’s the headstart we had. You’ll want to use that time to make sure you know what you’re doing and don’t blow yourself or anyone else up. Got it?”

“Got it,” Rachel nodded. She shot a hard glance at Capreze then followed Jay into the Stronghold.

“That’s your daughter,” Marin said as she patted Capreze’s shoulder. “I don’t have a doubt in my mind.”

Capreze watched Marin follow Jay and Rachel. He took a deep breath and avoided the stares as he turned and took in the situation.

Three mechs, two piloted by old men, and one piloted by who knew what. Capreze didn’t like it, but he didn’t have a choice. He just hoped they all lived so that Rachel could have a chance to truly prove him wrong. He had never wanted something so bad in his life.

Sixty

“There’s movement,” an Eden tech said, instantly rousing the Mayor from a doze. “Looks like the first guy won.”

The Mayor rubbed his eyes and watched the grainy vid as Stone emerged from a massive pile of BC. They had all watched the battle between Stone and Reginald escalate until every ounce of BC on the battlefield had been used. They had battered each other repeatedly in a relentless show of unforgiving violence. By the time they had finished they were each covered in tons upon tons of BC that the other had struck them with, creating a mound of metal that was taller than the tallest mech.

“How can he survive that?” another tech asked.

“Easy when you are no longer a man,” the Mayor said.

Stone looked about himself and seemed to ripple for a moment. Then he was fresh and clean as if he hadn’t spent hours in mortal combat. He glanced over his shoulder towards the direction of the Stronghold then looked back towards the west. The Mayor could barely make out the strange grin on Stone’s face then he was gone.

“What just happened?” the Mayor asked. “Play that back, slow it down.”

The vid was reversed and played in slow motion. The entire Eden control room watched as Stone took off running, moving so fast that their eyes couldn’t even catch it.

“Interesting,” the Mayor nodded. “See if you can keep tabs on him. He’s heading to Monterey.”

“How do you know?” a tech asked.

“Because I know the look of revenge when I see it,” the Mayor said.

***

Stone didn’t even glance back at the carnage he’d wrought while battling Reginald. He really didn’t care. He also didn’t care if Reginald survived or not. That was Reginald’s deal, not his.

All Stone cared about was ending it all. If he lived, fine. If he died, fine.

As long as three men and one woman died too.

***

“A little more distance,” Bisby said to One Arm. “Don’t follow too close.”

“We are a half mile away from the back of the undead pack,” One Arm replied. “I am keeping us at the optimum safe distance.”

“Well, it’s still too close for me,” Bisby said. “Especially since it’s dark. I didn’t survive that last fight so we can be swarmed and overtaken.”

“Chill out, Biz,” Mathew said as he hunched down under one of the control panels, a tangle of wiring in his hands. “I think One Arm knows how to stay alive in the wasteland. We’re cool.”

“Fucking move your legs,” Bisby snapped as he kicked Mathew’s foot in the cramped cockpit. “And stop wiggling all over the place!”

“Will you shut the fuck up, please?” Mathew asked. “I’m trying to get the com and the scanners online. There’s quite a bit of damage.”

“Yes,” One Arm agreed. “I sustained the damage while keeping Pilot Bisby alive. He thanked me by leaving me to rust in the wasteland.”

“Oh, cry me a fucking river, you two,” Bisby said.

“Fuck!” Mathew shouted as sparks flew about his head and he tossed the wires away. “Stupid fucking system!”

“We’ll be in the thick of it soon,” Bisby said. “My guess is maybe an hour before the deaders hit the Stronghold.”

“Yeah, well I’d like to know what we’re walking into before hand,” Mathew responded. “So I’m going to keep working on this.”

“Suit yourself, Jespers,” Bisby shrugged. “But I can tell you what we’re walking into. Another fucking epic battle where more than likely one of us will die.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Biz,” Mathew said, shaking his head. “I really would love to know who fucked you up so much. Did your parents do this to you or were you born a cranky mother fucker?”

“I wasn’t born,” Bisby said. “I just showed up one day ready to break heads. I’m the Immaculate Bad Ass.”

Mathew couldn’t help but laugh.

***

“Ready the Disciples!” the Pope yelled as massive floodlights lit up the wasteland for a mile in front of them. “Here come the usurpers!”

“Usurpers?” Capreze asked over the com. “That’s a bit thick.”

“They are not part of God’s plan, Commander,” the Pope replied as Ranchers hurried about, each with a command whistle in their mouths. “They usurp the divine right of the Disciples to ascend to glory and heavenly power.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to get fired up is fine with me,” Capreze said. “But hold that line. We have limited resources back here. If they break through then we may have to fall back into the Stronghold. And that means a siege that could last longer than we have resources to handle.”

“Commander,” the Pope said, his voice full of condescension. “Did you not prepare for a rainy day? I would think you would have known something like this may happen.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been busy,” Capreze said.

“This would have been good information to have before we made our accord,” the Pope laughed. “I may not have been so generous with my alliance.”

“Yet here we are,” Capreze said. “Don’t get second thoughts, Pope. You need us as much as we need you. Those deaders coming don’t care who they go after. They break your Disciples and you and your people will be glad for the protection of the Stronghold.”

“Oh, I am well aware of that, Commander,” the Pope said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I am going to bring God’s war to the wasteland and show his supremacy for all time!”

“You do that,” Capreze said.

***

“Ready?” Capreze asked from the cockpit of his mech.

“Ready,” Jay replied.

“Ready,” Rachel agreed.

Capreze bristled at her voice, but held his tongue.

“Ready,” Dog and Immy said at the same time.

“All set,” Melissa announced as she helped outfit all available Railers with her combat suits. From tip to toe they were protected, even including face masks. They could hop into the middle of the deaders and not worry about suffering a single infected bite. Being crushed to death was another matter.

“I would really like to be in this fight, sir,” Charlie said. “I can be an asset. I’ve gone up against odds like this before and lived.”

“You’ll hang back with us, Mr. Masterson,” Capreze said. “If you’re needed then you can get dirty with the rest. But you aren’t 100% yet.”

“Yes, sir,” Charlie replied reluctantly.

“We aren’t going to jump right into this fight?” Jay asked. “I could really let of some steam right about now.”

“No, we are hanging back,” Capreze said. “The riders of Eden will handle any first breaks in the lines. They are faster and can control the area better. We’re back here to make sure nothing gets through to the Stronghold.”

“Jethro has the guns ready,” Jay said. “I’m sure he can handle it.”

In answer to that the many gun turrets that covered the Stronghold came to life and took aim out at the wasteland.

“Don’t you know it!” Jethro replied.

“I know,” Capreze said. “But we have to manage our resources. Stronghold guns are last resort.”

“Okay,” Jay said. “You’re the boss.”

“Yes, Jay. I am.”

***

A small panel opened in the back of the mainframe room and the Great Maker crawled out, dragging Stan behind him. He set the boy against the wall and stood up cautiously. A quick look told him that he was alone in the room. The only activity were the vid screens that flashed constantly with the ever changing images and data.

“Oh, the upgrades are spectacular,” the Great Maker whispered.

“Hello?” Beth’s voice asked. “Who is that? You’re back in the shadows. Hello?”

The Great Maker jumped at her voice.

“It speaks now?” the Great Maker asked. “What programming is this?”

“Hey, creeper guy,” Jethro said as he jacked up the lighting in the room. “How about you come around and face us?”

“A second voice?” the Great Maker mused as he grabbed Stan by the foot and dragged him around in front of the vid screens. “How many personalities did they put in this? What is the purpose?”

“We aren’t personalities,” Jethro said. “We’re people. Or at least I am.”

“Hey!” Beth protested.

“No offense,” Jethro said. “But I am the one with the body.”

The Great Maker looked about and spotted Jethro’s wired form. “Oh, well look at that. One of you has integrated with the mainframe. Isn’t that just amazing.”

The Great Maker let Stan go and walked over to Jethro’s body.

“I believe someone much greater should be given the privilege,” the Great Maker stated.

A bolt of energy shot from the ceiling and hit the Great Maker in the top of the head. His body jerked and writhed then fell to the ground as soon as the bolt flashed away.

“No touching,” Jethro said. “That ain’t cool. I’ll get someone in here to clean up-.”

The Great Maker suddenly lurched to his feet and shook his head. His eyes glowed ten times brighter than they ever had.

“That was refreshing,” the Great Maker said. “Hardly a deterrent.” The Great Maker lunged at Jethro and grabbed the wires and connections attached to his head. “More of an enticement!”

“Don’t you touch him!” Beth shouted, but it was too late. “Jethro!”

The wires were pulled and Jethro’s monitors started to issue alarms as his heartbeat flatlined.

“You fucking asshole!” Beth screamed.

“Such words from a lady,” the Great Maker laughed. “I will be in soon to teach you a lesson about manners.”

The Great Maker shoved Jethro’s still form onto the floor and took his place. He grabbed several nodes and attached them to key points on his part human, part mechanical head. The lights in the room dimmed low and the Great Maker sighed.

“I will now know such peace and such power,” he said as the vid screens went blank and he mentally rebooted the system.

Sixty-One

“Fire the blood cannons!” the Pope shouted. “Paint the evil ones!”

The cannons fired and large, red balls flew through the air. Just as they crested and were directly over the onrushing zombies they exploded and the zombies were coated in congealed blood.

The Ranchers’ Disciples all began to moan and growl and the Pope gave the signal to attack. Whistles up and down the line blew the command for the Disciples to attack and the hundreds of thousands of deaders screamed forward into the waiting claws and teeth of the hundreds of thousands of zombies from the north.

Just as the lines collided, sending a massive plume of blood and gore rising into the air, the floodlights that lit the wasteland sputtered then went out.

The battle was plunged into complete darkness except for the lights coming off of the Rancher’s transports.

“What the hell just happened?” Capreze asked over the com. “Jethro? What’s with the fucking lights?” Jethro didn’t answer. “Jethro! I need a status report right the fuck now!”

Still no answer.

“I’ll go see what’s happening,” Jay said.

“No, stay put,” Capreze said. “We need you out here more than ever.” He cleared his throat and opened the com. “I need every available light on this shit now! That means cyces, mechs, transports, and every handheld halogen we have! I’m not losing this war because we can’t see our hands in front of our fucking faces!”

The riders all turned their headlights on to the battle and several Railers started to wheel out portable spotlights and halogens. They hoisted them up onto the battered Railer train and aimed them at the mass of undead. The Styleses in the five BTTs that were left all took to the air and lit up the field as much as they could too.

The effect was a surreal landscape of writhing bodies, blood and shadows. If anyone was slightly motion sick it instantly turned their stomach and gave them a case of vertigo. The constant movement of the fighting forms was hypnotic; it was like a sea of disembodied rotten limbs that swelled and flowed.

“Well you don’t fucking see that everyday,” Styles 1 announced. “Whoa, that’s probably the best representation of what a hangover feels like I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s making me dizzy,” Immy said as she looked away from the kaleidoscopic battle before her.

“Just hang tight, people!” Capreze ordered. “Watch for breaks! We’ll let the Disciples handle the meat of this fight. We’re here for clean up.”

Voices acknowledged his order and he watched the deaders carefully, trying to peer through sudden shadows to make sure the line hadn’t been broken.

“Dammit, Jethro,” he muttered. “What the fuck is going on?”

***

Emergency lights kicked in as backup batteries went to work within the Stronghold.

“Jethro!” June called out. “What the hell?”

There was no response and many of the medics shot glances at each other. The mainframe had its own power generator and Jethro should have responded.

“Who do we have in the mainframe room?” June asked as she grabbed a halogen and checked the power level. “Anyone?”

“Nobody,” a Railer medic replied. “Everyone was pulled to attend to the wounded or to be ready outside.”

“Damn,” June said. “Hold it down in here. I’ll go see what’s happening.”

She hurried to the door and stopped in her tracks. At the door to the infirmary stood a dog, its blonde fur matted with blood.

“Holy shit,” June muttered.

Everyone turned and froze. No one had experience with dogs, let alone one that looked like it had gone through hell and was showing very large, very sharp teeth.

“Uh, anyone have any ideas?” June whispered. The sight was so strange that no one even thought to draw their sidearms.

“I’ll handle this,” LaFrance said as he pushed himself up and limped towards the dog. “Lesh? Good girl. What happened, girl? Where’s Campbell?”

At the sound of Campbell’s name the dog let out a low, mournful whine and LaFrance stopped. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” June asked.

“Something bad has happened,” LaFrance said.

“Yeah, I think the blood is a dead give away,” June said. “What do we do?”

LaFrance moved towards Lesh then stumbled. June hurried and caught him before he fell and Lesh lunged, jaws open, a deep growl boiling into a snarl.

“LESH! DOWN!” LaFrance shouted and the dog froze then dropped to the floor, her eyes locked onto June. “Good girl.”

“Holy fuck,” a Railer medic whispered. “That’s some scary shit.”

“Help me to her,” LaFrance said.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” June said. “No fucking way I’m getting close to that monster.”

“It’s a dog,” LaFrance said. “And it’s scared and possibly hurt. Get me there so I can check her out.”

June reluctantly helped LaFrance hobble to Lesh. He knelt down and reached for her. The dog scooted forward and put her head right in LaFrance’s lap.

“Good girl,” LaFrance soothed. “That a girl.” He felt all over and shook his head. “This isn’t her blood.”

“Then whose is it?” June asked.

“I don’t know,” LaFrance answered.

“I need to get to Jethro,” June said and started to walk away.

“I’m coming with you,” LaFrance said.

“No, you aren’t,” June stated. “You’re staying here. You can’t walk.”

“Then get me a fucking wheelchair,” LaFrance said. “I’m not arguing about this. Whether with you or after you, I’m leaving here to see what’s happened to Campbell and the other dogs.”

“You think it has something to do with the lights going out?” June asked.

“Funny for it to go dark and then Lesh to show up covered in someone else’s blood,” LaFrance answered. “My gut is telling me yes.”

“Someone’s in the Stronghold,” June stated.

LaFrance nodded. “That would be a good assumption.”

“Fuck,” June said and grabbed a wheelchair for LaFrance. She carefully wheeled it over, her eyes on Lesh the entire time, and helped LaFrance get situated. “You’re weak as hell. You won’t be able to wheel this by yourself and I am going to need both hands.”

“Not a problem,” LaFrance said. “Hand me those arm slings.”

June looked around and grabbed two arm slings off of a supply cart.

“Thanks,” LaFrance said. “Lesh, come. Sit. Good girl.”

***

The blackness wasn’t real. Beth knew that intellectually, but emotionally she couldn’t reconcile the fact that she was blind.

“Hello?” she whispered. “Jethro?”

She prayed that he was still alive somehow. She knew that the attacker, the Great Maker she believed he was called, had killed Jethro’s body, but his mind could still be active. Somewhere.

“Jethro?”

A feeling like someone was behind her made Beth spin about. Which was impossible since she had no corporeal form. She was an uploaded consciousness living in a mainframe. The feeling of “being” was just a trick of the mind, a way to reconcile existence with the lack of actual life.

Sounds echoed in the dark and Beth concentrated, tried to bring her focus onto the mainframe itself. She had to stop thinking like a person, even though she’d only been a clone, and think more like a machine. She had to become the programming, the multitude of systems and controls that made up the mainframe.

The darkness that enveloped her began to diminish and she sensed another consciousness close by.

“Jethro?”

“No, child,” the Great Maker said. “There is no ‘Jethro’ in here. Just the Maker. Just me.”

***

Teeth and claws ripped and tore at dead flesh. The Disciples attacked with a hunger that was rarely seen in the wasteland. Their ferocity driven by the smell of blood that coated the other zombies. Throats were shredded and guts pulled from abdomens. Intestines littered the ground and skin flew about like morbid snow.

But none fell. It was undead on undead and they just kept fighting. Knowing only the desire to rend flesh and feed the never ending hunger, the Disciples didn’t have the presence of mind to go for the kill and snap necks or sever heads. They went for the softness, the vulnerable. Bellies, throats, shoulders, these were what they attacked and ripped at, hoping to get a bitefull of the flesh that sustained their undead lives.

But what they bit into wasn’t the flesh of life. It wasn’t the warm flesh that drove them on. Their mouths found the putrid, the rotten. Their tongues (those that had tongues still attached) tasted death. The Disciples spat chunks of their foes onto the ground; they clawed at their own mouths, trying to extricate the wrongness that they had been tricked into eating.

The sounds of whistles, of the Commands, echoed across the wasteland, telling them to attack, attack, attack! And the smell of the blood still ever present, confused the Disciples. They grew more and more enraged as their senses were sent into conflict. They started to turn on each other. They began to fight anything that was close.

Their undead minds were nothing but animalistic chaos and the only signal that made sense was to kill. To kill anything and everything.

In waves, as realization crept into the lizard-like consciousness of the Disciples, they turned from the undead enemy they had been Commanded to fight, and found the scent of real life behind them. The smell of human sweat and blood; the odor of the living.

The Disciples fought their conditioning, fought the whistle Commands, and let their true undead nature take over. The battle stopped and the sea of Disciples fighting zombies became one of Disciples joining zombies.

Joining them in their hunt for the living humans that told them exactly where to find them; told them with whistles and lights; told them with the warm, sweet smell of blood pulsing in their veins.

There were no longer Disciples and zombies. There were just deaders as there had always been in the wasteland.

And those hundreds of thousands of deaders came at the living with a vengeance that hadn’t been seen in the wasteland for hundreds of years.

The Ranchers, the Railers, the riders of Eden, and the mech pilots all became witness to the second apocalypse. And it came right at them.

***

“This can’t be,” the Pope whispered. “This is betrayal! BETRAYAL!”

“JP, we have to retreat,” Brother Reynaldo shouted next to the Pope. “We have to pull back to the Stronghold!”

Other Brothers and Sisters were shouting over the com, their voices turning into one chaotic plea for direction, for guidance. For salvation.

“God has forsaken us,” the Pope said. “He has made his choice. We are no longer the caretakers of the Chosen. We, the ones that have tended His flock for generations, the ones that have sacrificed so much so that His will could be manifest within the wasteland, the followers and believers that have never, NEVER, questioned His will, we are cast aside to be nothing but food for His new angels.”

The Pope leapt down from his transport, his arms wide, inviting, and walked towards the mass of deaders, welcoming their embrace.

“Fuck that,” Brother Reynaldo said as he opened a roof hatch and jumped into the transport. “Fall back! Everyone fucking fall back now!”

“Disciples! Hear me!” the Pope cried. “You have been chosen to do God’s work! You are the-!”

There were no more words once his throat was ripped out.

“Madre de Dios,” Brother Reynaldo swore. “Get us all out of here!”

The Rancher transports backed up and several were able to make it past the surging horde. But most didn’t.

It didn’t take the zombies and Disciples long to tear into the transports, opening them like cans of rations, and plucking their tasty meals from inside.

***

“Uh, James?” Jay said over the com. “Am I looking at close to a million deaders coming after us? Or have I finally lost it and my mind is having fun making up nightmares?”

“It’s real, Jay,” Capreze said. “Get to the Stronghold.” Capreze opened the com. “Everyone into the Stronghold! NOW! Jethro? JETHRO! Prepare to close the hangar doors and any and all entrances to the Stronghold! Jethro! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?”

***

“Oh, my God!” June exclaimed as she ran to Jethro’s body. “He’s…he’s dead.”

“There’s a kid here,” LaFrance said as Lesh licked Stan’s unconscious face. “He’s breathing, but looks a little banged up.”

“Oh, shit,” June said hurrying to Stan. “Yeah. He’s been knocked out.” She spun about and looked at the Great Maker’s body in the cerebral integration chair where Jethro normally was. “And this fucker did it.”

June pulled her sidearm and walked over to the Great Maker.

“Uh, you sure you want to do that,” LaFrance asked. “What will it do to the system?”

“I don’t know,” June said. “But Jethro’s dead. There isn’t anyone to control the mainframe anymore anyway.”

“Are you sure?” LaFrance asked as he pointed to the vid screens. “Look. That guy is in there. See? Flashes of him keep showing up. Along with a girl.”

June watched the flashing, strobe-like images and frowned. “That’s…wait. That’s Rachel. No, the new Rachel. That’s Beth! Holy shit!”

“So maybe there is someone in there,” LaFrance smiled. “Then by all means put two bullets in that freak’s head.”

She pressed the pistol to the Great Maker’s temple and took a deep breath. Just as June was about to pull the trigger the Great Maker’s hand shot out and knocked her aside. A shot went wild and his eyes opened, focusing on June.

“You dare to kill me?” the Great Maker asked, his red eyes glowing fiercely. “Think you can sneak up on me?” The Great Maker’s laugh filled the room. “I can operate on all levels!” A shot of electricity fell from the ceiling and June went flying back against the wall, her gun sliding to the middle of the room. “No one shall escape my reach now!”

***

Railers and riders began to zip past Capreze’s mech and into the Stronghold’s hangar just as the door started to close.

“What the hell, Commander?” Jay yelled. “Who’s doing that?”

“Keep that hangar door open!” Capreze ordered, but the door continued its progress. Capreze quickly realized that control of the Stronghold had been compromised. “Everyone in that can get there! NOW!”

People ditched vehicles and scrambled to get inside before being crushed. In seconds the sound of the hangar sealing tight filled the air. Its finality a slap to those that still remained outside.

“Sound off,” Capreze ordered. “I need to know who we have out here.”

“There’s still about thirty of us,” Dog said. “Not that that is much help.”

“The train is locked and loaded,” Marin stated. “But we only have enough folks to man the guns. Someone gets taken out and we’ll be down a gun.”

“How many guns then?” Capreze asked.

“Twenty,” Marin replied. “We’ll keep firing as long as we can.”

“Still got us, Commander,” Styles 1 said. “We’ll lay down as much fire on these undead assholes as possible.”

“I’m here,” Charlie said. “I may be one guy, but Mel fixed my shock suit. I can do a lot of damage without getting a mark on me.”

“Ms. Bretton?” Capreze asked. “What’s your status?”

“I’m with Charlie,” Melissa replied. “My suit is impenetrable. Teeth won’t be getting through. I can adjust on the fly if I go down. That’ll keep me from getting trampled.”

“So is anyone exposed completely?” Capreze asked. “Either without a suit or a mech?”

No one answered.

“Good,” Capreze said. “Then let’s make this happen. Anyone have numbers?”

“I count close to 900,000 deaders,” Jay said. “If my scans are right. There could be more since they don’t stop moving and they’re fucking dead.”

“Well then,” Capreze said as he took a deep breath. “Let’s thin those numbers! Riders? I want you to press the attack. Fire at everything. Do it in waves with the front falling back behind as you get close. Then the next line takes up the fight. Keep that moving while we fire from back here. Styles? Just open up on everything, but keep the riders in mind. Ms. Bretton and Mr. Masterson? Hang back for now. Railers? Open fire and try to stay safe! We have one chance to stop this. If we can’t hold them back then they’ll overwhelm the Stronghold, keeping everyone inside trapped for who knows how long. We have no choice but to win.”

Sixty-Two

“I assume by your limited mobility that you won’t be a problem, Mr. LaFrance,” the Great Maker said.

“How do you know who I am?” LaFrance asked. All the data on him in the mainframe began to flash across the vid screens. “Oh.”

“I know everything about everyone,” the Great Maker said. “And I like none of it. It is time to stop humanity’s blasphemous assumption that survival is a right. The Stronghold must be purged.”

Claxons started to blare and warning lights spun in the mainframe room.

“What are you doing?” LaFrance asked in alarm. “Purged? You’re going to kill everyone?”

“Everyone,” the Great Maker said. “And I do not kill. I cleanse.”

“That’s a load of bullshit,” LaFrance laughed. “You kill.”

“I may begin with you,” the Great Maker said. “But I-.”

His voice cut off and LaFrance waited for him to continue.

“Hello?” LaFrance asked.

He looked at the still form of the Great Maker and then around for June’s sidearm. He saw it several feet away.

“Lesh? Fetch,” he whispered. The dog didn’t move. “Dammit. I guess Campbell didn’t work on that one with you.”

***

“I’m not going to let you do this!” Beth screamed as she attacked. She had no idea what she was doing since she had no body, but she pushed her will at the Great Maker’s and started to hammer him with her thoughts. “You fucking murderer!”

“A little girl cannot stop me!” the Great Maker roared as he mentally fought Beth back, their minds linked in a surreal mortal combat. “Little girls are nothing in this world!”

“Somebody really fucked you up,” Beth said as she looked for any kind of weakness in the Great Maker’s defenses. “And I’m going to fuck you up too.”

***

Dog went straight for the middle of the oncoming multitude of deaders. He didn’t slow for a moment as his mini-guns and rockets tore open enough space for his cyce just a split-second before he breached the deaders’ front line.

“Follow my lead! Try to split them!” Dog ordered as he ducked a few swiping claws and spun his cyce around and shot back out through the hole he’d created before it closed up on him. “Just keep cutting them to pieces!”

His voice sounded confident and he knew he could fight for hours, but he was shaking hard on the inside. For every deader he obliterated another ten, twenty, thirty took its place. He didn’t know if they’d ever really make a dent.

***

“Ok, boys,” Styles 1 said. “Keep your eyes open and you guns firing! Try to work from the middle out. I want 7 and 16 to shred what you can just ahead of the riders. 49 and 33 can hit the middle and start cutting ribbons. Try to make some space so our people on the ground can catch a breather here and there. And no friendly fire!”

“You got it,” they acknowledged as one. Styles 1 smiled and flew to the back of the mass, his missiles wiping the deaders out row by undead row.

***

Capreze, Jay and Rachel stomped and smashed the few deaders that got past the riders. They held off on the guns, wanting to conserve ammunition. They wouldn’t have the luxury of the Stronghold to resupply in.

Or make repairs.

Jay was hyper aware of the numbers of undead that came at the mechs and kept barking directions and locations of any large swarms.

“James! You have twenty coming up your ass! Rachel! Watch you nine! Watch your nine, dammit!”

“Watch your own damn nine!” Rachel snapped back. “I got mine covered, but you’re about to have a fucking parade run you down on your three!”

“Ah, fuck,” Jay said as he spun to the side and was forced to use his 50mm in the group that came at him.

Capreze smashed his fist into the ground, over and over, sending geysers of congealed blood and deader parts flying into the air. Everywhere he turned there were thick masses of deaders. All he had to do was keep punching, keep punching, keep punching.

“Marin?” Capreze asked over the com. “Where’re your guns at?”

“Everyone is in place, Commander,” Marin replied. “We just wanted to make sure we had every ounce of ordinance ready to go.”

“Then get to it!” Capreze yelled as he shook ten deaders from his fist. One crawled around his mech’s fingers and gripped the palm. Capreze clapped the mech’s hands and deader squirted everywhere. He shook the guts off and then got back to work.

***

The missiles shot from the Railer train and sped into the heart of the deader mass. Their detonations sent fire covered body parts flying through the air like undead mortars. The flaming projectiles fell on the rest of the deaders, quickly setting the drier ones on fire. The flames spread and soon there were patches of nothing but walking flames.

More and more missiles rained down on the deaders and the flames grew. The Railers and Marin cheered as they watched their attack actually start to drop the number of deaders that could move forward. But the cheers quieted down as they saw the flames spread towards the front creating a massive wall of fire. With legs.

“Ah, son of a bitch,” Marin swore.

“Not to worry!” Styles 1 said over the com. “I’ve got this under control!”

He brought the BTT low, just above the heads of the deaders, and opened up with all guns. Row after row of deaders fell and soon they had created a mound that was nearly a mile long of nothing but burning, putrid flesh.

“I’ll bet that doesn’t smell so great,” Styles 1 laughed.

“No shit, genius!” Marin replied as the smell of scorched death wafted over the train.

***

The levee of fiery flesh presented an issue for the riders. They had to pull back completely and reassess their attacks. They had been pretty successful with their attack and fall back strategy, but they did lose over a dozen riders. Even with the protective suits the numbers were so much that one single mistake meant a rider went down under tons of undead feet, basically getting pulverized and liquefied in their suit.

Dog checked the line and signaled for the riders to follow him.

“What are you thinking?” Immy asked.

“We get to the end and start to carve our way in,” Dog said. “Stay to the very outside of these things and cut them down, row by row.”

“We could circle about and whittle them down quickly,” Immy said. “I’m right behind you.”

The riders pushed their cyces as hard as possible as they raced to get around to the side of the flaming mass. But the deaders had the same idea and those that didn’t want to burn –a natural instinct for all things living and undead- had begun to work their way around the inferno before them.

The riders hit a rush of deaders just as they were about to turn. They didn’t see it coming and ten riders went down before they could adjust course.

“Fuck!” Dog said, knowing he’d led those men and women to their deaths.

“Don’t think about it,” Immy said. “Push it aside and keep going! No time for pity for the fallen!”

Dog understood her words, but he didn’t know if he could get behind the meaning. If he was to go back to Eden and actually lead then he’d have to show that he wouldn’t get them all killed. That part didn’t look so convincing to him at that moment.

“Cuz!” Immy shouted as she watched Dog slow. “Suck it up and keep going! No time to play pity party!”

Dog shook the uncertainty from his head and found the killer in himself. He had to. There was no other choice anymore. He sped through the horde of deaders that collapsed around him and shot out into open wasteland.

He kicked his cyce around, letting the machine pivot on the front wheel as he turned towards the mass. His mini-guns ripped and shredded until they clicked empty. He pulled his 9mm and emptied that, making almost every shot a head shot. When the 9mm clicked dry he threw it at a lunging deader, splitting the monster’s skull open.

Hands and claws grabbed at him and he couldn’t keep control of the cyce anymore. The machine shot out from under him as he was yanked backwards off his seat. Dog went down under a pile of rotten fingers and teeth.

***

“Daddy!” Immy shouted. “Where is he?” She emptied her guns and then turned with the rest of the riders as they searched for a way around the deaders and to Dog, but the mass just kept coming and they were surrounded in seconds. “Daddy!”

“I hear you, child,” the Mayor replied over the com. “I can’t see-. Wait, there he is!” The Mayor laughed hard. “Well, take a look at this!”

Every rider had the vid feed of Dog superimposed on the insides of their visors. Everyone’s jaws dropped as they watched Dog break skulls, snap spines, rip off limbs, and toss deaders about like rag dolls.

“Ms. Bretton?” the Mayor asked. “Did you happen to design the suits for chemical enhancement?”

“Yeah,” Melissa responded. “They have anesthetics and synthetic adrenaline built in. Makes it easier to get yourself out of tight spots.”

The Mayor sent the vid wide and all eyes were glued to the spectacle that was Dog.

“Anyone against taking this fight hand to hand?” the Mayor said.

“Fuck no!” Immy smiled as she raced her cyce right into a thick pack of deaders. She let the machine shoot off ahead of her as she leapt off the back. There were so many deaders grabbing at her that she never hit the ground. “This is gonna be fun!”

***

“Crazy fuckers!” Jay said as he kicked about fifteen deaders off his right foot, sending them flying towards the right ridge that boxed in the approach to the Stronghold. “They’ll get crushed!”

“Maybe,” Capreze said. “But they’ll take as many deaders down as possible.” He watched as the riders went to battle with their fists and legs. They showed no fear, no hesitation. In fact, to his eyes it seemed they were enjoying themselves with reckless abandon. “Let’s really get in this fight, Jay.”

“Ah, man,” Jay complained as he watched Capreze run right into the center of it all. “I knew you were gong to do that.”

“Come on, old man,” Rachel barked as she followed her father. “The time for caution is all gone!”

“Fucking Caprezes,” Jay said as he went running after them both.

***

“Empty!” Railers called out as they fired the last of their missiles and emptied the heavy caliber gun turrets.

“Fuck,” Marin said, watching the swarm of deaders encroach on the train. “Then set charges and fucking run!”

She had known that the party wouldn’t last for them and had made sure every train car was set with enough explosives to turn it into dust.

“MOVE, PEOPLE!” she yelled as she leapt from her train car and tried to put as much distance between herself and the explosion that was just seconds from happening.

She made it eight feet before being taken down by deaders that had crawled out from under the train cars. She tried to get her sidearm out, but her arm was ripped from its socket. The suit she had on kept the limb from being completely torn off, but inside the suit her shoulder was nothing but shredded muscle and tendons.

She tried to fight them off, but the numbers were too many. Screams bubbled to her lips, ready to fly into the night air, but Marin kept them inside. Even as she felt ribs shatter and internal organs rupture, she didn’t scream. She turned her head and watched Railers try to fight hand to hand with the deaders, the light of the fires throwing wicked shadows across all of them.

But Railers weren’t ground fighters and they didn’t last very long.

She got one last look at her train before her skull was crushed and the life left her eyes.

***

“NO!” Jay roared as he watched the Railer train get taken. “MOTHER FUCKERS!”

Any hesitation he had had before about getting into the thick of the fight was wiped from his mind. Without even considering any plan or next moves, Jay began to eradicate anything that walked, ran, or shambled by his mech. He let all control leave his mind. He didn’t care what he killed as long as it stayed dead.

Capreze and Rachel had to put as much distance as possible between their mechs and Jay’s in order to keep from catching any collateral damage. Deader bodies flew everywhere as Jay kicked out. He bent down, grabbed up handfuls and slammed them together, crushing them between his fingers.

Deaders swarmed his mech. They climbed his exoskeleton, their senses telling them that there was flesh inside somewhere. Jay diverted power to his frame and electrified anything unlucky enough to be on his mech at that time. Dead flesh smoked and cooked, adding to the ever present smell of burnt deader that covered the battlefield.

Minutes went by and the deaders didn’t stop coming and Jay didn’t let his blind rage slip away. If he even came close to tiring he just pictured Marin’s death. A friend he’d known longer than anyone else in the hell of the wasteland.

That drove him on.

Sixty-Three

“Styles!” Melissa called. “Get your ass over here and pick me up!”

“On our way, pretty lady,” the Styleses all said.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Melissa growled. “Just one of you!”

“That would be my privilege,” Styles 1 said. “Heading your way now.”

The BTT shot back towards the Stronghold and was hovering over Melissa in just two seconds.

Melissa grabbed Charlie by the arm. “Come on!” she shouted as she glanced towards the deaders that didn’t care about the fiery mounds anymore and were busy climbing over and coming straight for them as they were the two tastiest things in sight.

“What are you thinking?” Charlie asked as the cargo bay shut and Melissa knelt down, placing her hands to the floor of the BTT.

“I’m thinking we need to put these things to real use,” Melissa answered. “The missiles are creating as much havoc for us as they are for the deaders.”

“What ya doing down there?” Styles 1 asked. “I’m getting structural warnings left and right.”

“I’m giving you some new toys,” Melissa said. “Let me know if the changes affect your flying.”

“They already are, but I am more than enough pilot to handle them,” Styles 1 replied. “And holy crap! Are you sharpening the wings?”

“I am,” Melissa answered as she grinned up at Charlie. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.”

“Just be careful,” Styles warned. “Too thin and this baby won’t be able to stay stable. We’ll flip right over into the mess down there.”

“Don’t worry,” Melissa said. “I have it under control.”

***

Leaping from one BTT to the next, Melissa made as many alterations as she could as fast as she could. She hoped that she had all of the dimensions and calculations right in her head. Styles 1 had been right, if she was off by a little then the BTTs would not fare so well.

Styles 1 brought his BTT over the last BTT Melissa had altered. Charlie, hooked to the inside of the cargo bay, extended his hand and helped pull her up inside.

“You’re good to go,” Melissa said. “Clean sweeps and you can wipe these fuckers out!”

“That’ll buy some time until Capreze can get the hangar back open,” Charlie said. “If he can get it open.”

***

The Great Maker tried to keep his form insubstantial, to meld with the ones and the zeroes. But Beth was having none of that shit.

“Come here, motherfucker!” she shouted as she manifested a barren plain that held nothing but the two of them. “You aren’t running anymore, bitch!”

“Such foul language and a foul attitude from a such a young lady,” the Great Maker tsked. “Not very becoming.”

Beth rushed the cyborg and her fist slammed against his steel reinforced jaw. His head snapped back and Beth smiled at the sound of vertebrae cracking.

“Power,” the Great Maker said as he straightened his neck, setting the vertebrae back in place. “But not experience.”

Beth blinked and he was gone. She spun around and caught his foot across her cheek. She tumbled to the ground then tried to push herself back up, but the Great Maker was on her. He grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head back. His other hand clutched her about the throat and began to press into her soft flesh. The tips of his fingers stretched and sharpened, drawing blood instantly.

“I have been in the digital world for most of my life,” the Great Maker laughed. “I used to play in this mainframe like it was my own special oasis. You think a young bitch like you can defeat me here? Ha! This is MY domain! This is where I learned about the purity of the machine and the blasphemy of the flesh!”

The Great Maker tore Beth’s throat open and blood sprayed across the digital landscape. She clutched at her throat, her eyes wide with fear, and turned to look at the Great Maker. He just smiled down at her, his red eyes incapable of pity.

***

LaFrance watched the flashing images on the vid screens and cringed as he saw Beth’s body slump to the ground, her life draining through her fingers.

“Lesh!” LaFrance ordered. “Kill!”

The dog understood that. She leapt at the Great Maker’s body and landed on his chest. The eyes popped open just as a bolt of electricity shot down and sent the dog flying across the room. She skidded across the floor, landing hard against Stan.

The boy stirred and pushed himself to his feet. He looked about, saw June against the wall, Lesh singed and barely breathing at his feet, and LaFrance stuck in his wheelchair.

“Care to hand me that?” LaFrance asked, pointing at June’s sidearm. “I have a job to do.”

Stan looked at the pistol and then picked it up. But instead of handing it to LaFrance he walked over to the Great Maker and pressed the barrel against the cyborg’s head. Electricity shot down again, but Stan took the bolt and didn’t budge.

“You’re different, eh?” the Great Maker said.

Stan didn’t answer with words. He let the gunshot do his talking. Brain and metal exploded from the side of the Great Maker’s head. His last breath left him and his body went slack. Stan nodded then walked over and handed the pistol to LaFrance.

“Uh, thanks, kid,” La France said.

Stan nodded and went and sat down next to June, wrapping her arms about him. She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake up. Stan closed his eyes and rested his head against her chest.

“What the fuck?” LaFrance said.

***

“My body,” the Great Maker said as he looked down at his digital form. “My body is gone. Now I am truly free.”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t ya?” Jethro said from behind him. “But it’s a funny thing about this mainframe. It gets kinda crowded quick.”

Jethro ripped the Great Maker’s head off of the cyborg’s neck and tossed it back over his shoulder. The Great Maker’s corpse flicked, flicked, then flashed into nothing.

Jethro walked over to Beth and extended his hand. “Need some help?”

Beth was too busy choking on her own blood to answer.

“Not real,” Jethro said as he tapped his head. “Only this is real. Stop bleeding and get up. We have work to do.”

Beth pulled her hand away and was surprised to see not a drop of blood on it. She took Jethro’s hand and he helped her to her feet.

“You know, we’re just making all this shit up,” Jethro said. “I’m not really holding your hand. We aren’t really seeing each other. It’s just a figment-.”

His words were stopped as Beth grabbed him and kissed him hard.

“That real enough for you?” Beth asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Jethro said. “That kiss kinda brings up other possibilities.”

“Keep it in your digital pants,” Beth said. “We have work to do, remember?”

“You know, technically we control the time flow in here,” Jethro grinned. “We could spend what feels like a year here and it wouldn’t even be a nanosecond out there in flesh and bone land.”

“Maybe later,” Beth said as she gave him one quick peck. “After we save some lives.”

***

The BTTs cut swaths through the deaders, their sharpened, lengthened wings acting as massive scythes. Thousands died with each sweep, but it still wasn’t enough. There were still so many that Capreze ordered everyone to the Stronghold to make a last stand.

“Riders!” Capreze shouted. “Get back here!”

But they were too busy.

All of the living riders of Eden had formed a tight group and slowly rotated out, fighting and killing every deader that came at them. They kept the group flowing, constantly changing, so that one rider couldn’t get bogged down. It was an ingenious display of hand to hand combat against overwhelming odds.

“Sorry, Commander,” Dog said as he tore out the spine of a deader and shoved it through the skull of another one. “We got our hands full at the moment.”

“You’ll be safer back here,” Capreze stated. “We’ll protect you with the mechs.”

“No offense,” the Mayor said over the com. “But your mechs aren’t doing as well as the riders. Well, except for your Chief Mechanic.”

That was surely true.

Jay hadn’t slowed down at all. His mech stomped and ground deaders into the dirt, melding their rotten flesh with the bits of gravel and sand that made up the wasteland. But even with his never ending rage, Jay was making only the slightest difference in the numbers.

“Fuck,” Capreze muttered as he saw the futility of it all. There were just too many.

“Hey, boss man,” Jethro said. “Bet you’d like to come in and put your feet up for a bit, eh?”

“Son of a bitch!” Capreze yelled. “Where the hell have you been? What have you been doing in there?”

“Oh, just taking a nap,” Jethro replied. “Why? Did I miss something?”

“Open the fucking hangar door, Jethro,” Capreze ordered.

Jethro complied and Capreze took up a defensive position with Rachel, their mechs blocking as much of the door as they could.

“Inside now!” Capreze ordered. “That’s an order!”

“I’ll get them,” Styles 1 said.

The BTTs stopped their zombie mowing and flew to the riders. They dropped down, smashing deaders under their BC and opened ramps.

“All aboard Styles Airlines!” Styles 1 laughed. “We will be departing right the fuck now!”

Dog, Immy and the others didn’t argue. They all sprinted to the closest BTT and climbed inside. The BTTs took off, strafing the ground with gunfire as they headed to the hangar.

Capreze and Rachel stepped aside and let the aircraft fly right inside.

“Jay!” Capreze yelled. “Come on!”

Jay saw what was happening, but he didn’t care. He was in a mindset of violence and rage. Mythical creatures could have fallen from the sky and he wouldn’t have noticed. All he saw or heard was the blood and moans of the undead.

“Go get him,” Capreze said to Rachel. “He’ll keep going until he runs out of power.”

Rachel ran her mech to Jay and grabbed the massive battle machine by the arm. Jay lashed out, but Rachel ducked the swipe and slammed her mech cockpit right up against Jay’s.

“HEY!” she shouted. “Get it together, Chief Mechanic! We need you alive, Jay! So get your fucking ass inside that Stronghold right now!”

Jay blinked for a moment and shook his head.

“Rache?” Jay asked. “That is you, isn’t it?”

“Always has been,” Rachel replied. “Now move your fucking old ass.”

Jay looked about at the undead he’d ripped to shreds and smiled. “I kinda lost it.”

“It happens to us all,” Rachel replied as she started to jog back to the Stronghold, crushing deaders as she went. Jay followed right behind.

Capreze was the last to get inside and he breathed a huge sigh of relief when the hangar door locked shut. Railers and riders took aim and put down the few dozen deaders that had made it inside before the door closed and the hangar smelled like gun powder, blood and grease.

Capreze smiled as he climbed down from his mech.

“Reload, make repairs and take a shit if you haven’t already in your pants!” he shouted. “Because we’re going back out there in fifteen minutes!”

“You think we can take them now?” Rachel asked as she hopped down the last few feet from her mech.

“I think we’re going to try,” Capreze said. “Otherwise we’ll be trapped in here forever.”

“We kicked their asses!” Dog said. “We can whittle them down, easy!”

“Jethro?” Capreze called out.

‘Yeah, Commander?”

“Show them what’s happening outside,” Capreze said as he turned to one of the massive vid screens in the hangar.

Everyone went quiet.

“Did you all forget where we live?” Capreze asked as they all watched images of their friends and family as they reanimated. “This is the wasteland, people. There’s always bigger numbers out there than in here.”

Sixty-Four

“Are those guys wearing pajamas?” Bisby asked as One Arm walked up to the battlefield.

“Battle suits,” Mathew said. “Must be BC from Melissa.”

“They don’t look like they’re fighting anymore,” Bisby said. “At least not for our team.”

“The dead always rise again,” Mathew said. “Wasn’t that some war slogan or something?”

“Fuck if I care,” Bisby said. “How do we get past all those dead fucks and get to the Stronghold? One Arm can barely walk.”

“Not true,” One Arm said as he snapped the welded struts from his leg. “I am repaired.”

“Repaired? How the fuck did you do that?” Bisby asked.

“The nanobots that you infected me with when you took me over,” One Arm said. “They never left my system. I just ordered them to make the repairs needed. While I shall never forgive you for the offense you have done to my person, I shall thank your Jethro for his invention.”

“Ha!” Mathew laughed. “That’s gotta burn!”

“Fuck you, Jespers,” Bisby growled. “So now what?”

“Now we fight,” One Arm said casually.

“You do realize there’s still hundreds of thousands out there, right?” Mathew said.

“Good,” One Arm said as he started to run into the thick of the deaders. “Then it will not be over too soon.”

***

“Holy shit!” Jethro said. “Look who’s here!”

“How the hell…?” Jay asked. “I thought that thing went down when Biz and Harlow took on the Canadian mechs?”

“Well, it’s up and fighting now,” Jethro said. “And readings show two humans inside.”

“Jeezus,” Capreze smiled as he watched the one armed mech dive into the deader horde and start smashing and ripping everything that came at it. “What are we standing here for? Let’s get back in it!”

“Just give me a second,” Jethro said. “I’ll make some room.”

***

Floodlights illuminated the nightscape once again, changing darkness into light. The Stronghold gun turrets whirred to life and took aim at the thousands of deaders that pressed against the hangar door. When they opened fire the undead became a black-red mist that lifted into the air, swirling about the floodlights like a one-colored rainbow.

In just seconds Jethro had cleared enough space for the hangar door to open and the mechs to come rushing out.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Dog said.

“Negative,” Capreze replied. “Lock everything down. This is a mech fight.”

“Then give me a mech!” Dog shouted. “Jay, you have to have another mech I can use!”

“You can’t have it both ways,” Capreze said. “You’re in charge until we stomp the fuck out of these things. Keep the Stronghold safe and everyone calm.”

“He’s right, boy,” the Mayor said over the com. “Your place is no longer in a mech.”

“The voice in the ear thing is getting old,” Dog grumbled to the Mayor, but didn’t offer up any more arguments.

***

One Arm was in control and Bisby and Mathew had no problem with that. They were both experienced mech pilots, but One Arm had more experience dealing with massive hordes of deaders. After all, he was a rogue mech from the wasteland.

With his one fist, One Arm gripped a broken transport and slammed it down again and again, creating stamps of crushed deaders. He spun about, sweeping the transport to clear the area directly around them and then started in again with the smashing.

Bisby perked up when he saw the other mechs come running out to help. The com was still down, but he was pretty sure they would know that One Arm was friendly. Anything that attacked deaders with as much joy as One Arm had to be seen as an ally.

***

“I’m getting nothing,” Capreze said. “Jay?”

“Their coms must be fried,” Jay replied. “We’ll just have to get close enough to shout.”

“Then let’s get to crushing some fucking deaders,” Rachel said. “There’s a lot between us and them.”

There were thousands upon thousands between the three mechs and One Arm, but those numbers dwindled quickly. From a few hundred thousand down to just a couple hundred thousand. The mechs, all four of them, used everything they had. They were horribly outnumbered and should have been overtaken within minutes, but they refused to yield.

Capreze, Rachel, Jay, and even One Arm, proved that there is nothing more deadly than a determined mech, dead or alive.

Everything Capreze had fought for over the years was at the front of his mind: his late wife, his daughter, the mech pilots, the mech base, the city/states, and even the wasteland itself. Not much was left and Capreze knew he had failed many, but he also knew that there were many still that depended on him to see them through the hell that had been brought to them all.

With all of that fueling him, Capreze fought.

He unloaded his 50mms until they overheated and seized. The few RPGs that he’d been able to reload in the hangar went flying into the deaders, sending showers of body parts into the air. When every weapon was spent he shifted to the one weapon that never needed to be reloaded: himself.

There was no thought, no premeditation, no calculation, as Capreze waged war against the deaders. He used everything to his advantage. He grabbed transports and broken rail cars and wiped areas clear of deaders, sending hundreds flying about the wasteland. When he tired of that he would grab the undead up by the handful and slam them down into the dirt, smooshing them between his massive fingers.

When he was overrun by deaders, their boney hands clambering up his exoskeleton, he’d just fall, crushing the ones on his back then rolling over and crushing the ones on his front. At no time did he feel overwhelmed.

The need to protect everyone was supplanted by the need to destroy every single fucking deader he could. And he gave into that need 100%.

***

“Damn!” Mathew said. “Look at him go!”

“Who’s that in the other mech?” Bisby asked. “That’s Jay there. I can tell that bumbling fight stance anywhere. But who’s the other one?”

Mathew watched the mech fight. He saw how it rolled and kicked, punched and grabbed. He watched the movement and the transition from guns to melee and back again. There was something about it that he knew.

“That can’t be,” Mathew said. “It can’t be at all.”

“That’s her isn’t it?” Bisby said. “That’s our girl?”

“Rachel’s dead, Biz,” Mathew said. “That can’t be her.”

“But that clone, remember?” Bisby said. “It could be-.”

“She’s dead!” Mathew shouted. “Why even do this, man? I know she’s dead.”

“Let us find out,” One Arm said. “So that you two flesh bags will shut up.”

“Whoa!” Bisby and Mathew shouted as One Arm leapt into the air and landed just a few feet from Rachel.

One Arm opened the cockpit, swatting at deaders that started to climb up him immediately to get at the two pilots inside.

“Pilot Bisby? You will want to provide cover while Pilot Jespers speaks to the woman he believes is dead,” One Arm said as he swatted more deaders away. “Pilot Bisby? Now.”

“Right, sure,” Bisby said as he moved to the edge of the cockpit and opened fire with his 9mm. He made sure every shot was a head shot and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched the deaders fall headless to the ground below.

“Your move, Pilot Jespers,” One Arm said. “And you will need to make it quickly.”

Mathew got as close as he could to the edge of the cockpit and looked out at Rachel. She parked her mech and opened her cockpit also, both hands holding 9mms.

“Hey, Matty!” Rachel smiled. “Surprised?”

“Tell me something to prove it’s you,” Mathew said as he looked at the younger version f the woman he loved. “Just one thing.”

“Remember the watchtower at the old base?” Rachel asked.

“Of course,” Mathew nodded.

“Get to it, you two!” Bisby shouted as he reloaded his 9mm.

Rachel blew the heads off six deaders then looked right at Mathew. “Six times. It was our record.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bisby groaned.

Mathew watched her for a few moments as she killed more and more deaders. “Okay, it’s believable,” Mathew said. “But we’ll have to talk more for me to be sure.”

“How about we not do that talking right now!” Bisby yelled as he reloaded again. “Can we shut the fucking cockpit?”

Rachel smiled at Mathew. “I love you, Matty,” she said. “You’ll see.”

She closed her cockpit, slicing the arms off two deaders trying to get inside. She immediately turned and began stomping everything that moved.

“Feel free to keep killing,” Bisby said as he took a deep breath and leaned back. “I need a nap.”

***

“My count is twenty thousand,” Jay said. “How are you holding up?”

“Still going,” Capreze replied. “You?”

“I could use a gallon of shine right now, but I’ll make it,” Jay said.

“We’ll all make it,” Capreze replied. “We’ll be scarred, but we’ll make it.”

The two mech veterans continued their onslaught. With each foot stomp and fist punch, more and more died. Soon the twenty was down to nineteen thousand. Then seventeen thousand. Ten thousand. Between the four mechs they systematically demolished the deader numbers.

Twice a mech was taken down, toppled by the weight of deaders as they swarmed over it. But another mech was there to swipe the deaders off and pull the mech back to its feet, ready to keep fighting.

After several exhausting hours, the mechs all stood side by side, looking at the last of the deaders. The ones in suits.

“Those aren’t normal,” Jay said. “That’s Melissa’s BC tech on them. I think I’ve stomped that one there at least ten times and it won’t fucking die.”

“Need some help?” Melissa asked as the hangar door opened and she rode out on one of the cyces. Charlie, Dog and Immy were right behind her.

“Can’t let you guys do all the work,” Dog said. “You’ll start to think that all we need are mechs in the wasteland.”

Melissa hopped off her cyce even before it rolled to a stop. She leapt at the first group of deaders and rolled up to them. Her hands grabbed the first two and the BC suits instantly changed, popping the heads off the deaders inside. Charlie, in full shock suit, blasted three more suited deaders, keeping them from getting Melissa. Immy and Dog joined Charlie and the three of them created a protective shield against the deaders that circled them.

Melissa reached out and changed suit after suit with just a touch. BC covered heads began to roll everywhere. Dog kicked a few and smiled as they sailed through the air.

In less than fifteen minutes Melissa had ended the last of the deaders. The group, including the mechs turned in a circle and looked at what they had done all night long. Piles and piles of motionless deaders covered the ground. The smell was almost unbearable, but it wasn’t the worst they had to face. The worst was still to come as they cleaned up, sorting friend from foe.

“We find everyone,” Capreze said as if they had all been talking about the subject. “Everyone gets remembered and put on the fire. I mean everyone.”

They all nodded.

The sun broke the horizon and the bright rays turned the gore covered battlefield into a bright tableau of oranges and reds. They all waited until the orb was fully up, none wanting to break the spell and scare the sun away.

They all knew they needed the light.

Sixty-Five

“I’m sorry, June,” Capreze said. “I know this is hard.”

June nodded, but she didn’t seem sad. “It was the child of a rapist, sir,” she said about her miscarriage. Taking 10,000 volts to the body was not good for the fetus. “I’m fine with what happened.”

“I know,” Capreze said. “But I’m still sorry.”

“Thank you, sir,” June said. “Have you seen Stan?”

“Just passed him in the hallway,” Capreze said. “He’s been running around the Stronghold with that dog for days now. Doesn’t he ever get tired?”

“He just falls down,” June said. “With the dog on him. Those two won’t leave each other’s sides.”

“I’m going to the mess, need anything?” Capreze asked as he started to leave the infirmary.

“No, thank you,” June said. “But you’re in for a treat.”

Capreze raised his eyebrows, but didn’t ask.

***

“So Matty is convinced,” Rachel said.

“I’ll bet he is,” Bisby muttered under his breath.

“But I thought I’d prove it to all of you,” Rachel continued as she set a tray of steaming mugs on the table. “Because you can’t learn this from a mainframe. This is the real shit.”

Bisby, Jay and Mathew were the first to grab a mug and hold it up in the air. Dog, Immy, Charlie and Melissa followed.

“To the fallen,” Bisby said. “Those we knew and those we didn’t.”

They all lifted and clinked their mugs then took cautious sips.

“Holy fuck,” Jay sighed. “Oh, how I’ve missed that.”

“Welcome home, girl,” Bisby smiled. “I never doubted it was you.”

“Fuck you, you didn’t!” Mathew exclaimed.

“Shut the fuck up, Jespers,” Bisby growled.

“I think this is better than I remembered it,” Dog said. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to live in Eden without coffee.”

“I’ll send you a thermos,” Rachel smiled. “You’ll just have to come visit your old mentor now and again for more.”

“Or you can show me how to make it,” Dog suggested. “One last mentor duty?”

“Some things aren’t taught,Rookie,” Rachel laughed.

“Yeah, Rookie,” Bisby smirked.

“To the Rookie!” Jay laughed as he held his mug up.

“Ah, come on guys,” Dog frowned. “I’m gonna be like mayor and shit of a whole settlement. A little respect?”

Immy didn’t say anything, her eyes wide as she stared into the mug of coffee like she was seeing God Himself.

“I think I still prefer tea,” Melissa said. “I could die for a cuppa.”

“Get out,” Bisby said. “Just leave right now.”

“I miss tea also,” Charlie said, pushing the coffee mug away.

The table understood what he meant and they all nodded.

“What’s this I smell?” Capreze asked as he walked up to the table. “Is that…?”

“Here you go, Papa Bear,” Rachel said as she handed him a mug. “I dare you to fucking tell me I’m not your daughter.”

Capreze took the offered mug and inhaled. Memories flowed through him of times spent at the mech base before it was destroyed. He looked over the rim of the mug at the girl that was supposed to be Rachel.

“This won’t prove anything,” Capreze said stubbornly. He took a sip. His eyes closed and his entire body relaxed. “Oh…wow…”

“Wait for it,” Matty said.

“That’s…that’s…,” Capreze turned away. “Oh, man.”

“Paper Bear?” Rachel asked as she took him by the elbow and spun him around. Tears filled his eyes and he struggled to keep it together. “Ah, come here.”

She hugged him fiercely and he hugged her back, almost dropping the mug.

“Hey, Baby Girl,” he sobbed. “Welcome home.”

“Jesus,” Melissa whispered. “I didn’t think the coffee was that good.”

If looks could kill…

***

“So, small batches,” Beth said as she monitored the BC production. “We can handle small batches. Maybe a ton a month.”

“Better than none,” Jethro said. “You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“That’s all you do, dipshit,” Beth replied. “You don’t have a body anymore.”

“Yeah, that’s hard to get used to,” Jethro said. “I guess the body was only needed in the beginning. My consciousness was fully integrated for who knows how long.”

“Hard to let go,” Beth said. “I get that. Even though I really only had a body for a few years.”

“Which is what I was thinking about,” Jethro said. “The info I uploaded from Styles 1’s BTT showed me scans of that Stone guy. He had a completely BC body.”

“And you’re what? Thinking of making one for yourself?” Beth asked.

“Maybe for both of us,” Jethro suggested. “Get us out and about a little. Sure, being the all knowing mainframe is fun and all, but…”

“Let’s just get the production room squared away first,” Beth responded. “Then we’ll look into getting us bodies.”

“We can make those bodies anyway we want, you know,” Jethro said, a grin in his voice. “Likeanyway we want.”

“Yeah, I get your meaning,” Beth laughed. “Just calm down, horndog. One step at a time.”

***

Specialist Grendetti was upside down and backwards as he twisted the metal panel away from the mech and reached inside. “Hand me that ratchet.”

“Right here,” Specialist Kafar replied. “You almost got it?”

“Yep,” Grendetti said. “Just a couple more turns.”

He worked the ratchet a few times and then had the CPU free. “Here.”

Kafar took the CPU and placed it in the protected case with the others.

“You think Jethro can retrieve anything from these?” Kafar asked as he helped Grendetti up and out of the mech.

“He’s going to try.”

“This is it!” Specialist Sol shouted as he and Lt. Murphy carried the body that had been Shiner on a grav-sled over to the hybrid. “Get your asses over here so we can get the fuck out of this graveyard!”

Grendetti took one last look at the destruction around them. The fallen mechs were everywhere, not just the ones native to the wasteland, but the Canadian ones as well. From the looks of the torn open cockpits and the dried blood smeared everywhere, the Canadian Mech Pilots hadn’t done so well once the EMP took out their mechs.

He shook his head, imagining the terror they must have felt.

But then he smiled, thinking of the terror one Canadian had felt just a few days earlier.

***

Control’s soldiers poured into the command center of Outpost Tango Charlie and stopped in their tracks. Some turned and retched, others crossed themselves.

Hanging from the ceiling, his arms and legs pulled tight by wires so that he was in the form of an X, Norton was flayed open, his intestines drooping to the floor. They had been tied into knots and lit on fire.

“What the hell am I seeing?” their commander asked as he pushed past. “Why is everyone just standing…?”

His eyes found Norton. Then the words on the wall, obviously written in his blood.

“Greetings from the Wasteland, bitches. Call first next time. We’ll be waiting.”

“Oh, fuck…,” the commander whispered.

***

The last screams had died down minutes before and Stone guessed that there wasn’t man or woman alive in Monterey. Or on the ships in the bay that listed to their sides as they took on water.

Stone had had quite a fun time showing the Three’s forces just what they’d created.

He’d had more fun showing the Three in person. Their heads sat on the table in what had been their tent. He waved at them as he sipped the whiskey he’d found. He really wanted a pint of bitter, but the whiskey was nice. He took another sip as he lifted his feet up onto the table, nodding the glass at each of the heads.

“Gentlemen,” Stone smiled. “It has been a pleasure.”

A noise outside got his attention and looked towards the entrance to the tent.

Ms. Isely was shoved inside, her face battered and nearly unrecognizable. But Stone would have known that woman anywhere.

“Hello, mum,” Stone said.

Behind her walked Reginald, his face covered in as much blood as Ms. Isely’s. “Stone.”

“Reg,” Stone nodded. “Got yourself out of that pickle I left you in, eh?”

“It was tough, but doable,” Reginald nodded. He glanced at the Three’s heads. “Been busy, I see.”

“Needed to blow off some steam,” Stone grinned between sips.

“You murdered them all,” Ms. Isely nearly screeched between split lips and broken teeth. “You didn’t need to kill everyone, Stone.”

“Need, want,” Stone shrugged. “Such a fine line. So subjective.”

“Do you want the honors, Stone?” Reginald asked as his hand shifted into a thin, deadly blade and pressed against Ms. Isely’s throat. “I’ll defer to you. An apology of sorts.”

“Oh, Reginald,” Stone said as he got to his feet. “You never need to apologize to me. What happened, happened. Bygones and all that shite.”

“Very kind of you,” Reginald said as he quickly drew the blade across Ms. Isely’s throat. Her hands went to her neck and the blood spurted through her fingers and down her chest. She fell to her knees and tried to say something.

“Oh, just fucking die, you cunt,” Stone said and punched her through her face, his hand coming out the back of her skull.

He shook the brains from his hand and looked Reginald up and down. “Feel up for a trip, Reg?”

“Where to, Stone?”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to see what lies behind the wall of the Mexican Empire.”

“I do love a good mystery,” Reginald grinned. “And it’s not like they can stop us.”

“No, Reg,” Mr. Stone smiled as he took a long, deep breath. “No, they can’t.”

“What about Mr. Gein?” Reginald asked as they walked from the tent. “Should we get him?”

“You want to put the band back together?” Stone asked. “Didn’t think you were sentimental like that.”

“He can be useful,” Reginald replied. “He has a way of seeing things that sometimes we don’t.”

“That is true,” Stone nodded. “But how about we come back for him? Let him take some time to really think about what he’s done.”

“You don’t think those mech folk will kill him, do you?” Reginald asked as he turned some scrap BC into a nicely made BC ATV.

“Nah,” Stone said, nodding in appreciation of the ATV. “Very nice, Reginald.”

“Thank you.”

“I believe Capreze will keep Mr. Gein around,” Stone said as he got into the passenger seat. “Those two will have some very interesting conversations, I am sure.”

“I do not doubt it,” Reginald said. “Do we need anything?”

“Just the will to live,” Stone said and pointed south. “Which we have in spades.”

***

“What the fuck is that?” Jay asked as several Railers towed the Great Maker’s arachnimech into the hangar. “Where the hell did you find that?”

“Far side of the mountain,” a Railer mechanic replied. “Next to a service hatch that had been breached. We sealed the hatch and all others, but thought you’d want to take a look at this.”

“Fuck yeah I would,” Jay grinned then looked over his shoulder out of the hangar and into the wasteland. “But not right now. Get it plugged in and powered up. But secure the fucker! I don’t want it going all crazy and trashing the place!”

“Or killing people?” the Railer asked.

“Well, that would trash the fucking place now wouldn’t it, genius?” Jay snapped. “Get it secured then go get cleaned up. We have a service to go to.”

***

Several funeral pyres had been prepared and the last of the bodies had been carefully set on them as the sun slowly set behind. Jay had just finished pouring fuel between the pyres so that one torch would set off all pyres in a row.

“Ready,” Jay said as he stepped back to the group. “You gonna say some words?”

“Yes, Jay,” Capreze said, pursing his lips. “I’m going to say some words.”

“Figured,” Jay said as he pulled a jar from a cargo pocket in his uniform. He took a sip, shook his head and passed it down the line.

Capreze stepped forward and turned, looking everyone in the eye. “Some of you I have known for a long time. Some of you I have only known for a few days. Many of you I haven’t had the chance to get to know.” He looked over his shoulder at the pyres. “But I knew every single one of them. Not by their names they lived with, but by the actions they died from. Each and every one of the dead are heroes. And if there’s one thing I know, that’s heroes.”

He took a couple breaths and continued.

“Heroes don’t have to be brave. They don’t have to save someone just in the nick of time. Heroes don’t have to have mechs, or BTTs, or cyces. They don’t even have to fight. All a hero has to do is make a sacrifice that no one else can make. And that is what each and every single person we are honoring today has done. They made a sacrifice that only they could make. They gave their lives hoping that others would live. And even though their lives were cut short, they will live on and be remembered. As heroes.”

Capreze nodded and Jay walked forward and lit the line of fuel. The flames caught and circled around until each and every pyre was a blazing inferno. Long, bright fingers of flame reached into the sky, sending the smoke and ash up and away from the earth, finally giving those heroes a chance to go beyond the wasteland.

One by one, and in pairs and groups, people slowly left the pyres as the fires died down. Until all that was left was Capreze, Rachel, Jay, Mathew, Bisby, Dog, Jenny, Immy, Melissa and Charlie.

No one said anything. They had all seen more death than they had ever wanted and they didn’t need to comment on the deaths of those that burned before them. They waited until the sun had set and the glow of the pyres was all that illuminated the wasteland.

Jay reached down and opened a cooler at his feet. He handed each person their own jar. Everyone unscrewed the tops and waited.

“To heroes,” Jay said as he took a long sip of shine.

“To heroes,” everyone repeated and then took their own sips.

They all sat down and got as comfortable as they could on the hard dirt. They sipped quietly and watched the pyres slowly burn down. None of them would leave until their was nothing but dry ashes left.

It was the least they could do to honor the dead before they carried on with living.

The End

Free excerpt from the new YA novel, Little Dead Man, now available as an ebook and paperback:

1

Today my brother and I turn seventeen and Mom baked us a cake. Well, she baked me a cake. Garth is dead, so he doesn’t eat real food.

I should probably explain better. Mom actuallyburned us a cake. It was a small fire and I put it out quickly, so no real harm done. It’s okay since Mom’s not the greatest cook and I would have had to choke down a few polite bites anyway. It’s the thought that counts, right?

“Sorry, sweetheart,” she says as I open the doors and windows to air out the RV.

“No worries, Mom,” I smile. “It’ll clear out soon.”

“Don’t tell your Father, okay?” she pleads, knowing it will upset him and he’ll start in on the psych questions. That usually ends in tears. Hers and his. Of course, Dad has been out on his studies since before we woke up, so he won’t have a clue anything happened.

Dad’s always said Mom used to be an amazing cook before the world died and before Garth and I were born, but she hasn’t been the same since. At least that’s what Dadsays and, well, he isn’t always paying attention, so I take it with a grain of salt.

“I know it’s your birthday and all, but can you go pick the rest of the blackberries?” Mom asks me. “They’re gonna dry on the vine in this heat and I’d hate for them to go to waste.”

I give her an awkward hug (I’m seventeen now, after all) and set off to get prepped before leaving camp. Small compound really. We have a converted RV that has been backed into a rock outcropping that juts from the ground, which serves as our storage area and safe zone if any necs come wandering by. Usually they don’t make it up here, but lately we’ve seen more than our share and Dad puts them down right away (“Headshot, son. Headshot”) even though he says killing anything is a crime these days and should only be done as a last resort or for survival.

The total compound is about an acre surrounded by a ten foot chain link fence with razor wire on top and strung through out. There is a second row of chain link and razor wire spaced two feet out from that then an eight foot deep by six foot wide trench. Mom and Dad were prepared when the world ended.

The compound, and especially my loft bed above the RV’s driver’s seat, is all I’ve ever known for a home. I read about houses and condos and apartments and mansions, but I’ve never seen any. Dad says he’ll take me down the mountain sometime to see what the world used to be like and what it has become. But, as with so many things, he hasn’t told me when. I’ve never been more than ten miles from the compound ever.

So, for now, my impressions of the world, or at least the way the world used to be, are from the books I read. And I’ve read a lot of books. Dad has to make trips to scavenge every once in a while and he always brings me back books.

Mysteries, fantasy, non-fiction history, fictional history, medical books, technical books, horror, romance, teen, pulp. You name it, I’ve read it. What else is a kid going to do in a dead world?

Sure, I can hunt and fish and all that other outdoorsy stuff, but that gets old. Reading doesn’t. Not for me.

2

Seventeen… Wow…

In all the books I’ve read, turning sixteen was the big deal in the old world, back before the necros came to be. Kids used to get their own cars and have huge parties, at least the girls did. Something called “sweet sixteen”. Dad says the parties were for the pretentious elite and were a huge waste of money and resources. I don’t really understand the whole “money” thing, but Dad says it was what made the world go round. Since my parents couldn’t give me a car, Dad spent a couple weeks last year showing me how to operate the RV. I didn’t get to drive it, since it’s our house, but I know what all the buttons and pedals do.

Even without cars, money, and cake, I guess seventeen is pretty important since my parents never thought I’d live past one or two. Having an undead conjoined twin stuck to your back can really worry the parents. Dad tried to separate us more than once, but my blood pressure dropped too low every time and it wasn’t worth the risk. Mom doesn’t ever speak of Garth. She acts like he isn’t there, but I do catch her staring when she thinks I’m not looking. I’m not sure what the problem is really, I’m used to Little Man and he’s used to me. Just like brothers in the books we get on each other’s nerves, but that’s life, right?

Well, “life” might be stretching it a bit when talking about Little Man (that’s mine and Dad’s nickname for Garth). Mom got pregnant just as the world ended, when the necros came to be, and my parents were able to escape up here to the camp. Dad’s a scientist, behavioral virology, and Mom was a surgeon, so they had everything prepared: all the supplies, equipment, resources, just in case there were any complications.

Therewere complications. Best laid plans and all that… (That’s Steinbeck, not my favorite author, but beggars can’t be choosers).

I think about all this as I go through my equipment and weapons checklist: machete in sheath and strapped to my leg; spiked baseball bat on my back, next to Garth; 9mm Beretta on my hip with three extra magazines; ten inch serrated hunting knife on my belt with heavy gloves tucked next to them; folding shovel in my satchel along with matches, a canteen, a large plastic bag and two smaller plastic bags, an extra t-shirt and a towel. Over the years, in order to keep from tearing my skin, Little Man was supported in a deer hide sling that would strap under my arm, across my chest and around back. Now my skin and his has hardened, becoming rough, but pliable. Sorta like a big callus that surrounds where his body connects to mine. The only problem now is it gives him more mobility and as I drape the alert whistle over my neck, Little Man grabs at its cord, as always, and I have to swat his hand away. He grunts at me, but I ignore him.

Mom and Dad knew they were having twins and everything was going fine until a week before the due date. Mom was checking vitals and could only find one heartbeat. That alone would be terrifying, but even though there was only one heartbeat, she could feel us both moving. Dad had to cut us out. Like I said, Mom hasn’t been the same since.

Garth had his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. He was dead for only a day since Mom checked our vitals like clockwork. But dead for a day is all it takes with the necros. Twenty-four hours from death to undeath. Such is the way of the necros.

Necros… Homo Sapiens Necrosii. That is what Dad has classified them. A new species all together. It’s his obsession and keeps him away most of the day, and sometimes all night. He calls them HSNs. I call them necros, or necs, but Dad doesn’t like this. He says it’s derogatory and I should know better because of Garth.

Mom never speaks about them and prefers we don’t either. Dad calls it denial. I call it crazy, but I keep that to myself. Crazy moms are in a lot of my books, so I guess she isn’t breaking any new ground.

I systematically unlock the inside gate, re-lock it, double check that it is secure, walk the thirty yards to the outside gate, unlock it, re-lock it, check that it is secure and finally make my way down the trail to the creek and the blackberries waiting to be picked.

Little Man died in utero (in the womb), but since my parents only had a portable ultrasound machine, they couldn’t tell that he and I were connected. Conjoined. When I was young I’d read all these books about kids with normal lives, without their brother hanging from the top of their spine, and I’d be so jealous. But, over the years, I’ve gotten used to it. He’s Little Man.

“He ain’t heavy, he’s your brother,” Dad jokes. Says it’s lyrics to some song by a guy named Neil. I haven’t heard it. They brought equipment, food, weapons and other supplies, but Dad forgot the music (still makes Mom pretty angry), so all I know is what Mom sings while she works or what I’ve read about. Dad doesn’t sing, or at least we tell him not to.

Apparently, Little Man and I share spinal fluid and major blood vessels. This is why Dad can’t separate us, although he hasn’t tried in quite a few years. He isn’t the surgeon like Mom, but she’s taught him a lot and if he has one thing going for him, he learns fast.

“When you’re older, maybe,” he says. He wants my body to stop growing first so he knows what he’s dealing with. Garth’s body hasn’t grown since we were born. He’s a nec and necs are dead and the dead don’t grow. They just erode.

“Theypetrify, notputrefy,” Dad has told me.

The virus that turns a human into an HSN (to use Dad’s term) kills everything, not just the host body. It kills all bacteria, other viruses, microbes, yeast, anything and everything a human body could have n it or be exposed to. This means that once a person turns into a nec they don’t rot away. Instead, they end up changing with the weather. They become kinda spongy when it rains or hard and dry, during a drought. Their body only breaks down by natural exposure to the elements, or friction as they move. This leads to some interesting looking necros out there.

But, since Little Man is connected to me, and my blood and spinal fluid, he doesn’t erode like the rest. He just stays Little Man. I get bigger, he stays the same size.

He does stink though.

Nec farts are awful.

3

“Hush,” I warn Little Man. “Stop wiggling and moaning.” He quiets down quickly. He’s usually pretty good about minding me which fascinates Dad.

Dad…

He spends most of his time out “in the field”, as he likes to say.

“We have to study the HSNs, Garret,” he’ll tell me when he knows Mom isn’t listening or when we are out on our hikes. “They are the dominate species now and we must learn from their behavior so we can survive.”

Not sure what we can learn from them. Only thing they do is look creepy and eat. Eat people. Not animals, but people. What’s to learn?

We get about a half mile down the three mile trail when Little Man shifts again and gives a high squeak. This time I don’t tell him to hush. Instead I get off the trail quickly and duck behind one of the many large pines that are everywhere here in southern Oregon. That squeak means necs are getting close.

Little Man squeaks again, just to make sure I’m listening and I reach behind and pat his head. As usual, he tries to bite me, but he wasn’t born with teeth, and being dead, they never came in. I swat at him absentmindedly and he growls a little, but hushes up. I’m usually pretty good at knowing when necs are close, but I’m lost in thought today. Birthday musings. Dad thinks my sensitivity to necs has something to do with Garth. That I’m naturally more aware of the necros. Whatever the reason, I don’t care, since it’s the only way Dad was able to talk Mom into letting me out of the compound on my own.

Now, here’s the thing about necs: there’s more than just one kind.

Dad calls it “genetic variability”. His theory (god, does he have some theories) is that since each person has many genetic variables and predispositions when alive, it stands to reason they will have the same variables when they are dead. Or undead. Whatever.

Some necs are just slow, shambling creatures. They walk from place to place, their noses and ears leading them to what they hope will be food. They never run, they never make any noise, they just shamble. They’re the easy ones to deal with. We’ve had a surprising amount make it all the way up to our camp and we just wait until they shamble off. Dad usually goes out and puts them down once they are far enough away.

Other necs are a little more animated. Like the lurkers. Those guys wait. They’ll be in a ditch, a hole, a cave, behind a tree, under a bush, behind some rocks. Doesn’t matter, they just wait for prey. There is always one around somewhere. They are pretty quick, but not too bright. They think since they can’t see you, you can’t see them. Usually parts of them are sticking out from their hiding place, so they really aren’t too hard to spot. All you have to do is circle around, come up from behind quietly and SPLAT! Off goes the head.

Now, the ones you have to watch out for are the runners. These guys you don’t mess with. It’s easier to hide and let them move on than to face them. Mostly because they run in packs.

“The runners are the evolution of the Hunter gene,” Dad says. “Some people were born to farm, some were born to hunt. Runners are the latter.”

Runners are fast. And I meanfast! Trust me, runners can, and will, chase you down. Dad and I have come close before, but luckily we’ve gotten away every time.

“Know your surroundings, G,” is another of Dad’s sayings. “Always know where you are in relation to what’s around you. That knowledge can mean the difference between life and death.”

Oh, and runners can climb too. That’s why we have the razor wire on the compound fence.

But what Little Man has warned me about is none of these. What’s close to us is one of the broken.

4

The broken…

The poor, pitiful thing grasps at the dry dirt of the trail, desperate to pull itself along. I can see that its legs were gnawed off by other necs when the thing used to be alive. Used to be a person.

From the look of its torn chest and the matted pony tail hanging down its back, my guess is it used to be a woman. Its clothes have long since rotted away and its grey-blue skin is shiny from what Dad calls “dead sweat”. That’s just ambient moisture that seeps from its undead pores.

Its head is barely attached to its body and dangles down from the neck. With each movement the head bobs slightly, reminding me of one of my childhood toys. It’s kinda comical, but not really when you think that this used to be a person.

I unsheathe my machete and stand over the nec. It struggles to raise its eyes to me, but its head won’t cooperate and the thing starts to hiss in frustration.

“Kill it, Garret,” my Dad’s voice whispers from directly behind me, causing me to yelp and nearly drop my blade.

“Dad!” I fume in a hushed yell, since where there is one nec there are usually others. “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry, G,” he apologizes, squeezing my shoulder. “You shouldn’t let them suffer. Just do what’s needed.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just I wasn’t looking forward to digging.”

Part of killing a nec is disposing of the body. Even though necs don’t eat other necs, they are attracted to the dead ones. Dad has a theory on this, of course. The main problem with necs is they don’t decompose. So the body has to be covered in at least three feet of dirt or they attract others. If they decomposed, it wouldn’t be such a problem since they’d just rot away to nothing eventually. But, as I said, one of the many wonders of necs is that not only arethey dead, so are the trillions of bacteria and yeasts that inhabit a living human body. Microorganisms that would normally breakdown the dead flesh don’t. Nothing lives on or in a nec. Nothing.

We spend a lot of time burying necs.

“Kill it, G,” Dad says again.

I step close and bring the machete down through the thing’s skull. It collapses instantly and is still forever. I look at Dad and roll my eyes, take off my satchel and pull out my shovel. “Over there looks good,” I say, pointing to a spot well off the trail that doesn’t look choked with tree roots. I hate tree roots.

“I agree,” Dad says and we both pull on our heavy gloves to keep from getting infected.

Viruses are contagious. This is something Dad has drilled into me since I was old enough to understand. What changes the living into living dead is a specific virus that can be transmitted by bodily fluids, including blood, saliva and dead sweat. This isn’t one of Dad’s theories. He states this as fact. I’ve asked how he knows for sure, but he never answers and Mom usually changes the subject or stares off into space like she hasn’t heard anything.

We each grab an undead arm and pull the nec from the path. Dad and I are big folk, as Mom likes to tease. We’re not fat, that’s not really possible these days, but we are tall and muscular, so we have the thing off the path and to its final destination in no time.

“Start digging. I want to take a sample,” Dad says.

“Why? You’ve taken thousands of samples. You never find anything,” I complain, more from having to dig alone than because he’s wasting time taking a sample. “Give it a rest, Dad! They’re all the same: dead!” As soon as the words are out of my mouth I regret them. Garth. That’s why Dad takes samples. Even though I’m connected to Little Man night and day, I forget sometimes he’s a nec. He’s just, you know, my brother. “Sorry.”

Dad gives me a weak smile, but I can see that it’ll be a while before he lets my comments go.

“Just dig, Garret,” he mutters as he pulls out several vials and a scalpel from his own satchel and proceeds to slice bits of skin and hair from the corpse.

I push the shovel blade into the ground and start furiously tossing dirt to the side. Usually I don’t let things get to me, having an undead twin teaches you patience, but this time…well, it’s my BIRTHDAY!

After a few shovelfuls of dirtaccidentally stray towards Dad he sets the vials aside and stands, giving me his sternest look.

“So, what’s eating you?” he asks, his hands on his hips, ready to argue.

“Nothing,” I mutter and continue digging.

“Out with it, Garret. I don’t need any whining today.”

“You don’t…?” I toss the shovel on the ground and laugh. “Oh, well, wouldn’t want to get in the way of Dr. Weir’s important day!” He starts to speak, but I cut him off. “Do you even know what day it is?”

“Of course. It’s Thursday, August 29.” He just stands there, all grumpy faced, and I wait for it to hit him. Three…two…one… “Oh, crap! It’s your birthday! I’m so sorry, G.”

“You’re about a foot and a half too late for sorry, Dad,” I grumble, picking up my shovel and starting at the hole again.

“Stop, Garret. I’ll finish for you. I really am sorry I forgot.”

“I’m sure you are, but I’m already a sweaty mess so I might as well finish up here. Why don’t you go pick blackberries. I’ll be down to the creek to wash off in a minute.” He starts to speak again, but once more I cut him off. “Just go. I’ll be there soon.”

He gives me an apologetic nod, grabs up his things and heads back to the trail.

I keep digging.

Find more information on Little Dead Man at www.jakebible.com

Jake Bible lives in Asheville, NC with his wife and two kids. He is the author the Apex Trilogy (DEAD MECH, The Americans, Metal and Ash), Bethany and the Zombie Jesus, Stark- An Illustrated Novella, and the forthcoming YA horror novels Little Dead Man (November 2012) and Intentional Haunting (2013). Check out Friday Night Drabble Party every week! Free drabbles for all! Find him at jakebible.com.