Dead Mech (12 page)

Shiner opened his cockpit and withdrew a
cable, plugging it into One. In milliseconds trillions of bits of
information transferred from one mech to the other.

***

June pulled herself together and stood up,
brushing sand and dirt from her uniform. She hefted her pack and
carbine, checking and securing each strap, readying herself for the
climb down into the ravine.

“Nothing like a good cry,” she said, her
words echoing off the ravine’s walls as she descended. She hoped to
find a perch or nook, not liking the idea of being trapped down at
the bottom if she needed to make a quick escape.

The weight of the pack bit into her
shoulders, but she ignored the pain, paying close attention to her
footing and handholds.

***

“Hey Biz?” Masters called over the com
pushing the system to its limits.

“Yeah. What’s up?” Bisby answered.

“I got Red Legs for ya if you want it.”

“Shoot me the coordinates.”

The com crackled and hissed from the
distance between mechs. “Done. Oh and, um…”

“What?”

“Be careful. Red Legs is a tough one and if
it’s changed like One Arm, you’ll need back up.”

“Don’t worry about me. Now that I know what
I’m fighting ain’t nothing going to stop me.”

Masters was silent for a moment. “Okay. Good
luck.”

“Thanks.” Bisby turned his mech towards
Masters’ coordinates.

***

One obeyed.

It had been told what to do, where to go and
it was doing just that.

Stay out of sight. So it hid.

Stay off sensors. So it did.

Follow, observe, report. Follow, observe,
report. These were its commands, these were its reasons for
existing; for being allowed to exist.

It observed and reported back about the live
mech it was following.

One knew this mech. It had visual memory of
this mech, of it being repaired, it being deployed and it
returning.

But returning to and from where? That was
old programming. That was wiped.

One obeyed.

***

“Pilot Jespers to base… Pilot Jespers to
base… Hey assholes! Anyone manning the com?” Mathew yelled.

“Fucking chill Matty!” Jethro barked back.
“Since your girlfriend is busy plotting our deaths in the kitchen
I’m having to monitor you, Bisby and Two and Four! So fuck
off!”

“Sorry, man. Listen, I’m lost out here.”

“Your instruments aren’t working?”

“No, dumbass, I mean I have no idea which
way June could have gone. The trail is cold and I’m searching
blind.”

“If you weren’t blind wouldn’t it just be
called following?”

“I fucking hate you sometimes,” Mathew
growled.

“Fuck you too, Jespers.”

***

June splashed the cold water onto her face,
lifting her head and letting it drip down her neck. She breathed
deeply and started to relax a bit.

She sat on the bank of the small stream that
cut the narrow ravine and wondered what her next move was. Whatever
it was, she knew it wasn’t sitting on her ass out in the waste.

She dipped her canteen into the water until
it stopped bubbling then plopped two purification tablets into the
canteen. As she replaced the canteen, something in the water caught
her eye.

She leaned in close then gagged.

***

Bisby’s sensors picked up movement.

“Alright, now we’re talking,” he mumbled,
readying weapons as he adjusted his course to intercept. Within
seconds he had solid readings and disappointment washed over
him.

His sensors told him he was following a
transport of some kind, highly modified and in pursuit of
approximately fifty zombies. “Ranchers…”

Bisby wanted a look. He halted his mech,
grabbed his binocs and carbine and just a short hike up a small
hill, he had a perfect view.

Which was more than the transport had since
it seemed completely unaware of the dead mech coming up on it.

***

“Oh God…” June placed a hand over her mouth
to keep from puking. Staring up at her, just below the surface of
the water, was a severed head. And surrounding the head were other
heads…and arms, legs, torsos…

“Oopsy,” a voice said behind June. “Looks
like someone found the larder. Now what’s a pretty thing like you
doing down here?”

June spun around and faced a shaggy, dirty
man in tattered clothes and boots. She didn’t focus too long on his
appearance as the click of his switchblade commanded her
attention.

She glanced at her carbine.

“Try it, bitch.”

***

“Bisby to base…”

“Yeah, go ahead Biz,” Jethro responded.

“Get Rachel on the com for me.”

“Will do.”

A brief moment later Rachel’s voice
crackled. “Whatcha find Biz?”

“Looks like I’ve found a deader. The thing’s
about to take out a Rancher herding transport.”

“Can you stop it?”

“Not in time, no.”

“Sucks for them. What do you need from
me?”

“The deader is Red Legs.”

There was a brief silence. “You still there
Rache?”

“Yeah,” Rachel puffed. “Sorry. I’m heading
to the hangar now. I’ll be geared up and on my way in five.”

“I ain’t waiting.”

“I know.”

***

“Pilot Capreze! Report to your station
immediately!” his commanding officer screamed over the com.

“I can’t, sir!” Capreze responded. “I have
to get home to my family!”

“Capreze you are risking court martial for
this! Possibly execution for desertion! Do you understand!”

“Yes, sir. But my wife and daughter are more
important, sir! I am sorry!”

“Capreze! I will send the entire UDC con-”
His commander’s voice was interrupted by the sound of wrenching
metal, shattering glass and a massive explosion. Then the com went
dead.

Commander Capreze came awake, face down on
his desk, his cheek wet with drool.

***

One obeyed. Follow, observe and report.

One didn’t understand this mech it knew, the
living one. Why was it going towards the danger?

The other mech, the dead one, was a crazy
mech. Not like One’s…what? It searched its limited memory, but
couldn’t find a term. Or didn’t understand the term.

The mech One knew, was going to be in
trouble, even the newly (Born? Created? Altered?) reprogrammed
mini-mech saw that.

One needed to get closer, but that would
risk detection. That could mean disobeying, which couldn’t
happen.

Follow, observe, report.

One jammed all frequencies and sensors.

One obeyed.

***

Commander Capreze shook his head back and
forth, trying to bring himself fully awake. He stretched and
yawned.

“Damn. I’m getting too fucking old for these
late nights,” he said aloud in his empty office. “I’m also talking
to myself too much.” He laughed at himself then frowned, the
soldier in him seriously considering his stability.

“I need coffee.” Capreze stood and strode
from his office, headed to the mess hall.

I’ll check on Baby Girl and make sure she
hasn’t burned the kitchen down
, he thought, rubbing at the
crick in his neck the impromptu nap had given him.

***

“Hey Jethro?” Mathew called.

“What the fuck? Am I the base receptionist?
You want me to check your calendar to see what dinner you have
planned tonight too?”

“Um, I don’t even know how to respond to
that,” Mathew said.

“Sorry. Looks like Bisby is about to get in
the shit and Rachel’s heading out to back him up. I’ve got two
mini-mechs in the waste I need to get turned around and headed back
to base. So what do you need?”

“Just letting you know I’m calling it for
the day and coming home.”

“Great. I’ll pass that on.”

***

Capreze was grateful that when he entered
the mess he didn’t hear his daughter cursing the world. He took
that as a good sign. His happiness soon abated when he noticed that
not only was there a lack of cursing, there was a lack of any
noise.

He stepped behind the mess line and back
into the kitchen proper. It looked like a tornado had hit the
place, which was what he expected. What he didn’t expect was his
daughter to be missing.

“Rachel? What’s your location?” Capreze
asked over the com.

“Can’t talk Papa Bear! Duty calls!” Rachel
responded.

***

The switchblade slashed before June could
even register the movement. She took a gash to her forearm and
another to her right thigh. Stumbling backwards, trying to get away
from the madman, she didn’t hear the second come up behind her
until he had her about the throat, immobilized.

The first attacker closed in, cutting at her
uniform.

“Hold on,” the second said. “We could use
that fancy gear.”

The first man smiled, carefully unlatching
the equipment straps. Once they hit the ground, though, he began
slicing her uniform off.

The second leaned close, licking June’s
cheek. “You taste pretty.”

***

The Commander entered the hangar too late.
Rachel was already past the bay doors and engaging her motor
drive.

“Dammit Baby Girl! Where the hell are you
going?” Caprezez demanded to know.

“Bisby is about to engage Red Legs and isn’t
waiting for my ass,” Rachel responded over her com. “What’s gotten
into you? This is standard backup procedure.”

“I know, but you’re supposed to keep the
base Commander informed.”

“Hey, I swung by your office, but you were
busy. I figured you needed your snoring and drooling time.”

“You saw that?”

“Yep.”

Capreze chuckled. “Okay. Be careful out
there.”

***

Metal began to protest, rivets popping from
the hull, as the dead mech ripped the Ranchers’ mangled transport
apart. The following undead unfortunate enough to be too close to
the carnage were shredded and decapitated from the flying
debris.

The dead mech lifted the driver’s limp form,
ripping it limb from limb, depositing scraps into its own cockpit
maw. The zombie pilot fed ravenously, while overflowing bits and
pieces fell to the undead below.

Bisby lowered his binocs, stunned.

They are learning to follow the dead
mechs
, he thought.
Hunting in packs now, with the dead
mech’s as their alphas.

***

“Jeezus, Riley! You ever see a body like
that on a breeder?” the dirty, grease ball called Chunks
exclaimed.

Riley stood over June’s naked, bound form.
He’d just finished gagging her to keep her quiet and to keep her
teeth from getting a hold of him.

“No, Chunks, can’t say as I have,” Riley
sneered, kneeling next to Rachel, cupping an exposed breast. “She
must belong to her leader to be this well fed and healthy. Is that
it bitch? You the big man’s breeder?”

June glared.

Riley reached between her legs. He
smiled.

“Oh, that’s nice. Boss’ll like you”

***

Shiner returned to the coolness of the
mesa’s shadows and waited for One’s reports.

He curiously observed a new data path being
created within his system and followed it, tapping into his
database and also the remaining memory pathways of the zombie
pilot.

‘Anticipation’ was the word his searching
brought forth. Shiner was unsure how to process this new awareness
and that brought back the ‘frustration’.

He smashed his fist into the ground,
creating an ATV size crater.

The outburst alerted him to a second new
data path. The new search result troubled Shiner even more.

The word was ‘loneliness’.

***

Bisby fired up weapons systems and readied
his mech for battle.

“I don’t fucking care how mean you are,” he
growled aloud. “You’re fucking dead.”

He decided to flank Red Legs, hoping to take
it completely off guard.

As Bisby came around the small hill he found
himself in the ruins of some long ago settlement or resort. Half
buried cars and transports, concrete and framing protruded from the
sand and dirt.

And Red Legs stood in the middle of it. The
thing reached down and lifted a massive iron girder with one of its
own massive hands.

Bisby charged.

Rachel pushed her mech as hard as possible
without red-lining systems. She double checked her coordinates,
adjusted her heading and pushed harder.

“Biz?”

No answer.

“Biz? Its Rache, do you copy?”

Still no answer. “Hey Jethro? Do you have a
lock on Bisby?”

“I have a lock, but not much info.
Something’s jamming the signal.”

“What info do you have?”

“Looks like weapons systems are readied, but
not active yet. I’d say he’s about to get in the shit.”

“How far off am I?”

“You’re at least an hour if not two.”

“Shit.”

“Don’t worry, Rache. He can handle
himself.”

***

Red Legs gripped the iron girder, swinging
it like a club. Bisby barely piloted out of the way, crushing husks
of burnt out cars as he scrambled out of range.

He switched on his external loudspeakers.
“Oh, you wanna play, do ya?” He quickly scanned his surroundings
and found his weapon.

Circling right, he forced Red Legs to the
left. Bisby ducked and rolled, barely dodging a massive swipe. He
came up holding two short clusters of re-bar, one in each mech
fist.

“Bitch, you ain’t gonna take me one on
one!”

The two death machines closed on each
other.

***

“This is Commander Capreze,” Capreze said,
answering the secure com that chimed in.

“Capreze? Good to hear your voice. This is
First General Powell, UDC Command.”

“General, it’s an honor. Everything
alright?”

“Sure, sure. I’m just calling to send my
condolences over the loss of Pilot Stanislaw.”