Dead Mech (2 page)

These were the city/states left under UDC
control.

Each had its own set of laws, ruling
structures, police/security forces, judicial systems. Each survived
alone, on their own resources and the energies of their respective
populations. But, the final word on all matters of survival came
from the UDC. They had the troops, the guns, the bombs, the
technology to effectively hold back the zombies roaming the
wasteland.

There were many more city/states at one
time, but most ignored the UDC, choosing to make their own way.

They chose certain death.

***

Even with the small size of the city/states,
all it took was one or two deceased to get over looked and an
epidemic quickly spread within the walls.

The Reaper chip became a necessity for human
survival. And the UDC controlled the chip’s application with an
iron fist.

Thus the UDC ignored the rural survivor
pockets and focused on the main centers of population. This left
the survivors on the outside of the walls to fend for themselves,
to develop their own warning systems and protocols.

Mix rural fear with religious zealotry and a
new scourge was born: the Cults.

***

Basic trade routes were established quickly
between the city/states, each sending out heavily armed convoys
through the wasteland that separated human society.

In the beginning, the losses that resulted
from these trading expeditions were worth it. Resources were scarce
and each city/state seemed to have many strengths, but no single
city/state could provide everything for its populace.

However, once the Cults figured out the
armed convoys’ trade schedules, the losses soon outweighed any
benefits. Communication and physical trade between the city/states
dwindled until each became their own self-sufficient fiefdom.

Those that dared to trade did so at their
own risk.

***

The Cults only believed their people should
be allowed to live. All others were heathens and infidels; the very
reason the virus was brought upon humanity.

Those survivors that were unfortunate enough
to cross paths with the Cults met with ends some said were a
million times worse than being eaten alive by a horde of
zombies.

Tales of vivisection, cannibalism, being
burnt alive, weeks of rape and mutilation, were spread through the
slow grapevine that worked the land. Often by the time a message
reached a small group, it was too late to flee; the Cults were upon
them.

The UDC realized they needed two things to
survive: better warning and better weapons.

They already had the weapons. Technology
that was on the drawing board before the zombie apocalypse
decimated the earth, was still viable. The mechs. Massive, armored
combat robots designed to fit around a human pilot and mimic the
pilot’s every move and action. However, there were design flaws
with the control interface.

Developing the warning wasn’t very hard. The
Reaper chip came about in a burst of brilliance.

That same burst of brilliance showed the
chip to be the answer to the mech pilots’ control issues.

***

The beauty of the zombie hordes was once
they ran out of food they simply starved to death. This allowed the
human race to bounce back from almost certain extinction.

The virus, however, did not die with the
re-animated corpses. It floated in the air, waiting for the living
to expire and provide the perfect host. It was a patient,
indestructible virus.

Once the Reaper chip was invented and
implanted in every living person, humanity had an early warning
system. Trackers locked onto the recently deceased and squads
dispatched to dispose of the threat.

But nothing is ever that simple.

***

The Reaper chip was to be the saving grace
of the human race. It was to solve all of the unreported deaths,
the overlooked, the lost, the underbelly.

But, that wasn’t to be.

In theory, a person died and their Reaper
chip activated, alerting the authorities. It also sent a lethal
shock to the cerebral cortex, frying the brain and adding another
safeguard that the dearly departed stayed dearly departed.

But, in order for mech pilots to connect
with their mech’s computer, they needed that feature disabled.

Eventually, it was and the door for the dead
mechs was opened. Wide.

***

The mechs came online ten years after the
Reaper chip. They were almost a direct extension of that
technology, working on the same principal of cerebral and computer
integration.

The first mech pilot died a quick, painful
death, his cerebellum frying like an oyster in hot oil. It was
chalked up to equipment failure.

The second mech pilot died screaming into
his com that his “brain is on fucking fire!”. His eyeballs melted
in his head, while grey matter oozed from his ears.

The scientists and engineers went back to
the drawing board. The UDC waited patiently for their army.

***

Try as they might, none of the scientists or
programmers could retain the Reaper chips’ brain frying features
and allow it to fully connect with the mech’s computer systems
without killing the pilots.

They finally had to face the fact that the
feature would need to be disabled, still allowing the pilots’ vital
signs to be monitored and tracking signature to be located, but no
longer capable of administering a final brain death.

A single assistant composed a memo about the
possible risks of pilot death while still connected to their
mech.

The assistant soon became a silent test
subject.

***

A mech and its pilot were designed to be one
organism. The mech’s AI and the pilot’s consciousness were to meld
easily, allowing the pilot to control the mech without any delay or
hesitation. If the pilot moved, the mech moved with it like a suit
of armor, but with hydraulic assistance.

This was the worry of what would one day be
called the Lost Memo: that the mech and pilot were too intertwined,
too enmeshed, too complete. Mechs did not know the difference
between life or death. A pilot was a pilot, whether living or
undead.

Monsters were born.

***

The day the mechs came online was hailed as
the end of the zombie war, the politicians crowed.

No longer would humanity have to risk
sending in hundreds of soldiers against thousands of undead, hoping
not to be overrun and infected then turned themselves.

Now, just two or three specially trained
mech pilots could take their massive robotic war machines into the
middle of the undead masses and lay waste.

Soon battles were won in minutes and hours,
not days and weeks.

Of course, it all went horribly wrong the
moment the first pilot died while still operating his mech.

Essential to a mech’s operation was a
modified Reaper chip which allowed the pilot to have near complete
cerebral integration with all of the mech’s systems, creating
response times of nanoseconds. The mech became a fifty ton
extension of the pilot’s reflexes. Pilots didn’t think, they
acted.

No one foresaw that a mech could become a
fifty-ton extension of a zombie. And a zombie that was as hungry as
all the rest, except now equipped with city leveling armaments.

Zombie pilots did not need to sleep or piss
or ever leave their cockpits. They could hunt 24/7.

And they did.

***

The first observed dead mech was a
berserker. The mech’s former pilot, now zombie, raged as hard as
any other zombie
not
strapped into a fifty ton machine.

It turned on anything and everything in its
path, smashing, destroying, annihilating. It fired weapons at
random, the zombie pilot no longer in control of its faculties, the
military training lost in death.

And just like the zombies crawling the earth
without mech armor, the dead mech pilot was hungry.

The need for flesh forced the mech to learn,
to gain some control of itself.

The metal golem was free. And starving.

***

The dead mechs roamed the wasteland,
searching for food. They could cover several square miles a day,
where a zombie horde could only move so far, so fast.

This led to some of the smaller wasteland
outposts, the rural survivors, to be taken by surprise when the
mech approaching turned out not to be friendly, but instead hungry
for their flesh.

Now a good, strong, reinforced wall couldn’t
hold out the horror.

Little communities had to abandon their hard
work and search for others to join forces with, whether they wanted
to or not, all for the sake of survival.

Mech pilots weren’t chosen for being the
bravest, for being the smartest or for being the best fit. They
were chosen because they volunteered…and no one else did.

That didn’t mean that everyone that signed
up was accepted. There were still minimum standards. Such as:
physical ability, intelligence, resourcefulness and, most of all,
sanity.

Sanity was key. They weren’t going to let
you be in charge of enough firepower to level a city/state without
making sure you wouldn’t actually level a city/state. Unless
ordered to, of course.

So tests were designed. The biggest test:
the ride to the mech base.

***

Once a pilot candidate was singled out from
their city state, they boarded a train to the mech base. This train
was designed to do only two things: get the pilot candidate to the
base and use every tool available to break that candidate before
they got there.

Once on board, the candidate was secluded in
a windowless passenger car. There was one seat only, bolted to the
floor in the middle of the empty car.

The candidate would be instructed to strap
in and remain strapped in until told otherwise.

They would be left that way for 24
hours.

***

Most pilot candidates failed the first part
of the test within six hours. It’s why the train never left the
station until the first 24 hours were up.

Movement and sound would be simulated,
making the candidate think they were on their way, but at no point
would they be communicated or interacted with for the entire 24
hours.

If they undid a strap, moved from the chair,
begged to be let out or just flat broke down, then the test was
ended immediately, they were thanked and sent home.

The majority failed because they refused to
piss their pants.

***

If the candidate made it past the first
test, then the train would start its long journey to the mech
base.

This time the simulation was opposite.
Instead of faking movement and sound, it faked stillness and quiet.
The candidate would be told there was a mechanical issue and the
train would be stopped for at least 24 hours, when in actuality it
was moving at a steady clip of 85 miles per hour.

The candidate would be allowed to move
about, to use the small latrine bucket provided and to eat from the
ration packets attached to the chair.

***

For the candidate, the train ride to the
mech base was a four day trip, no matter where they were coming
from.

The first day they are stuck in the station,
but think they are moving.

The second day, they think they are stuck in
the wasteland, but are actually moving.

The third day, they think they are moving,
actually are moving and are given every opportunity to relax and
ask questions. The train’s pilot and co-pilot are allowed to
communicate with the candidate, as long as they stay on script.

The fourth day, the candidate thinks they
will die.

***

The third day of testing is merely designed
to lull the candidate into a false sense of security. Ease their
minds and put them off guard.

Then they are hit with the fourth day, the
day they die.

The train never stops moving once it leaves
the station, but the candidate believes it does on day two and
four.

When they are told the train has been
attacked on day four, they feel the attack. Every last blast,
ricochet and concussion.

They are watched. Watched for how they
react, how they try to help and how they try to escape.

***

Once the train is in motion, the candidate
will not be returned for any reason. They are on their way to the
mech base and that is where they will be assigned and where they
will stay.

Whether they become a mech pilot or not is
the question.

The test is simple: if the candidate can
figure out how to get out of the train car, they will become a
pilot. If they don’t figure it out or don’t try, then there are
plenty of other jobs at the mech base.

The fourth day weeds the pilots from the
cooks.

***

On arriving at the mech base, the candidate
is stripped of his or her name. They are known only as the
Rookie.

Only one Rookie is allowed at the base at a
time. This keeps the confusion down and also keeps valuable
resources from being drained or wasted by Rookie mistakes.

Until they are given back their name, they
are the lowest on the totem pole.

Even if they are training as a mech pilot,
they are above no one. From food service to maintenance, the Rookie
is the base’s bitch.

Some make it just fine, some don’t. Most
don’t.

The traffic was awful. Jimmy hadn’t moved
more than a mile in the past hour, surrounded by cars honking,
their electric motors purring in the hot summer evening.

His com phone buzzed and he casually
answered it.