Metal and Ash (Apex Trilogy) (58 page)

“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!”