Revenge of the Apocalypse (A Duck & Cover Adventure Post-Apocalyptic Series Book 4)

by Benjamin Wallace

  “Yeah? And when is that?”

  He shrugged and turned the page. “I’m waiting on a part.”

  “Everything around here is broken.” Jake muttered, and walked away, leaving Glitch to his book and his assortment of dumb ideas.

  The diamond plate stairs rattled beneath his feet as he descended into the garage. There was an alternating stream of clangs and curses coming from beneath a monstrous red, white and rusted truck. A pair of legs stuck out from beneath the vehicle and kicked with every grunt and stomped with every swear word as their owner beat at something on the Beast’s underbelly.

  The Beast was a 1974 Travelall from International Harvester. It was seventeen feet long, just as wide, and illegal in every state. Its operation required a host of special permits, certifications, and the blessing of the local constabulary. And you had to have a really good reason for driving it.

  In their line of work they needed a vehicle that was off the grid. Almost half their business, when there was business, came from shutting down gridsmart cars that had become a little too smart for their own good. And since being connected to the city’s traffic system made for a pretty ineffective and extremely unexciting chase, they needed the ability to move independently of the highway systems.

  The Beast weighed more than two tons before their equipment was loaded. A massive 401 cubic-inch engine made it go, while drum brakes and hope made it stop. It didn’t go extremely fast, but the machinist had managed to bore, beg and coax the massive V-8 into putting out over 500 foot-pounds of torque. It would move if it had to.

  More swearing found its way from the floor and up through the open hood. The voice behind the curses was soft and sweet even if it was damning the truck’s mother to horribly foul acts in hell and other uncomfortable locations.

  Jake gave a gentle rap on the fender. “What’s the matter with her now?”

  “It’s an ancient piece of shit held together with nothing but my genius and your empty promises. Guess which of those is broken.”

  “You know I’d never blame your genius, but what’s wrong?”

  Casters rolled against concrete and the machinist’s legs disappeared under the truck. He heard the creeper spin and a moment later her head emerged from under the chrome bumper.

  She wore coveralls and engine grease like other women wore ermine and makeup. She had fine dark hair that she refused to keep short despite the safety hazard it caused to both herself and the people around her that she distracted with it.

  “This thing is older than both of us put together,” she said. “That’s what’s wrong with it. The patches are falling off the patches I patched the patches with. I need parts.”

  “Parts aren’t cheap, Kat.”

  “No, but you certainly are.”

  “If I had it to give I would. But you know things have been slow. We all have to make do with what we have right now. You don’t hear Mason complaining, do you?”

  There was a red flash, a white spark, a quick dimming of the lights and a blue streak that ended with the word sonofabitchinlittleprick being shouted from the back of the shop.

  Kat smiled, tilted her head and disappeared back under the truck.

  Jake hurried to the back of the workshop. It smelled like a thunderstorm had rolled through which, he had to admit, was more pleasant than it usually smelled.

  Mason stood back from a disassembled disrupter pack and alternated between waving his hand through the air and shoving it into his mouth. The man was in mid-suck on a finger when Jake rushed up.

  “Mason, are you okay? What was that?”

  He jumped up and down for a moment before shoving his hand between his thighs. Bent over, he pointed a damning finger with his free hand at the device on the workbench. “That little shit bit me.”

  “Is your hand okay?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Let’s look at it.”

  Mason stomped his foot, straightened up and let the arm hang at his side. “It’s fine, Mom.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “I’m fixing this damned disrupter. It’s been shorting out.”

  Jake tried to spy a look at the hand, but Mason tucked it behind his back. Jake shrugged away any concern he had left and asked, “Why don’t you let Savant do that?”

  “Oh. That’s a good idea, Jake. We’ll let the technician do the technical work. I should have thought of that. You kids are so damn smart. Or maybe I’m just old and stupid.”

  Jake tried not to smile. Mason was only a few years older than himself, but he wore each year of difference like a decade. To him, Jake was just one of those damn kids these days. He often reminded Mason of their closeness in age but now he just nodded. “He’s not here.”

  Mason grabbed a screwdriver from the floor and turned back to the workbench. “Of course he’s not here.”

  “He should be. Where is he?”

  Mason shrugged and shoved the screwdriver back into the backpack-sized device, aiming for a screw head Jake couldn’t see. “He’s running somewhere. He’s climbing something. Or he’s falling off something else. Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll tell us all about it when he gets back. Then he’ll tell us all about it again.”

  “Just leave it for him.”

  “No. It needs to get done. If I leave it for him, it’ll never happen. Besides, it’s my gear so it’s my ass if it doesn’t work right. Savant’ll be just fine back in the truck. The lazy brat.”

  There was a zzzt from inside the disrupter and Mason jumped back a step onto one leg with his forearm over his face. He held the pose for a moment and looked cautiously over his arm.

  “What’s wrong with it?” Jake asked.

  “It’s a piece of junk.”

  Jake sighed, preparing to explain once more how no money meant no new things. “Look, I’d get a new one but…”

  “No, thank you. The new ones are even worse. Everything now is just made to break. So you have to buy a new one. Not like it was before. Now if you don’t mind, I have to be careful not to shock myself again.” He placed the screwdriver back in the device once more.

  “Shouldn’t you unhook the power before you do that?”

  “Why? I’d just have to hook it back up again anyway.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Duh. Stupid me.”

  “Your words.”

  Jake turned and stepped away as the lights dimmed, the sparks flew and Mason screamed, “Sonofabitchinlittleprick!”

  He trudged back across the shop and back up the metal stairs toward his office with numbers running through his head. All of them had minus signs in front of them.

  Glitch stopped him short of the door with an upraised hand.

  “I don’t want to talk about ankles or 16th-century exhibitionists, Glitch. I just want to go to my office.”

  “Your uncle’s here.”

  Jake looked at the office door and sighed. “I don’t want to go to my office.” He opened the door anyway.

  Uncle Aaron was sitting behind the desk, bouncing back and forth in the chair. His grin grew larger when Jake stepped in. “There he is.”

  “Hey, Aaron.”

  “‘Hey, Aaron?’” The older man stood and moved around the desk with a spring in his step that said I need a few bucks but I’ll pay you back. He stretched out his arms. “You don’t have a hug for your favorite uncle?”

  Jake didn’t move.

  “Okay,” said Uncle Aaron. “I guess it is kind of weird to hug your business partner, isn’t it?”

  Jake shook his head, embraced the man and grimaced as three hard smacks landed on his back.

  “That’s a good boy. Now I won’t have to tell your mother you weren’t happy to see me.”

  Jake worked his way around the desk and sat in his chair. He felt the spring pop a little more than usual before the seat locked in a position that wasn’t comfortable. He would have to add it to the list. “What can I do for you,
Aaron?”

  The old man sat on the desk and leaned forward. “How’s our business?”

  “It sucks.”

  “Then sell. I’ll sign whatever I need to.”

  “There’s nothing to sell. Everything’s broken.” Jake jerked a thumb toward the office door. “Even Glitch.”

  “The money’s in the name.”

  “Ashley’s Robot Reclamation of Green Hill? Do you think?”

  “Well, then make it an acronym.”

  “No one is going to buy ARRGH,” Jake said.

  “You never know until you try.”

  Jake Ashley’s eyes narrowed on his uncle. The grin on his face was a little too big to be truly genuine, but there was something new in it. “What’s her name?”

  Aaron stood up and waved the question off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Your new girlfriend. What’s her name? Skylar? Tiffany? Cinnamon?”

  Uncle Aaron sat in the guest chair and smiled. “Meagan.”

  “Hmm,” Jake said. “She doesn’t sound like a former stripper at all.”

  “She’s not.”

  “Then she must be crazy.”

  “I’ll have you know she is an executive director. Does that sound crazy?”

  “Depends on what she’s an executive director of.”

  Uncle Aaron turned his chair as he answered, possibly hoping the squeak would cover his response. “Society for the Preservation of Humans.”

  “Society for the…”

  “Yes. Yes. Society for the Preservation of Humans. So what?”

  “A humans first organization? The big one, even. She sounds well balanced.”

  “It’s just a job. Look, do you have anything for me or not?”

  “Not.”

  “Damn it, Jake.” Uncle Aaron stood and gestured toward the office door. “This place is going down. We have to get out while we can.”

  “You’re pretty much out already.”

  “Then save yourself and my five percent.” He slammed his palms onto the desk.

  Jake let out a cough. “Three percent.”

  He slammed his palms on the desk again. “My three percent. It’s time to end it.”

  “Quit?”

  “Yes, quit.”

  “Dad always said that Ashleys aren’t quitters.”

  “He was full of shit. Of course we’re quitters. We’re born quitters. I quit things all the time. C’mon, Jake, be a quitter with me.” Uncle Aaron smiled his uncle’s smile and sat back down. The smile faded into one of his rare serious moments. “Look, Jake. The business is dying. Not just ours, but the whole industry. They’re making bots better. And even the shitty ones come with a longer warranty. Pretty soon it will be just the corporate boys junking their mistakes. There’s no room for the little guy anymore.”

  The independent shops were closing. Or selling. Or failing. But Jake wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

  “I heard from a buyer, Jake.”

  “Who would want to buy this place?”

  “It doesn’t matter who they are. All that matters is that they’re interested and they’ve got more money than a whore after the Super Bowl.”

  Jake leaned forward in his seat. “I’m not quitting.” He stood and crossed the office.

  “Be honest, Jake.” Uncle Aaron stood and pointed to the phone on the desk. “When was the last time that phone rang?”

  The phone rang.

  Uncle Aaron dropped his arm. “Well that is just the worst timing ever.”

  Jake grabbed the phone. “Ashley’s Robot Reclamation.”

  “I mean a guy is just trying to make a point and the stupid thing just rings all over it. I hate machines.”

  Jake held up a finger to shush his uncle and turned back to the phone. He answered the caller’s question. “Yes, we’re junkers.”

  2

  The Beast was named for its size and lumbering gait in traffic. But that didn’t mean it didn’t sound like a beast, too. The engine roared. The brakes shrieked. And there was a growl from a source that Kat had never been able to quite pin down.

  The sixty-year-old vehicle charged through traffic like an elephant with hurt feelings, trumpeting over the quiet hum generated by the electric cars that filled the road.

  By law, passenger cars had to be aware of their surroundings, and a hundred sensors in each vehicle were screaming at their guidance systems to get out of the way of the big red truck as it barreled through town. Traffic parted before the team as the Travelall bullied its way to the edge of the city and into the night.

  They lined the bench seats and did their best not to bounce against each other as the Beast swayed back and forth on exhausted shocks. The interior smelled of fuel and exhaust and the odor mixed with the unending motion turned Jake’s stomach. He fought the queasy sensation and focused on what lay ahead.

  He made sure he knew where the window crank was and said, “Tell us what we’re looking at, Mason.”

  "Okay.” Mason produced a tablet and began to read the information. “Two hours ago some fat farmer walked into his cornfield and…”

  “Mason.” Jake interrupted and instantly recalled a dozen conversations that had started this way.

  “What?”

  “Forget the commentary. Just give us the facts.”

  “It is a fact, Jake. The dude weighed like three hundy.”

  “It’s irrelevant. And rude.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Miss Manners, but I think it is relevant to know that the bot we’re looking for took down something the size of a buffalo with no trouble. Now, if it was me going in there, and it is by the way, I think that’s something I’d want to know.”

  Jake gave a reluctant nod and looked out the window.

  “This is about safety, Jake. And, honestly, I’m a little hurt that you’d think this was about anything other than the wellbeing of my coworkers.”

  Jake waved him back toward the tablet. “Just get on with it.”

  “No.” Mason set the tablet in his lap. “I’d like an apology first.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Are you sorry?”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m sorry I accused you of being insensitive.”

  “That’s more like it.” Mason lifted the tablet once more. “As I was saying, this fatty in the dell here waddles into his corn crop about two hours ago, possibly to check on a malfunctioning piece of equipment or, more likely, to make a sandwich.”

  Jake pounded the door. “Mason!”

  “They found him dead with corn embedded in his chest,” he read. “Oh big surprise, food killed him.”

  Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. It didn’t help the growing headache as much as he’d hoped. “Just tell us what we’re up against.”

  “It’s a ZUMR, Model number R34-P3R Organic Compliant Deterrent System.” He held up the screen to show everyone a blue-line schematic of the machine.

  “It looks like a scarecrow,” Glitch said.

  “Points for you, Tin Man. That’s exactly what it is.” Mason turned the tablet back so he could read more. “Here’s an ad for it. It suggests putting a hat and shirt on the thing for that old farm feel. Gives everyone a touch of the nostalgies I guess. But underneath the stupid hat it’s a state-of-the-art murder murderer. You can tell from the oh so clever headline, ‘Scares Crows Dead.’” He read further ahead to himself. “That’s weird. The thing’s brand new.”

  “It does what to crows?” Glitch asked. “How does it do that?”

  “It fires corn kernels at about 2500 feet per second from this mini-gun on its right arm. And cuts them up with the scythe-looking thing on its left.” He held the screen toward Glitch and waited for the cyborg to process the image.

  “That’s a terrible idea!”

  “It’s quite genius, actually. I can’t imagine corn makes a very good bullet. So, what better way to make up for accuracy than with an insane amount of volume?”

  “That’s not what
I meant and you know it. I mean, how can they get away with killing the birds?”

  Mason shrugged. “It’s a part of ZUMR’s guilt-free farming line. The corn is all natural. So is crow blood. Crow feathers. Crow guts, too. So the crops remain completely organic, legal, and free of flying vermin.” Mason paused and chuckled. “Scares crows dead. I get it now.”

  “You think this is funny?” Kat asked from behind the wheel.

  “Pretty funny. Yeah.”

  “You’re a horrible person, Mason,” Kat said.

  Mason shrugged again. “Okay.”

  Jake turned back from the window and glared at Mason. “Enough! Just tell us where to hit it.”

  Mason tapped the pad several times before shaking his head. “I’m not really seeing any weak points. If the mini-gun overheats it will start popping the kernels. That seems to be the biggest beef on the forums. Actually, that could be kind of fun.”

  “Nothing else?”

  Mason searched the information. “No. It’s weatherized. But that shouldn’t be a problem for our disruptors.”

  “Good,” Jake said. “Let’s make this takedown quick. And take it easy on the equipment. Don’t pull the trigger any more than you have to. Most of all, stay safe.”

  Kat spoke to Jake without taking her eyes off the road. “If this thing is so new, why did they call us?”

  “The warranty team gave them a window of several days before they could come. I guess the farm decided that stopping a robot’s murderous rampage was something that couldn’t wait.”

  “We don’t get many of those anymore.”

  “Corporate calls or owners with a conscience?”

  “Yes.” Kat pulled onto the exchange and followed the ramp onto another freeway. A small car swerved out of the way, waking its sleeping passenger.

  It was another hour on interstates, highways and farm-to-market roads before the truck turned down the mile long driveway that led to the farm. Corn grew in fields on either side and Jake watched the stalks sway in the gentle, late-day breeze.