by Bible, Jake
“You heading towards the hangar, Mathew?” Capreze asked.
“No, sir. Wasn’t planning on it,” Mathew responded.
“Are you sure about that?” Capreze laughed, handing the mech pilot a full mug of steaming hot coffee.
Mathew took the mug, looking at Capreze, puzzled.
“Jay’s thirsty...and in a mood. My time is better spent getting ready for the briefing, don’t you think?”
Mathew laughed, “Sure thing, sir. I’ll make sure Mr. Grumpy Pants gets his fix.”
Capreze clapped Mathew on the shoulder. “Good man. Way to take one for the team.”
BISBY WAS CLOSE ENOUGH to see the extent of the damage Stanislaw’s mech had taken. He gulped, prayed, and swore at the same time.
“Stan? Come in man!” Silence.
Bisby switched on his loudspeakers, feedback squelched at ear shattering levels. “FUCK!” Bisby roared, cutting the switch. His already battle damaged hearing rang and protested.
He stopped and took a deep breath. Grabbing his binocs, he peered down at the twisted cockpit below, hoping for signs of life. After focusing briefly, he was rewarded with movement. Stanislaw was alive.
Bisby looked closer and gasped. He pulled the binocs away, tears welled.
“ROOKIE ARRIVES TODAY,” Harlow said over a mouthful of synth-eggs.
June straightened. “Really? Today?”
“Yep,” Masters responded, sitting down with his second tray of food.
“Careful, Darling, don’t lose that tight bod,” Harlow joked.
“Don’t you worry, Babycakes. It’s all so I can keep up with you.” He leaned in and kissed her strongly, then pulled back, licking his lips. “Mmmm...eggy.”
Harlow laughed, sending bits of yellow flying. June recoiled.
“Jeezus, you two are fucking gross!” she snapped, getting up from the table and stalking out of the mess hall.
Harlow frowned. “What’s up her twat?”
“Nothing, that’s the problem.”
STANISLAW COULD SMELL the acid from the fuel cells. His mech was down hard.
He tried to reach for the strap release, but his right arm wouldn’t cooperate. He didn’t want to look, but knew he only had moments to get his ass out.
He pissed himself when he saw his arm two feet away, wedged between hatch brackets.
The cockpit shook violently. The dead mech was on him and Stanislaw wept as he wrenched the pistol from its holster and put the barrel to his head.
A hulking shadow of death fell over him as he pulled the trigger.
JAY JUMPED WHEN MATHEW sat down next to him. Closing his eyes, he took two deep breaths. “Don’t you pilots have a rec room to go play in?”
Mathew laughed, offering the mug of coffee. “You want this or not?”
“Thanks,” Jay sighed, taking a sip from the mug.
Mathew studied the schematics, then pointed at the coffee ring. “If that works, it’ll change the entire battle landscape. The deaders won’t stand a chance.”
Jay glared at Mathew, daggers for eyes. Mathew drew back. “What? It’s fucking genius.”
Jay followed Mathew’s gaze and saw what he did. It was genius.
WRENCHING AT HIS STRAPS, Bisby tried to free himself from his cockpit, hoping he could reach Stanislaw in time.
“Stan! No! It’s me! Don’t shoot!” he screamed. “IT’S ME!”
The pistol shot rang out, seeming insignificant compared to the cacophony of battle only minutes before.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Bisby roared, pounding his fists against his cockpit’s frame until they were cracked and bleeding.
Slowly, fearfully, Bisby lifted his binocs, looking down at Stanislaw’s wrecked mech. It took him a second to focus, but when he did, he wished he hadn’t.
Bisby prayed some day he could erase that image from his memory.
MASTERS AND HARLOW left the mess hall, grabbing at each other and laughing. Harlow stumbled, tripping them both up and they crashed to the hall floor. She quickly took advantage and pinned Masters, straddling his hips with hers, slowly rocking back and forth.
Masters licked his lips and let out a playful growl. Harlow leaned down, nuzzling against his neck.
“Careful what you start,” Masters warned, his breath coming in short gasps as Harlow nibbled at his ear.
“Think we have time for a quick one before the briefing?” Harlow asked.
“No. You don’t,” Capreze said, stepping past them both.
USING ALL HIS SKILL as a mech pilot, Bisby carefully pulled apart Stanislaw’s cockpit, exposing the body of his mentor and friend.
The colossal hands lifted Stanislaw’s body away from the wreckage and into the air. Bringing the body to eye level, Bisby said his silent goodbyes, then deposited the corpse in an auxiliary cargo pocket.
Bisby turned his mech 360 degrees, trying to get his bearings, not trusting the minimal info his navigation scanners were giving him.
He spotted the ridge and pushed his crippled mech in that direction. The direction of the mech base. The direction of home.
“OKAY, EVERYONE SETTLE down,” Commander Capreze said. “Let’s get through this as fast as possible and get on our way.”
The mech pilots grabbed a seat, ready for the daily briefing. Capreze sipped at his coffee, glanced at his tablet, then started in.
“Alright... Only real order for the day is to keep an eye on Balsam Ridge. Harlow noticed some activity out there yesterday and we should probably keep a watch on it. Harlow?”
“Nothing, really. Just some Rancher movement. They didn’t engage, so I didn’t either, but they watched my ass the whole time.”
“Okay, next quick item...”
BISBY PUSHED HIS MECH as fast as he could without the thing falling apart. He knew the damage was bad since he couldn’t engage the motor drive; he was walking the thing in to the base. Even with the hydraulics working, the long trek was starting to take its toll on Bisby’s legs.
Off to his right he caught movement. He tried activating scanners, but they were shot. He was walking blind, a 50-ton target with a living meal in the cockpit and a quickly putrefying corpse in the auxiliary cargo pocket. He raised his binocs.
“Fucking great,” he muttered.
DOWNING THE LAST OF his coffee, Jay rubbed his eyes and pushed away from his worktable. “That might actually work...” he muttered. “But first, some real work.”
He crossed the hangar to a partially dismantled mech, grabbing a span-hammer on the way. He surveyed the mech, taking in the wounded behemoth.
Nodding to himself, he raised the span-hammer, took aim and whacked the mech in a junction point just above its ankle. He listened carefully then whacked it again. This time he smiled and tossed the span-hammer aside.
“Jethro! Put this heap back together! Try not to fuck it up!”
BISBY WATCHED THE WAVE of zombies crest the hill and swarm towards him. There must have been hundreds.
“Jeezus fuck! Where did they all come from?” he cursed aloud.
He tried to outrun them, but his mech was not cooperating. Accepting the inevitable, Bisby double checked his weapons, turned and made a stand.
When the front of the undead horde was fifty yards out, he fired up the 50mms. Scorching hot lead ripped through dead flesh, painting the wasteland grey and black.
“DIE ALL YOU MOTHER FUCKERS!” he screamed in his cockpit.
Row upon row of zombies fell, finally dead.
“NEED A HAND?” JETHRO asked, his grin filling his voice.
Jay struggled with the six cables he had hopelessly tangled around his legs. Jethro just watched him, eyebrows raised, waiting for Jay to give in.
Within seconds, Jay’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” Jethro asked enjoying Jay’s torture.
“Yes, you can help me,” Jay growled.
“What’s the magic word?”
Jay whirled on Jethro, intending to throttle him, but his
feet stuck solid and he lost his balance.
Jethro smirked and offered his hand. Jay slapped it away. Jethro offered it again, unfazed.
Jay gave up and laughed. “Thanks.”
THE RIGHT 50MM OVERHEATED within minutes. Bisby watched it redline and swore as the gun froze up, metal fusing. He flipped switches, sending all available ammunition to the left gun without stopping the flow of bullets aimed at the overwhelming zombie masses only yards away.
Unbelievably, a few zombies made it past his onslaught, climbing his mech’s legs, fighting to get at the flesh taunting them above.
Bisby agilely picked off the zombies, flinging each against the ground, pulverizing them.
Eyes manic, Bisby grinned wickedly, forgetting his loss and remembering why he had always dreamed of being a mech pilot.
JAY SETTLED INTO THE cockpit, secured his limbs and powered up the mech.
“So when do I get to do that?” Jethro asked over the com.
“When you become Chief Mechanic,” Jay responded. “Only the Commander, the pilots, and the Chief Mechanic have their Reaper chips altered. You know that.”
“Yeah, but you know how things are way out here in the waste. Can’t rules be bent, just a little?”
“Fuck that! Last thing I need is your zombie ass coming after me. I like your chip just the way it is.”
Smoke poured from the mech’s control panels.
“Fuck!”
“FUCK THIS,” BISBY MUTTERED. He started flipping switches across his weapons array.
He emptied the 50mm, started in with the plasma cannons, tossed in some plasma charges, fractal grenades and a little home made napalm Jay was kind enough to fit his mech with.
75 seconds was all that passed before movement ceased on the valley floor.
The already barren terrain was now a blackened hell, littered with smoldering zombie husks.
Bisby would have laid waste to God Himself if He had been unlucky enough to be present. That wasn’t an issue; Bisby had a bone to pick with God.
COMMANDER CAPREZE ENDED the briefing, dismissing the pilots to their respective duties. Mathew hung back waiting for the others to leave, then approached Capreze.
“Yes, Mathew?” Capreze asked, looking up from his tablet.
“Has Doc Themopolous talked to you about Foggy Bottom?” Mathew asked.
“No, why?”
“Not sure. She asked me if I’d heard anything from there in a while. She wouldn’t go into details, but, I don’t know, her tone was off.”
“How so?”
“More fear than worry. When did we trade with them last?”
“Not sure, check the requisitions. Let me know what you find out.”
“Sure thing.”
BISBY CRESTED THE RIDGE out of the valley and turned his mech to survey the carnage he had wrought on the landscape. His breath caught in his throat.
Sifting through the wreckage of Stanislaw’s mech was One Arm. It tossed pieces of debris aside, hunting for sustenance.
Bisby raised his binocs and watched in horror as One Arm found Stanislaw’s severed right arm, cracked open his cockpit and tossed the morsel to the ravenous zombie pilot inside. Bisby wanted to put his binocs away, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
One Arm turned and roared at Bisby in triumph.
