Apocalypse Makers (Book 3): All For Show

by Matt Hart

  Thank you! We have implemented the camouflage reduction and look forward to the increased viewership.

  —————

  From: Desk of the Entertainment Assurance Director

  To: Department Heads, EntAssure

  Re: Bonus time!

  Hi everyone! Let me first congratulate you on the great job so far! This is clearly the most troublesome planet we've encountered due to the proliferation of hidden facilities and powerful primitive explosives.

  But of course, you want know about the main subject – bonuses! We've seen almost a 1000% increase in viewership, and the Imperial Entertainment Overwatch is ordering a 50% reduction in troop armor effectiveness. I think you all know what this means?

  That's right! More viewers tuning in to see the evil humans injuring and killing our brave troopers. And more viewers means more bonus credits for us! It's windfall time!

  I'll be sending individual notes to each of you to detail the actions your department will take to ensure the best balance between human kills and Boreling casualties.

  Once again, great work everyone! And happy bonuses!

  Sincerely,

  - Drecuref the Annihilator, Director, Entertainment Assurance

  Chapter 20

  Mark : Salisburg, Massachusetts

  “Did you hear that?” I whispered to Jen, leaning in close. We were walking on a relatively clear trail that was mostly rocks and moss. I'd heard the distinctive sound of a twig snap behind us.

  She grabbed my arm in fright. “No! What was it?”

  “Maybe nothing, maybe I'm paranoid.” I looked down the trail as we kept walking. “Let me have the machete.” We stopped before a bend in the trail and I started hacking a path angled directly away. “Hey Jen,” I said, a bit loudly. “Wait here a sec, I'm gonna go use the little boy's tree.” Jen looked startled as I grabbed her arm and hustled us both through the woods. We stopped a short distance away. “Alright, I'm coming!” I said after a minute, using a slightly too loud and exasperated voice. Then I grabbed Jen's arm again and we moved as quickly and quietly as possible back toward the trail. We ducked down and crawled to a boulder that hid us from view and watched the trail.

  After giving Jen back the machete, I took the .22/20 and sighted up the trail, my finger next to the trigger. We waited for about three minutes, and a figure appeared, clearly following us. I took a deep breath and put my finger on the trigger.

  But it wasn't Richard. It was some guy all decked out in camouflage and gear though, and sporting a rifle with a barrel the size of an arm sticking out of his pack. I kept still as he paused at the spot where we began hacking through the brush. He looked around and took a drink, but didn't spot me. Then he walked slowly and carefully onto the side trail we'd made.

  I gave the rifle to Jen, telling her to follow me about ten yards distant. I drew the Shield, crept around the rock and back down the trail. I looked back and Jen moved around the rock and followed me. I turned back up the trail and walked as quietly as possible, but I didn't see the man. I made it to the spot where I'd stopped and turned back, but there was no sign of him. Jen walked up beside me.

  “Where is he?” she whispered.

  “I don't know, but it scares me.”

  “It wasn't Richard though, right?” Jen looked at me with frightened eyes.

  “No, I don't who it was.”

  A voice came from directly behind us. “My name is Art.” We both spun around and raised our weapons. God bless Jen though, she didn't fire, and I kept my finger beside the trigger. “I see you have good trigger discipline young man, someone has taught you well.” I still couldn't see him, but obviously he could see us.

  And therefore he could shoot us as any time.

  I lowered my weapon and motioned Jen to do the same. “Alright mister, come out where we can see you.”

  “I'd love to young man, but please holster that Smith and Wesson if you would, and safe that odd looking rifle.” I began to lift my gun toward the voice, but Jen laid a hand on my arm.

  “Mark, he could shoot us at any time. Probably could have shot us an hour ago.” I took a deep breath and nodded, then holstered the Shield. Jen handed me the rifle and I broke it open and held it in an arm carry.

  “Well?” I asked. The man we'd tried to follow stood up, shaking leaves from his head. He'd been ten yards away, completely concealed but with an assault rifle of some kind, probably an AR-15, pointed right at us. He lowered the rifle and walked slowly forward, making no sound.

  “What gave me away, that twig snap?”

  “Yes sir, I heard it and so we tried to get behind you.”

  “I think you did a good enough job at that, son. I expect you had that popgun aimed at me from that rock up the trail?”

  I nodded in surprise. “Yes, but it's just a .22.”

  “Mind if I look at it?” he asked.

  “What the hell,” I thought, “Our fates seem sealed to his choices right now.”

  Although I could probably draw on him when takes the Chiappa.

  I handed him the double-barreled rifle. He pulled out the .22 bullet and shotgun shell and eyed them briefly before handing them back to me. He locked the rifle closed and checked the barrels. “I know my rifles, son, but I've never seen this one.” He examined it, figuring out quickly how to fold it for storage. He hefted it. “Six pounds?”

  I nodded. “A little over. A survival rifle that my dad kept in his truck. Chiappa .22/20.”

  The man looked around. “I don't suppose this dad of yours is aiming a deer rifle at me right now, is he?”

  I shook my head. “He died sir,” said Jen, taking my hand. “He was killed by the man we were afraid was you.” The man looked at the two of us. He handed the rifle back to me and I reloaded it, then handed it to Jen.

  “I'm sorry to hear that, very sorry.” He looked around again. “So you suppose this person might be following you?”

  I looked at Jen and she nodded, saying, “Absolutely.”

  “Alright,” he said. “I'm Art,” smiling as he repeated his name.

  “I'm Jen and this is Mark. He's already saved my life several times.”

  “Yes, I suppose he could have actually shot me back there.” He looked at me. “Thank you, son. I saw you behind the rock, but you could have popped me. I'm grateful.”

  “No problem sir,” I told him. “I'm not going to shoot anyone unless they are a zombie or Richard.”

  “Richard, huh?” We both nodded. “Well let's walk and you can tell me the story.” We stood awkwardly for a few seconds, unsure of who was leading whom. “Well young man, are you going to keep bushwhacking or do we go back to the trail?”

  I walked around Art and headed back to the trail. Jen walked behind me, telling Art our story. “When the power went out, there were a few car wrecks...”

  Chapter 21

  Jen : Salisburg, Massachusetts

  I could tell Mark didn't really want to recount yesterday's events, so I talked with Art. Turns out he was the one shooting on that range, and he had a whole bunch of guns and supplies stashed back there. I wished we had stopped and talked to him instead of chickening out and walking away from the gun club building.

  “So this Richard guy just kidnapped you in front of the hospital?” he asked incredulously. I nodded. “And no one stopped him?”

  “No sir. It was pretty chaotic. It seemed we had the only working vehicle, although I guess he must have found another one to have reached us from that wreck so quickly.”

  Art looked thoughtful. “And no guns, you said. Did he have any camping gear when he kidnapped you?”

  “No, just that tire iron.”

  “Well if I were him, I'd head to that sports store up there. It's off the highway and close to the convenience store where you were attacked.”

  “Right, so that must be where he got the rifles.”

  “He was killing zombies with head shots at two hundred yards,” said Mark. “Some kind of high powered rifle, pr
obably bolt action from the shot spacing. Then he finished them off with a .22, or at least it sounded like a small gun.”

  “Two hundred yards,” muttered Art. “Crap, so he's a very good shot with a sighted rifle, probably scoped.”

  “Yes sir,” said Mark.

  “Hold up there son.” Mark stopped and we gathered around Art. “You can just call me Art, okay?”

  Mark smiled. “Okay, but you have to call us Mark or Jen instead of young man and young lady, or son, or whatever.”

  “You got it sport,” said Art with a grin. Mark and I both smiled back.

  “Where are you headed?” he asked.

  “My place,” said Mark. “We're… uh…”

  I think Mark was about to say the he was a “prepper”, but maybe didn’t want to give away that away just yet.

  “It’ll be safer there,” he said, finally.

  Art nodded thoughtfully. “You a prepper?” Mark looked at me. “Don’t worry, I get it. Just so you know, I’m one too, so maybe we can pool our resources.” He paused for a few seconds. “Do you want to travel together?”

  Yes!

  Mark looked thoughtful. He looked at me and I nodded, then he pointed at the Chiappa I was holding. “Got anything better than that?” he asked.

  “I have just the thing,” said Art, removing his backpack. Mark moved in and tried to look into the bag as Art unzipped the top.

  It was like two kids in a candy store.

  Chapter 22

  Salisburg, Massachusetts

  “Well how about this?” asked Richard, walking out of the forest and into the clearing. He and Jeffrey paused from tracking Mark and looked around.

  “Gun range,” said Jeffrey.

  Richard spit to the side. “No kidding, Einstein,” he said. “And where there's a gun range...?” he began.

  “There should be guns,” finished Jeffrey.

  “Right-O. Let's find the clubhouse and go shopping.”

  The pair walked up the range, away from the target berm. They stepped onto the gravel road and spotted the clubhouse, then walked to it, past the barely hidden golf cart that Art had left. They broke open the door and looked inside the dark building. Turning on flashlights, they quickly spotted signs pointing to the basement Gun Shop.

  “Stay here,” Richard said to Jeffrey. “Keep watch.”

  “Yes sir,” said Jeffrey. He pulled a chair away from a table and sat down on it in a corner facing the front door.

  Richard walked down the stairs to the gun shop. It was open to the building, but barred by an accordion gate. “Shooting out the lock!” he yelled upstairs. He removed his pack and aimed his Maverick 12 gauge at the brackets holding the gate against the wall. The shotgun boomed out and bits of metal and wood sprayed from the door, striking Richard in the face. He yelled in pain and Jeffrey ran down the stairs.

  “Uncle Richard! What happened?”

  “Dammit, nearly shot my eye out!” he said.

  “Hey, hold on before you shoot again,” said Jeffrey, removing his pack. He opened the front pocket and removed a brand new pair of impact resistant glasses. “Bought these at Rick's, if you know what I mean.”

  Richard took the glasses and laughed. “Indeed I do! She was good, wasn't she!”

  “That's not what I meant at all,” thought Jeffrey. He had not raped the girl after Richard, only pretending so that he wouldn't enrage his uncle. He pasted a smile on his face. “Sure was,” he said with what little enthusiasm as he could muster.

  Richard slapped him on the back and lifted the shotgun again. Jeffrey scrambled to the safety of the stairs just before another shot rang out. He heard his uncle laughing hysterically as more shots boomed out. The firing stopped and a tremendous crash followed.

  “Store's open!” he heard his uncle shout. Jeffrey went back down and retrieved his pack, then headed back upstairs and sat down in his guard chair. Banging and crashing and various “Yippees!” sounded from below.

  Before long, his uncle trudged back up the stairs, carrying armloads of gear and wearing a headband flashlight. He dropped the gear on a table. “Get over here and see what you want.”

  Jeffrey stood up and looked at the pile of equipment. There were AR-15's, AK-47's, Smith and Wesson 1911 pistols and 30 round magazines. He picked up two of the latter ones – an AK magazine and one for AR-15 rifles. “Cool, pre-ban magazines.”

  The two swapped out their .22's for AK's, but keep the hunting rifles and the shotguns. Jeffrey kept his Sig pistol and Richard took two 1911's, both .45 caliber.

  “Damn Richard, your face is a sight!” he said as they walked out into the light. “That shotgun debris busted you up!” His uncle's face was lined with scratches, and blood still dripped from a wound on his thick neck.

  Richard touched a hand to his neck. “Yeah I guess I didn't notice it in all the excitement. Get out a med kit and patch me up!”

  Jeffrey dropped his pack and went back into the building. He came out a few seconds later with a couple of chairs. “Sit down and I'll clean you up,” he said. Richard removed his backpack and sat down in the chair. It creaked, protesting at the weight.

  As he cleaned the cuts with alcohol swabs, Jeffrey was secretly pleased at the exclamations of stinging pain they elicited from his uncle. He cut up some cloth bandage tape using the scissors from the med kit and taped it all down.

  Richard slapped his nephew on the back. “Great job!” he said. Jeffrey smiled. Richard pulled over his pack and opened it up, pulled out a pack of food and said, “Lunchtime! Let's take a break here and eat, my legs are killing me.”

  Jeffrey nodded and took a bag of jerky and a beer from his pack. He cracked it open and chewed on the jerky, feeling for a moment like the world hadn't shifted beneath his feet and he was just on a camping trip with his uncle and cousin.

  Down the road, four pairs of eyes watched the two sitting in front of the gun club building. Orange jumpsuits shuffled behind the trees, betraying their position. Fortunately for them, the pair they watched weren't paying much attention. Quiet voices relayed the plan and the figures melted back into the forest.

  Chapter 23

  Interlude : Boreling Empire : Plannel 6

  Grodge the Merciful tapped at his keyboard. A list on his monitor showed coordinates of bio-creature infestations. He clicked his thumbs and moved the top coordinate down to number four. “That human in the bunker will have to fend for himself for a bit. Can't put him first, too obvious,” he muttered.

  Grodge had been given a single Entertainment Assurance vessel to carry out his plan to reduce the number of bio-creatures. He made up a list of eight sites with high concentrations. He checked the numbers again. The protected human had the lowest count, so he reluctantly moved it from the fourth position to number eight. “Best to take no chances,” he thought.

  Grodge sat back in his chair after sending the list. He trembled, a bit nervous about his subterfuge with the human in the bunker, so he grabbed a stim stick that was propped next to his work monitor. He popped it and savored the relaxing Flower Soothe flavor. Breathing deeply, he stuck it in his mouth and nervously clicked his thumbs.

  Pactain should get the blame for protecting the human, who would probably be killed by the same Assurance troops he'd tasked to reducing the bio-creatures. They’d notice the camerabot he’d modified, or some other anomaly, like the fact it was in a still-operating bunker!

  Grodge picked up his doglard and stroked its head. He sucked at the soothing stick, his muscles relaxing as the drug took effect.

  Chapter 24

  Erin : San Diego, California

  I pulled Joe around the corner so that we could no longer see the convenience store. He wasn't in shock, but he was sure something – I dunno, angry at himself or sad about the people we left on the store's roof. Or whatever. I looked around for more threats and saw plenty. The morning was now bright enough to show zombies heading for the fire behind us. They were coming from almost every street, including the one we
were about to head down. At least twenty were shambling toward us in a line that stretched around the corner two streets down – nearly to the ocean. No telling how many beyond that. If they matched the horde at the convenience store, then there would be hundreds on the way. I gently pushed Joe up against the side of the house.

  “Hey! It wasn't your fault, Joe. It's whoever created these damn things!”

  Joe looked at me. “I told them to stay on the roof.”

  “And if we had brought them with us? Look down the street,” I demanded, forcing his head to turn. It took a lot of strength just to get him to look where I wanted, not to mention I had to stretch to reach his face. “If we had brought them, we'd be responsible for protecting them against the mobs of zombies around here.” I turned his head back. “Saving them would have killed us!”

  Joe looked back at the approaching zombies, still streaming around the corner. “You're right,” he said. He pushed off the wall and checked his rifle by habit. Blowing out an enormous breath – I swear he could have snuffed out candles from half a block away – he asked, “So what now?”

  “Getting you some breath mints,” I said. He smiled. “And getting the hell out of here,” I added, taking point and jogging toward the next street. Joe jogged up next to me. “Streets don't work, backyards don't work, and we sure can't shoot our way through a hundred of these creatures.”

  We looked left and right as we reached the next intersection. “It's gonna have to be backyards again, despite the dangers,” Joe said.

  “I agree, but let's try to avoid getting caught between these two groups,” I said. We turned left and jogged across the intersection, drawing attention from the zombies headed for the fire, but not from the ones joining the attack on the convenience store. I looked behind and saw them angling to reach us. There were probably twenty or so stretched out in twos and threes ahead of us, too. “Find us a way between these houses!” I called to Joe.