Future Reborn Box Set

by Daniel Pierce

  I needed a rat. Any rat would do. I started counting doors, running through the map Andi had shown me. The second room on the left was what I needed. It served as clothing and linen storage, and I knew rodents liked nesting. The only question was how to get a rat without sounding the alarm.

  When I heard a squeak, I knew I had my answer.

  There’s always a straggler, and rats are no different than people in that regard. At the end of the hall, a plump, ancient rat with a broken fang and an expression of raw anger came scuttling along, late to his nap after a successful night’s hunt above the surface. He saw me, lifted his nose for a sniff, and charged.

  I was prepared for a lot of things, but being charged by a rat the size of a golden retriever wasn’t one of them. He made it to my boots before I could overcome my shock at the sheer balls of his attack, but I punched down with the grip of my sword right at the junction of his neck and skull. The dull thump echoed in the hall as he shuddered and went limp, sagging onto my boots like a sack of wet corn.

  “I guess you guys aren’t big into bathing,” I said. He smelled. . .ripe, which was perfect for what I had in mind. I grabbed him by the scruff, using all of my muscle to see if his weight would slow me down for my trip. He wouldn’t, despite being near forty kilos.

  I stood in the stairwell, breathing deep to fill my lungs for what I was about to do. Turning toward the scorpions, I began a deliberate walk into their territory, the rat dragging along on the floor next to me.

  Then, as I had hoped, the rat began to wake up.

  I held the rodent by its greasy scruff, advancing past doors and spaces I knew were crowded with scorpions, just returned home from their evening pillaging of the desert. For a few steps, I heard nothing, and the rat did the one thing I needed.

  It squeaked in alarm.

  “Let it all out, big guy,” I told the struggling creature, picking up the pace as I began to trot down the hall. I was ten meters from the end when I heard the first mechanical rustling behind me.

  I turned to see a nightmare made real. Giant scorpions began to flood the tunnel like metallic monsters, their segmented bodies flowing out into the light, tails lifted high in perfect menace as their eyes focused on me.

  Just like I wanted.

  “Dinner is served,” I said, shaking the rat to make it squeak even more. It obliged, and the stampede began in earnest as dozens of scorpions nearly two meters long began to rush forward, claws and mouths clicking like breaking glass. At the end of the hallway, a broken smear of mud and debris marked where we were going. Over the centuries, a crack in the wall turned into a tunnel after the claws and feet of countless creatures, finally wide enough to let the huge scorpions in and out with their prey.

  It was going to be tight, and I had a problem. The rat and I were too big to fit through the hole.

  “Buddy, this is your lucky day,” I told the squirming rodent. I turned and shoved the rat into the tunnel hard enough get a series of squeaking protests. The scorpions were two meters away and gaining, every part of their lethal mouths visible as they reared up in anticipation of a bedtime snack.

  “Time to go,” I said with a hiss, my teeth clenched as I pushed at the struggling rat. I dove into the tunnel, punching the rat’s ass until we exploded into open air. The first scorpion into the tunnel clamped down on my boot with enough force to break bone, but I landed a savage kick that crunched the exoskeleton under my heel. The claw released, and I pulled myself out, seizing the dazed rat by the scruff again and hurling it away from me. I needed a clear path for what was coming, and the rat would only slow me down.

  Glancing into the tunnel, I saw the scorpions fighting for position as they began to emerge, enraged to the point of following me. “Come on, you pricks. Just a little more.”

  Ten meters away, I heard the first of Rowan’s fighters on the low ridge just above me, and I knew the moment was right. A washout led down toward the tunnel, the surface rough but passable. For humans, it would be an easy descent. For scorpions, the way up was simple. I lunged to the right, took up position in the washout, and waited for the oncoming horde to cover the short distance.

  Both groups obliged.

  The first fighter was a grimy woman, her hair a tangled mass of sun-bleached curls. She carried an ancient rifle, the bluing worn through and a stock that was held together with a metal strap. It looked tough but functional, just like her. She lifted the barrel toward my face without hesitating, then turned her head to look past me, her brows going up in shock and horror at the oncoming scorpions.

  “Move it, Jack,” I told myself, diving to the left as the first pair of scorpions crashed past me in a clicking song of death. They grabbed the fighter before she could fire, both tails driving down to punch into her back like daggers. She screamed, then was lifted up by the stingers, only to be torn in half by four claws as her killers fought for supremacy over their prey. Shots rang out as the platoon came to life, fighters spilling over the ridge in a frenzied rabble. I saw three men go down in seconds, but not before they all fired weapons, striking two scorpions with limited effect. A fourth fighter was dragged down the ridge, impaled on a stinger, screaming as it pumped venom into his body. His cry ended when the scorpion cut his head off with the snap of a claw, and I knew it was time to find a new location to watch the battle.

  I began to retreat, whirling and cutting at the scorpions as they charged up the hill, crazed with bloodlust. I slashed down at a juvenile scorpion, parting the shell from end to end as the steaming innards slid down the hill in an oily mass.

  In seconds, I was out of their sight, but still close enough to hear the chaos of a hundred scorpions fighting to the bitter end with Rowan’s doomed platoon. I circled away in a trot, my eyes darting across the scarred landscape as I looked for signs of Rowan’s main force. They were an hour out and closing, which meant I had just enough time to get everyone in position for the coming onslaught.

  The bullet tore through my thigh before I heard the distant rifle shot, sending me in a pitched fall toward the waiting sand. Hot blood sluiced into my pantleg, spilling onto the thirsty ground before I had stopped moving from the force of the blow. My ‘bots went to work, but their job was a big one. A divot of muscle was gone, but my arteries were intact.

  “And they say getting shot doesn’t hurt. Bullshit,” I growled, clutching my leg and listening for the coming soldiers. I guessed that Rowan had made up the gap in his approach—or a scout caught me with a lucky shot. Either was bad, since I had no way of letting my team know I was down.

  “Cocky fuck. Fighting alone is never a good idea out here,” Lyss said. She stood peering down at me, a rifle resting on her hip. Her pose reminded me of a hunter preening over their kill, and a surge of anger flared within me despite my vision blurring as my ‘bots worked their magic. Whether they could work in time before she shot me again was yet to be seen, and I was laying on my shotgun. I did the only logical thing by throwing a blade at her in a whistling arc. It missed, but her shot went wide as she dived to avoid the glittering blade.

  “You’re alone, too,” I said, rising to balance on my good knee, gun in hand and bad thoughts racing through my mind. I fired at her as she rose, the buckshot turning her right arm into a spurting mess. Lyss blanched with shock, staggering down the rise toward me as her good arm pinwheeled in a futile attempt at balance. If she had ‘bots in her blood, they were far weaker than mine. The injury might be fatal, but I was going to make sure she didn’t live to fight another day.

  I greeted her with my other blade, straight into her chin and through the top of her skull. “I know you can’t hear me, but I hope it hurts.” Her body dropped when I pulled the blade, slick with gore and bits of gritty bone.

  Behind me, I knew the scorpions were finishing their work as the volleys of rifle fire fell away to occasional shots, and then a grim silence. If Lyss had been a scout, then Rowan was close. I lifted my eyes to the sky in hopes of spotting a drone.

  The Condo
r was overhead, turning into the sun in a lazy arc. When I waved, the wings waggled after a long heartbeat. “I owe you a drink, Andi,” I mouthed, and the wings dipped again. Help was on the way.

  So was Rowan.

  I heard the first wave of soldiers before I saw them, sliding to the ground behind shrubs that held onto the rocky soil for dear life. I saw three, then ten, and then two dozen fighters, their armor a ragged collection of stolen pieces and shoddy leather. Their weapons were real enough, and they advanced in good order.

  But they hadn’t seen me.

  I knew they were too close for Andi to risk spraying them down with the drone’s gun, which meant I had to evade, shoot, and make some space between us. Wounded, I was no match for that number of soldiers, no matter what my ‘bots were telling me with their subtle presence.

  The Condor swept low, drawing fire from a brace of soldiers who were quicker than the others. They missed, but it drew their attention long enough to let me scuttle back into the gulley, where I could circle around to attack the smallest group I had seen. There were three men and a tall woman to my right, their eyes up and tracking the drone as it began another pass.

  Pushing myself up, I held in a hiss of pain as the nature of my wound became clearer. I could walk, but my skin was dotted with cold sweat and the thought of running was out of the question. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try. Gun in one hand and blade in the other, I lurched into motion, closing the twenty meters in decent time.

  The woman saw me first, her hand rising in a smooth motion as she aimed a pistol in my general direction. I took her arm off at the elbow with a slash downward, then shot the man to her right square between the shoulder blades. His lungs exploded outward in a haze of red, then his legs folded like a chair as his lifeless body hit the dirt. The other two soldiers opted for close order weapons, pulling pairs of wicked machetes that were shiny with use.

  “Good. I want you fuckers close,” I rasped. My left arm flickered out, blade extended to punch into the chest of the left soldier, whose mouth went into a circle of surprise as the steel entered his heart. The second was faster, dancing forward in a slick move that brought his knife up under my arm for a strike into my exposed ribs.

  I felt the chill of his blade scraping over my skin, whirled away with all the speed my ‘bots could give me, and brought a spinning backfist into the base of his skull. He turned off like a switch, eyes rolling in a spastic beat. I saved my ammo and used the blade, driving it into his neck and twisting the point. He would not rise to fight again.

  My lungs heaved like a bellows as I focused on the horizon, a moving line of trees and dunes that would not stay still. I went back to my good knee as the war in my blood ratcheted up to the next level. The blood in my pants was hot, meaning any fighting was opening the wound again.

  I needed time, and I didn’t have it. I needed space, and I couldn’t get it.

  Then shadows appeared on the ground in front of me, and I heard a familiar voice.

  “Before we kill you, we need to have a talk,” Rowan said.

  24

  I shot at him before he could finish speaking, but he was no ordinary human. His blood coursed with ‘bots, too, even if they were weaker than mine. Rowan dropped out of sight, but his soldiers didn’t. Tergis and Wyant both caught faces full of buckshot before they could fire at me, but Barvi—a mean bastard if ever I saw one—managed to put a round into the sand, spraying grit into my eyes and forcing me back in a defensive crouch. That would do nothing to prevent Rowan from shooting me, but I was convinced his ego would get in the way. He had soldiers around, I was wounded, and he too felt the pressure of his ‘bots urging him forward in battle.

  I chose my words carefully.

  “Rowan, you can walk away from this, but your people can’t. I won’t allow it,” I called out.

  The silence was fat, broken only by the hum of a Condor as it turned overhead, high but still well in range to use guns if things were permanently broken. Barvi stood, his weathered face twisted in a sneer. Next to him Stoker rose, a mirror image but blonde where Barvi was dark. Their faces were lined with scars and the map of a hard life lived in service to violence.

  Rowan stood last, his face an utter blank. “You won’t allow it?” He wasn’t the friendly guy from our time together. His arrogance was written all over his face. He was a warlord. Or at least, that’s what he wanted.

  “I can’t. There’s too much of the future at stake, and we can’t piss it away for you to build your little kingdom,” I told him.

  “Unlike you, who will be so much more reasonable as a king?” Rowan asked. He had a point. He was wrong, but he couldn’t know that. We weren’t built the same. What seemed obvious to him was the last thing I wanted. I would never be a king. I only wanted to turn the desert into something better, and I didn’t need a crown to do it.

  “I don’t expect you to understand. We’re too different,” I said.

  He nodded in agreement, then made a small gesture to Barvi, who lifted his gun toward me. He looked to Rowan for confirmation, and then turned to face me, the decision made.

  Barvi’s head exploded in a shower of brain and blood, the rolling report of Mira’s shot coming a second later. Stoker was next, but the round took him through the throat, sending a hand’s length of his spine flying backward in a cloud of bone and gristle. To his credit, Rowan didn’t even flinch, but his lips pulled to the side in a grim twist. There was nothing of the affable man I had met over dinner left. This was a killer who was used to violence.

  “I think my partners are going to continue picking their shots, and there isn’t shit you can do about it. Mira was born to shoot, and no matter how good your desert rats are, she’s better. That just leaves us to conclude our business,” I said over the distinct crack of her rifle. To the left, another soldier screamed, his voice trailing off in a gurgle.

  Rowan nodded, drawing his sidearm in a flash of motion too quick for the human eye to follow. Thankfully, my eyes weren’t entirely human. Not anymore. I didn’t dive. I moved back and right far enough to let the round whisper by, thumping harmlessly into the sand. I threw a blade end over end at Rowan, then followed with a charge up the low embankment that brought me before him like an avenging angel. He was a liar, a tyrant, and a thief. He was also filled with ‘bots, even if they were weaker, but that only meant he could see my first punch coming.

  It didn’t mean he could stop it.

  I landed a whistling right under his arm, collapsing his ribs as he lashed out with a strike of his own. I preferred to take him alive, despite the fact that he deserved to die. It was something he said when we first met, and I took the chance to ask him as I wrenched his gun away and ground it into the sand.

  “Where are the others?” I blocked a vicious left, hard enough that he shook his arm out, stunned by the force of my elbow.

  “Others? They’re around you, idiot.” He pulled a long knife, and then another. He would try to slice me where his gun had failed, but I began to weave like a snake as his blades cut the air around me. His friendly face of our first meeting was gone, changed into a sneer of rage and frustration.

  “The other facilities. You said you found a chain. I need to know where,” I replied. I caught his left wrist, turned it, and flicked the knife away in a spinning flash. He didn’t hesitate, but finished his strike as a punch, catching me in the collarbone with enough force that my knees buckled. His ‘bots might not be as advanced as mine, but he was inhumanly strong.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said in a dismissive tone, then kicked me as I went to block his other knife. It was a feint, and he reversed the blade toward my ribs in a blur. I twisted, struck down at his knee with my own leg, and lifted him from the sand with my free hand. I landed on him with a thud, and we began sliding down the incline as I did my best to drown him in sand.

  It didn’t work. His knee found my balls, and stars exploded across my vision like a constellation of pain. There was no reason fo
r him to beat me like—

  “Turns out that a fresh shot of ‘bots is like turbo for my body,” he rasped in my ear, punctuating each word with an elbow to the side of my head. If there were stars before, now I saw a galaxy. Blood spooled from my nose and mouth, and I was aware of rifle shots cracking overhead, followed by a scream that sounded like a woman. “Been taking them every eight hours on the way here. Figured I would either survive to kill you, or die in the process.” He gained an advantage, flipped me over, and began raining blows on me as I fought to block them. I was fucked and I knew it, but I was also a different man than the Jack Bowman who had found touching his own toes a challenge. I was better. More flexible.

  I kicked up and over his shoulder, looping a boot around his head and jerking him backward hard enough that his spine popped. We rolled apart, staggering to our feet as the rifles still hammered away, shouts and cries now fading into the background as I focused on Rowan and only Rowan for what would be the most important fight of my life.

  A knife appeared in his hand again, and he crouched in the stance of someone who has his prey cornered but knows it can still bite back. Without taking my eyes from him, I loosened my belt and pulled it from the loops until it dangled in my left hand like a whip.

  “No offense, but you’re not my type. Now Chloe and Silk and even the tomboy—what’s her name? Whatever. They’ll do. I’ll have them ass up in my tent every night until I carve this land into a place worth ruling.” Rowan’s smile was mostly leer, and he waited to see if my temper would lose the fight for me.

  It was close.

  “Her name is Mira, and if you thinks she’s a tomboy, you weren’t paying attention.” I swung the belt a few times, taking its measure. It was more than a meter long, and the buckle was heavy enough to give it some speed. The gap between us was two meters, but Rowan was slightly higher, giving him another advantage. I spat to clear my mouth of blood and sand, then began to rotate so his eyes were in the rising sun. He knew what I was doing and countered my move by staying put, perfectly balanced and content to wait for my attack.