Crucible: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 5)

by Scott Nicholson

  “We’ve been monitoring its evolution,” Ziminski said. “We were freaked out when we discovered the whole thing was melting down. And no sign of life in there, either.”

  “The plasma sinks are still functioning,” DeVontay said. “We think there are five manufacturing facilities underground. They transformed raw materials into this alloy stuff. It’s organic, a living metal of some kind. That’s how they made the robots and the buildings.”

  The helicopter headed west, flying low over the great ruins of Winston-Salem. Even though DeVontay had only been in the Blue City a few weeks, the world seemed to have entered an entirely new evolutionary epoch. The landscape was little changed, although the flora seemed a little sicker than before, but it appeared so much more abandoned and hostile.

  I’m the one who’s changed.

  “You’ll debrief our engineering team when we reach base. We need to learn all we can about plasma and how the sinks and factories operate.” Ziminski pointed to DeVontay’s left eye socket. “And we’re going to need that as a sample for testing.”

  “Let me guess. Directive Seventeen.”

  Ziminski patted him on the knee. “You got it, soldier.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Franklin heard the helicopter but it was far in the distance, with no good way to signal the occupants.

  K.C. suggested shooting at the dome and seeing what happened, but Franklin didn’t trust the stability of the electromagnetic field. The entire system might be fragile without the Zaps around to manage it, and he didn’t want to risk collapsing the dome or possibly triggering a chain reaction. The Zaps would also hear the gunfire and surround the house before they could make a run for it.

  “Maybe we can build a fire,” Squeak said. “They’ll see the smoke.”

  “Good idea, honey,” K.C. said. “But by the time we get it going, they’ll be gone.”

  “Wait a second,” Franklin said. “Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone.”

  Franklin quickly explained how the Zaps had exhibited self-destructive behavior in their primitive states shortly after the solar storms. They’d also mimicked each other in a herd instinct that would cause them to follow one another into a fire.

  “We burn the house down, and while they react to that, we make a run for it,” he concluded. “The helicopter sees the smoke, waits for us, and soon we’ll be popping champagne.” He grinned at Squeak. “Except for you, young lady. We’ll see if we can round up a soda pop.”

  “A couple of problems with that plan,” K.C. said. “First, if we burn the house down, we’re stuck outside with them. And second, we don’t even know if we can pass through the dome or not.”

  “When did you become such a Debbie Downer?” he asked, making a face at Squeak.

  “Debbie Downer!” the girl repeated with a squeal of delight.

  K.C. sighed. “Let’s do it, then. And that’s Deborah Downer to you, sir.”

  She drew her box of wooden matches, and Franklin could see she only had a few left. Squeak slid off the bed and held up her coloring book, offering Snow White as a sacrifice. The first match smoked and fizzled, but the second caught. K.C. applied it to the corner of the paper and then shoved the makeshift torch to the curtain. The flames immediately crawled up the cotton fabric and the room filled with thick, oily smoke.

  “Everybody downstairs,” Franklin said, scooping up K.C.’s rucksack and ushering Squeak out of the room.

  K.C. repeated the act of arson on the living room drapes and fire soon crawled up the paneling. The Zaps had already detected the commotion and began slamming into the side of the house again. The trio ran through the hallway to the kitchen, gathering at the back door. Zaps were hammering at the glass.

  “Wrong way,” Franklin said.

  “Side window.” K.C. grabbed Squeak’s hand and ran to the dining room, ducking low to stay beneath the billowing haze of smoke. The window was sealed shut by many layers of old paint. Franklin picked up an ugly piece of statuary—he wasn’t sure what it depicted, but it looked vaguely French and obscene—and chucked it through the glass, then kicked the loose shards from around the frame.

  K.C. went first, dropping eight feet to the ground, and Franklin lowered Squeak to her. “Hang on a sec.”

  Before K.C. could protest, he ran to the back door, unlocked it and turned the handle, and then dashed back to the window before the agitated Zaps could amass and rush inside. The sudden influx of oxygen caused the fire to bloom into a hissing conflagration. Wood cracked like gunshots from the heat.

  Franklin tried to plunge headfirst out the window like a Hollywood stuntman but ended up banging his shins on the sill. Embarrassed, he crawled out backwards and drew his Glock. No Zaps had come to this side of the house, evidently retaining some residual knowledge of doors that compelled them to enter.

  “Which way, genius?” K.C. asked.

  Franklin pointed to the nearest edge of the dome a couple of hundred yards away. “Don’t stop, and don’t shoot unless you have to.”

  Franklin grabbed Squeak’s hand and followed K.C., moving through the backyard and slipping between cars to the street. Behind them the house was immolating, its wood siding and asphalt shingles churning a nasty pillar of black smoke.

  Franklin scanned the sky for the helicopter but didn’t see it. On previous scouting runs, it made a complete orbit of the city, but what if this mission was cut short for some reason? Maybe the pilot simply verified that the city had collapsed and called it a win.

  Too bad. We’re committed now, one way or another.

  A cluster of Zaps appeared on the far end of the street but were apparently fixated on the burning house and continued on their way. The three of them kept to the yards to reduce their exposure, but soon they reached the last house in the neighborhood. A vast sheet of alloy lay between them and the base of the dome. At least the faux landscaping had melted away, removing yet another obstruction.

  “So we get there and test it, like an electric fence?” K.C. asked as they caught their breath.

  “I guess.” Franklin didn’t like the odds, not after seeing the savage Zaps get assimilated into it when they first attacked the city. But they’d recently penetrated the city somehow, and if Franklin wasn’t any smarter than a brainless Zap, then it was game over anyway. “No turning back now. There must be dozens of them in the city. And with no natural predators.”

  K.C. wracked the action on her M16. “Except me.”

  Franklin nodded and K.C. took the lead once more, Squeak running unhindered behind her, little legs pumping, the buckles on her shoes flashing blue with the plasma. Franklin checked their rear, found the coast was clear, and took off after them.

  They were nearly to the dome when the first Zap appeared. It sprinted from the neighborhood, eyes flashing, rags fluttering, wiry arms outstretched.

  We can handle one. Please, God, let there be only one.

  But God must not have been listening, or maybe prayers didn’t escape the dome, or maybe Franklin was just a recalcitrant unbeliever, because half a minute later, two more appeared, then a few others. All of them swarmed toward the fleeing trio.

  They reached the dome winded and tired, but at the moment of truth, Franklin didn’t trust the electromagnetic field. Up close, the dome appeared thick like glass, but the material was also watery. He held a palm near its surface and his skin tingled.

  “Who goes first?” K.C. said, hiding her nervousness.

  “Usually ladies, but I’m no gentleman,” Franklin said, flashing a wink at Squeak.

  “Well, you better hurry, because we’ve got company.”

  The Zap was barely thirty yards away, closing fast. Half of its teeth were missing and a deep scar streaked across its chest.

  “Time to show Squeak that a woman can shoot just as good as a man,” Franklin said to K.C. “Hit him in the kneecap.”

  K.C. frowned and snugged the butt of the M16 against her shoulder. She squeezed off a round and the Zap went tumblin
g, arms akimbo. It tried to rise but could only manage getting to its hands and knees, but still it crawled forward, leaving a slick trail of blood along the alloy.

  “Again?” K.C. asked.

  “Nah. Let it come.”

  When it was closer, Franklin told Squeak to close her eyes and cover her ears. When the Zap was ten feet away, Franklin told K.C. to shoot it in both arms.

  Pak pak and the job was done.

  It still tried to crawl forward, hissing and flailing its rubbery, useless arms. Blood poured from its wounds. Franklin reared back and gave it a mighty kick in the mouth, teeth shooting out like Chiclets from a dispenser.

  “Don’t want it to bite,” he explained as K.C. cringed.

  He stooped and hauled the thing up, glad that it was lean and sinewy, and dragged it the remaining few feet to the dome. The other Zaps were close enough that Franklin could hear their bare feet slapping the alloy.

  He rocked his hips a couple of times and flung the Zap through the electromagnetic field. It passed through with no apparent harm and landed on the scorched earth outside. The mutant turned its ruined face to Franklin and snarled.

  “We’re good to go,” Franklin said, pulling Squeak through the field. A mild electric shock wended through his skeletal frame, followed by a sensation like being submerged in warm gelatin. Then he was out under the sunlight.

  Freedom. Forgot what it felt like.

  But he had no time to celebrate. K.C entered the blue field, the peculiar material clinging to her and stretching like elastic as she passed through. She retreated a few steps and then picked off the attacking Zaps one by one as they emerged from the dome, although her aim was a little shaky. When they had all fallen, K.C. said, “Let’s get out of here before more of them join the party.”

  “That tickled,” Squeak said, studiously ignoring the hobbled Zap writhing six feet away.

  “Nothing but fun around these parts,” Franklin said. “But all good things must end.”

  “I don’t see any helicopter,” K.C. said.

  Franklin spat at the broken, wriggling Zap. “Well, be glad we have legs, then.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Abigail Murray was now fist deep in the shell of the plasma sink.

  Her arms ached even though she switched the blade back and forth whenever her muscles threatened to cramp. She wasn’t even sure what she was trying to accomplish. She’d always considered herself a compromiser instead of a destroyer.

  Maybe that’s why you lost Luray Caverns. Maybe that’s why they overthrew your fat ass. Because you were WEAK.

  Her anger fueled her determination and she jabbed with the blade over and over, chips and shards of alloy flying. The factory’s machinery had more or less maintained its integrity, though she could’ve sworn some of the corners had softened. The fabricating machines continued their work, but instead of casting and shaping robots, all they produced was a growing pool of effluence. The air temperature had risen as well, and Murray paused occasionally to wipe sweat from her forehead.

  She wondered if the shell and the plasma within it were actually one composite mass, because she was well past the apparent depth of the clear windows. But she had worked too hard to move to another location and start over.

  Then came a slapping, scuffing sound behind her, barely audible over the whir and throb of the machines. Murray thought it was Franklin, changing his mind and deciding to help, but when she turned, she saw the thing she’d glimpsed in the tunnel.

  And this time she saw all of it.

  It crawled on eight tentacles like a spider, even though it resembled a cephalopod with its humped body and extended, two-part beak. Its red abdomen was the size of an adult sow, haunches glistening with a toxic-looking pink jelly. It crawl-walked toward her, distended gray belly dragging along the floor. Its two black eyes were as big as grapefruit. Her twin reflections were mirrored in them.

  It didn’t move fast but exhibited a repulsive determination. She backed away, her heart hammering hard, wishing she’d kept the Glock. She had the blade but it was only five inches long, about half the length of the curving black beak. She could picture those slimy tentacles coiling around her, suckers kissing her skin as she was pulled relentlessly into the aquatic nightmare’s mouth.

  The creature was between her and the stairwell, so she couldn’t risk fleeing that way. Besides, she wasn’t ready to abandon her mission. If anything, she was pissed at being interrupted.

  Murray retreated past the assembly machine, glancing at the row of dead Zaps floating blank-eyed in their chambers as if they might render aid. She ducked under the series of smaller plasma tubes that routed energy through the facility, approaching the half-full vat of coagulating blood similar to the one where Lonnie met his grisly demise.

  The creature lifted its bulky head, two tentacles waving in the air. One wrapped around a plasma tube and dragged its entire body forward, sliding over the lumpy pile of slag that had once been a robot squadron. The creature emitted a slobbery, soughing sound as if it needed water, but it showed no signs of turning around and heading for home.

  It reached out another tentacle and as it swung around, the tip became caught in the casting assembly. The numerous blades carved at the meat, flinging blood, ink, and gray specks along the high walls.

  Arm. What is it about an arm?

  The robotic one that had grabbed Lonnie…even if the Zap city was shut down, that arm had originated from within the factory. If this place contained a similar mechanism, it hadn’t yet revealed itself. But maybe she just hadn’t been in the right place to trigger it.

  Murray moved away from the vat to where the section of floor would’ve lowered like an elevator platform. The alloy ceiling overhead had sagged but was otherwise intact, and she saw no seams that might indicate an opening.

  She hopped up and down and yelled, “Come and get me, you son-of-a-bitch. I’m a human!”

  The top of a long metallic box clicked and a segmented arm extended and flexed its finger-like pincers. It swiveled and unfolded itself awkwardly, as if it had grown rusty from disuse. But it lifted into the air and stretched, the articulated pincers clicking together with dispassionate menace.

  Murray backed toward the corner of the factory, knowing she was trapped if her plan didn’t work. The sewer-creature slopped its way forward, unconcerned with the injured tentacle that now swabbed the alloy floor with gore. She saw herself grow larger in the thing’s eyes, hardly recognizing herself due to all the stress wrinkles in her face.

  She tightened her grip on the blade, angry that she was going to be cheated of finishing her mission. The thing slid forward another three feet, and then the metal arm detected its movement. It swung around and descended as the pincers opened wide.

  They dug into the sewer-creature’s thick neck and penetrated the flesh, evidently curling up and hooking it like a fish. The arm lifted the creature as its tentacles flailed angrily at the air, whipping more blood as the mechanical arm conveyed it upward.

  Then the arm swiveled so that the sewer-creature was over the vat. The whirring blades engaged as the arm lowered. The creature spewed a few wet rasps that might’ve been screams, and its tentacles slapped desperately for a grip on the rim of the vat. But the arm was persistent and soon fed the sewer-creature into the blades, churning it to offal.

  So that’s how they get the ingredients. It’s not just from humans.

  While the arm was occupied, she hustled back to the plasma sink and feverishly went to work, and soon the bluish glow was oozing up from the hole she made. The shell gave way quickly now, and she hewed a larger opening, expecting the material to burn forth like a laser as it escaped. Instead, the plasma continued its circular loop through the various tubes.

  Frustrated, she continued carving, wondering if she’d have to bisect the entire shell before the energy was released. Then she remembered Franklin’s horrible description of the plasma sink at Wilkesboro and how Kokona had lured hundreds of her own kind i
nto the sink to start a chain reaction. The explosion had been triggered by grenades, but Franklin was convinced the additional contamination of the bodies had disrupted the processed purity of the plasma.

  There was only one thing to do.

  Murray took off her shoes and climbed atop the shell, feeling the rapid vibration as electrons peeled off from the nuclei. She thought of Helen Schlagal, her Homeland Security Director and lover, who’d died in a Zap attack at Luray Caverns. She thought of other politicians she’d worked with before the storms and their distorted notions of duty and honor. She wondered if the officers who’d carried out the recent coup would hear of her sacrifice.

  No. No one will ever hear of it. This is for you.

  Win a battle, and don’t worry about the war.

  She wasn’t going to be around to pursue Operation Free Bird and the final launch of the world’s nuclear missiles. That was okay. Ziminski would see the mission through.

  Directive Seventeen.

  All available resources belonged to Earth Zero.

  She was just another resource.

  This was her victory.

  She lowered herself into the plasma, a deep and abiding cold drilling into her bones, followed instantly by a supernova of heat. Before the pain fully hit, she forced herself the rest of the way inside the shell.

  She was dead seconds before the eruption.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Franklin, K.C., and Squeak had reached a house in the forest and Franklin was checking the immediate perimeter for creatures when the blast occurred.

  At first, a deep rumble permeated the leaf-covered ground beneath his feet. Then the sky took on a strange white color and the air was charged with static. Franklin looked toward the dome in the distance, and even though his view was partially obscured by trees, he could see the blue arc collapsing.