Vargr

by Cari Silverwood

  Not a spider or a roach, this was the same size and rusted gray of the frypan, only squeezed in from the sides and fatter from top to bottom.

  Cyn stood, along with everyone else. Wary, she was wondering if she should go help kick this creature or run.

  “Kill that fucking thing!” a foot-soldier sang out. He yanked up his rifle, halfway, ready to fire.

  Orm rode Toother closer then whistled, and the nanodog halted. The critter in his mouth was definitely metal, therefore not exactly alive. It just looked like a big fat bug.

  Curious, Cyn sauntered forward, amused that no one else followed her until Vargr finally did. Then Rutger followed him. She’d faced Ghoul Lords. This was littler than them, and possibly cuter?

  A row of dim red lights sprang to life across the front where bumps ran in a double line like hip sunglasses on an aging terminator. She counted six legs, three to each side, and two sections to its torso, similar to some insects. The skin was rusted steel or a similar colored metal.

  If it kept still, she imagined it would be difficult to spot among the garbage littering the corridors.

  She cocked her head. “What is it?”

  Orm leaned forward, arms resting on Toother’s neck, and said quietly, “It says it knows you.”

  “It speaks?” What the hell?

  “It does.”

  “How can it know me?”

  “That’s one of the doctor’s later autonomous creations.” Maura arrived beside Cyn. “He called them mild AI, as in they can think independently, but only a little. Think of it as a children’s version of an AI. What’s your name, your designation?” she asked it.

  From somewhere inside the critter, speakers crackled to life. “Little Mo. This nomenclature derives from Baby Monitor.”

  “Ah.” Maura smiled. “One of upper management’s jokes. I bet it was designed to watch employees. You’re not armed? Run a system check and report back.”

  A series of beeps sounded, and the eye nodules ran through a spectrum from red to green from left to right.

  “What the bloody fucking hell?” So many swear words from Vargr said he was really perplexed.

  “System check complete. Memory has corrupted and suffered lost files due to overloading and physical degeneration, but my motor, logic, sensory, and power systems are functioning between ninety-five to ninety-seven percent efficiency. I am not armed. Though I must warn that my limb pincers can damage human skin.”

  “And who is authorized to instruct you and alter your directives?” Maura showed a concentrated determination Cyn had not seen before.

  “Cyn and one other who is not present. This one called Cyn that I detect before me, now that I am not in hiding.”

  “Fine. There you are. Tell it to stick around, and you can let it go.” Maura beamed at her. “Go on.”

  “Ask it what the fuck it’s doing here too.” The soldier with the raised rifle finally lowered his weapon.

  “Yeah that,” Vargr agreed. “What the fuck are you doing here? Hey? Wait on.” He held up the hand holding the meat and jiggled it while eyeing Cyn. “This proves you’re on our side? Doesn’t it?”

  No one answered, and since the critter also remained silent, Cyn decided to speak.

  “We’re going to let you go, Little Mo. You are to stay with me. Okay?”

  “Yes!” it sang.

  “Orm?”

  He jiggled the reins and Toother opened his large, lethally toothed mouth and dropped Little Mo.

  The thing landed on its small legs, springily.

  She felt as if she’d been handed a golden ticket to a candy shop. This Little Mo must know her, and so it must be able to help her with her past.

  Surely?

  “Why are you following me?”

  Chapter 16

  Little Mo adjusted its position to check her out, its front legs rising and the currently green visor of lights blinking excitedly… well it looked excited to her. Cyn found herself smiling and wondering if the critter could understand human facial language. Maybe it could?

  “I follow you because it is a primary directive; a directive ranked the same as my self-preservation directive. I must remain intact to report.”

  Right. That gave rise to a whole slew of new questions. “Can you tell me why me? Why am I important? Oh, and how long have you been doing this?”

  “I do not know why I am to follow you or why you are important.”

  “And the other? How long? Who are you to give this data to?” Of course, there was another, even better, question. “Who told you to do this?”

  “I have followed you since you left Big Daddy. The exact time is not retrievable because of my memory deficits. I am to give the data to Big Daddy, and Big Daddy also told me to follow you, Cyn.”

  “Big Daddy? Who is that? What is their real name?”

  “You have a sugar daddy you didn’t tell me about?” Vargr nudged her ribs.

  Little Mo continued, ignoring Vargr’s question, which made her feel ridiculously smug. “Big Daddy is the real designator. There is no other name for the vehicle.”

  “Big Daddy is a vehicle?” Her frown was born of annoyance. Though… “Where is this vehicle? Do you know where it is now?”

  “I do not.” Little Mo’s limbs slumped. “I can no longer report as directed. Memory loss has taken that information from me.”

  “Oh. Crap.” It could’ve been a trove of data, if whatever computers it must hold still functioned, and if they could get them going.

  “Big Daddy will not be happy with me.”

  While she’d interrogated the little AI, Maura had come closer, and now she crouched behind Little Mo, peering at something on the behind area of its metal chassis. She ran a finger along the domed steel. In the flickering light of the campfire, Cyn thought she spotted blue writing there, in capitals. The patchwork colors of rust, the scrapes and corrosion, had faded and camouflaged much of the text.

  “MAELSTROM,” Maura said, rising from her crouch. “I thought so. This AI was part of Dr. Nietz’s last project.”

  “Us? The Beast Horde project?” Rutger tucked his thumbs into the waist of his pants. His shirt had gone missing. For a tight second she registered the droolworthy ridges of his abdominal musculature, before she metaphorically slapped herself.

  “You weren’t the last. There was another nanomachine project, and this was it. Very secret and a last resort.” She looked to Cyn. “If Little Mo was a part of it, and it was programmed to follow you, then you were a part of it too, my dear.”

  Another brick in the wall of her past.

  “Then I do have nanites. I’m like you.” She gazed from one beaster to the next. “I must be.”

  “Likely.” Sucking on his cheek, Rutger nodded. “But not certain. Our biotechie will verify. But if you’re not a beaster like us, what are you?”

  “And what are you?” It hurt to be excluded, felt as if he’d poked at a wound she never knew she had. Why should it matter when it was beginning to look like they didn’t know what they were either?

  The light caress of Vargr’s hand and thumb across the back of her neck made her shiver. The biting tension drained away. Already, this man knew her too well. “Don’t know about you, Ruttie, but I’m made of fuckin’ sugar and spice.”

  “Call me Ruttie again and…” Rutger’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll kiss you.”

  Vargr burst into laughter and reached over to slap the other beaster’s shoulder. “Best threat, ever!”

  “Good.”

  “There’s something I get to tell you all. I’ve seen that MAELSTROM tag before. It’s tattooed on Cyn’s neck, here.” His fingers tapped her skin. “Want to show them?”

  “No. I can take your word for it. So will they.” She was no exhibit. Though she’d look in the first mirror they found.

  “T’s crossed and I’s dotted then,” Maura mused. “She’s maelstrom. If only we could find this Big Daddy.”

  The beasters fell into discussing whether the bi
otechie or a weaponsmith could manage to download the data from Little Mo and figure out the location of Big Daddy. It might be a store of all sorts of info. They tipped Little Mo upside down and prodded it, making his eye lights go crazy with the blinking.

  She figured the little critter had some sort of simulated feelings. Maybe it was annoyed? Maybe scared? When they released it, Little Mo scuttled over and tucked itself behind her ankle. All their talking accomplished nothing, so she dragged a roll of bedding into a spot about the fire and snuggled in to sleep. From the prods and the weight settling on her blanket, Little Mo had settled on the edge.

  They should’ve asked Maura some of those other questions…

  When we get to the Worshipper place, yes.

  * * * * *

  She woke, muzzy-headed and with something hard pressing on her chest. Lights danced. Red. Lights.

  “Little Mo?”

  It’d been saying something.

  “Enemies approaching! Multiple sensors show the approach of the creatures called stinkers!”

  “Shit!” She sat up, swaying, not sure which way was up and slapped her hand on the floor. Little Mo slid off her chest to the side and into the bedding. “Stinkers are coming! Wake up! It’s an attack!”

  To her left and right, two already alert guards swung up their rifles and everyone else leaped from their sleeping bags and found weapons—rifles, pistols, knives, and in her case, once she groggily ran to where she’d left it, a broom. They hadn’t trusted her with a gun, and she might just regret that by the end of this.

  Abruptly, the ceiling and floor of the adjacent train tunnel were alive with stinkers. Their legs were stomping. They were a clockwork army of white spiders, their limbs composed of skinny triangles. As they ran, they made a skritching, clacking sound and they smelled rotten, enough to make Cyn wish her nose would stop working.

  Guns began firing and she instinctively ducked as Vargr’s pistol went off to her left. He was up, standing bare-chested with his arm extended as he picked off stinkers. Muzzle flashes and the bang of the guns firing seemed to rock the space. When hit the stinkers dropped and writhed or spun. From behind them a new threat entered, sprinting and firing the strange guns that shot blue bolts. Ghoul guards. The air cindered with ozone.

  Rutger and Vargr switched aim to the human ghoul-guards and two dropped instantly, spewing blood and chunks of flesh as the big ammo rounds did their gruesome work. The sweet stench of blood mingled with the burning and the strange foulness. Though she was gagging, a stinker that jumped at her fell victim to the bad end of the broom. The timber shaft thunked into the creature and out, spurting liquids. With a flick of the wrist and arm, she flung it into the distant wall.

  One down.

  Her head was thumping but she wiped her eyes with her forearm and took a step, watching as more gunshots took out stinkers and one of the beaster foot-soldiers was swarmed and stabbed with those horrible sharp legs.

  The crunch and wet noises sickened her more.

  Orm and Toother were busy fighting off a separate horde, tearing along in a short path and throwing them airwards, with Toother crunching them and tearing them into pieces. Then they charged again. More stinkers swarmed up the nanodog’s side.

  A ghoul guard far to the left was pounded by several shots. He spun and sprawled on the floor then fled, limping, back into the tunnel. Overwhelmed by the last of the tide of stinkers, the others were distracted. A weaponless ghoul guard ran at her, his eyes flaring white, one arm limp and dangling, his mouth snarling. As he leaped, his good arm clawed the air.

  But… she’d grounded the broomy end of the broom, planted her feet, rock-steady, and raised the point.

  The broom proved worthy. He skewered himself in the very middle. The shaft kept going for a whole foot, and his dirty shirt was shoved into his innards below his sternum. Though one knife-carrying hand swiped at her, she dodged, dropping the broom to side-step and kick at his gut. He screamed and wriggled, caught on her make-shift spear.

  Luckily, before bedtime, she’d sharpened the end using Vargr’s knife.

  The once-a-man still screamed and flailed. She picked up the lost knife, kneeled, pinned him down, and began to carve…

  And the lights flickered and blurred. Sounds deadened.

  He grabbed at her. She stabbed.

  There was blood. Much blood. She kept stabbing, appalled yet fascinated by the thick red as it slipped over his skin and by the feel of the metal cutting deep into flesh and cartilage.

  A stinker barreled forward. In one slick move, she stood, plucking out the broom and hurling it straight through the stinker, sending it sliding and tumbling backward. Wait… What was she doing here?

  She needed to be elsewhere.

  She found herself staring down the darkening tunnel, her feet following the tracks, her arms glistening and wet all the way to the elbows.

  Her last thought before the thoughts stopped: The Lure.

  Chapter 17

  Though she’d ventured a fair distance into the tunnel, Rutger had caught up to her. He checked the surroundings as he closed in. This seemed a dead end. Ahead was a parked train carriage, left here since the invasion.

  A service door off to the side might be where Cyn planned to go?

  Assuming her brain could plan when the Lure had her? Maybe people just backed up and tried a new path if their first choice failed to lead upward?

  She didn’t seem to register him following behind her. Watching her for a few more seconds wasn’t a crime. It soothed him to know she was okay and gave him time to calm down, after what had happened at the camp. Too much death. Way too much.

  Killing ghoul guards, who were really only possessed people, it bothered him. He remembered the people he’d once known in every damn face, even when they weren’t there.

  With Vargr disappearing to chase after the last ghoul guard, he’d made finding Cyn a priority. Why had the beaster decided to do that alone? He might get swamped by stinkers or find himself in the middle of the tail-end of this attacking force.

  Vargr might never return.

  He would be sorry if that happened. The beaster had a foul mouth, but most did. He also possessed a woman Rutger was attracted to in the way the north pole of a magnet wants to fuck around with the south end. It was a painfully intense attraction. The things he’d been imagining doing to her…

  Her dark hair was black enough to dive into. And the slink of her curves when she sauntered from point A to point B was criminally sexy. Rutger huffed out a sigh. His dick had been getting more exercise recently than it had for the previous five years.

  There was nothing he could do about the fool, Vargr, but he could look after her, this not-quite-human woman. When Maura relapsed, he’d figured out she and Cyn had been separated. They had Maura tied down and safe. Cyn had wandered away down this branch of the train tunnel, bloodied, and probably Lure-affected.

  “Got you,” he said, wrapping his hand around her arm. He expected this to be easy, as in pick her up, carry her back, then tie her down until Vargr returned. When she wrenched her arm free of his grip, Rutger gaped.

  The force in that yank had been stronger than should be possible with puny human muscle. If he’d not opened his hand, her arm bone would’ve snapped, her flesh might’ve torn. Nanites were in this one, for sure.

  In spite of her twisting to get loose, he grabbed her long black hair and restrained her.

  She latched an arm around a handle on the train and would not let go. With great patience he lifted each finger away from the steel, curled those fingers into her palm, then pried her off the train. Cyn promptly, with the flexibility of a monkey, grabbed another bit of train.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  Frustrated, he debated tying those hands, realized it couldn’t be something thin or she’d hurt herself, so he pinned her face down and ripped off his shirt. He used it as mummy wrapping all the way down her arms, fastening them at her back, then he picked up the squirming female
.

  Toting her the whole way back to camp was a little painful—she kicked him several times—but he managed. Proud of his accomplishment, he set her on her feet near the extinguished campfire and turned her to face him.

  Those pretty irises with the red sprinkles lacked any recognition of her surroundings.

  “The Lure?” Tom, a wing-soldier with a startling head of fair hair—he even looked like an angel—arrived and grounded his rifle.

  “Yes.” Gently, Rutger turned her head this way then that, using a finger and thumb grip on her chin. She licked her blood-spattered lips, and for a second he swore he saw life in there. More awake than some Lure-affected he’d seen up close.

  Blood had spilled down her front, soaking the breast area of her shirt. The buttons at the top were no longer a pearl-gray, they were scarlet. Her arms were too.

  It was the lips that troubled him. Holding her by the back of her hair, he wiped his bloody hand on her shirt.

  “Did she bite that ghoul guard, Tom?”

  “Yes, sir. ’Fraid so. He’s a mess. A dead mess with his throat gnawed. Dead is good, so I don’t care.”

  “Uh-huh.” He frowned. He did care. This was wrong. Surely the Lure didn’t do this, make you rip out throats with your teeth?

  Fuck.

  There were bits of flesh stuck to her shirt.

  Mouth askew at the gore on this beautiful female, Rutger straightened. “If that waterfall bath of yours is good for cleaning a whole woman, I’m taking her there.” Tom nodded. “You can come too.” And chaperone me, was his distant, back-of-the-head thought. “She’s got blood and guts all over her. Tell Vargr where we are if he comes back!”

  “Will do!” someone yelled.

  He hoisted her onto his shoulder again.

  “It’s safe there.” Tom said, ambling after him. “There’s a whole wall come down to one side.”

  They climbed through the most leftward wall hole where the train had emancipated its back half, and he saw what Tom had indicated—a wall of rubble had been deposited over the cars stuck here. Half of most were buried to the right. Getting through to the rest of the motorway would take digging. Which meant the ghoul squad couldn’t get to them without hitting the camp first. The building structure looked generally sound. Still, he blessed the columns they passed with a once-over.