The Ravagers Box Set: Episodes 1-3

by Alex Albrinck

  Sheila glanced around, then up at the ceiling, wondering about her phone and other personal items still in the water car that carried her here. “Do I need to bring anything?”

  “No. Everything you’ll need is available at our next stop.”

  She motioned at the carts. “What’s all of this? Those are all generators, right?”

  “The Phoenix are located quite far away, and I need to get as much power generated as possible to make that journey possible. The door frame we’re taking is one that I recovered a long time ago and had to keep safe; it’s a critical piece to the final leg of our journey.”

  “And the picture?”

  Micah gestured at the energized portal door before them. “After you.”

  She frowned. Who was the woman in the picture? And why wouldn’t he tell her now? He couldn’t play the “we’re in a hurry” line again after answering all of her previous questions.

  She knew, though, that the robot could be eternally stubborn. He’d tell her when he decided to tell her. Unless she ordered him…

  She thought about his comment regarding Ravagers raining down on them from above and decided she could wait a few more minutes.

  She grasped the door handle, turned, and opened it, fully expecting to see the same room on the other side.

  The scene before her was certainly not part of the room she stood in. The scent of the air was different. Cleaner. And… saltier. She turned to Micah. “Is it safe? I mean, there aren’t any predators in this new place waiting to gobble me up as I step through the door, are there?”

  Micah chuckled. “You and I will be the most predatory creatures there. It’s safe.”

  She frowned, uncertain about the meaning of that statement. While she pondered, Micah grasped her hand, stepped through the portal, and pulled her through.

  She closed her eyes as she passed through. A light touch, like a tiny electrical reverberation, brushed across her skin as she moved over the threshold.

  When she opened her eyes, she knew she’d stepped into an entirely new world.

  —————

  DEIRDRE SILVER-LIGHT

  —————

  DEIRDRE SCRAMBLED TO her feet as fast as the heavy metal suit allowed, her sense of panic rising as she rose from the ground. She clawed at the thin, oily sheen of Ravagers, scraping them off the normally clear helmet protecting her head. She looked around, moved around, tried to find a shadow where Jeffrey might be hiding, finding shadows minimized by the bright sun directly overhead. The stones, the remaining cooked flesh of the Hinterlands beast, all of the driftwood and tools they’d collected… all were gone, part of the Ravagers she’d just scraped off her armor.

  “Jeffrey!” she shouted. “Jeffrey! Where are you?”

  Her voice echoed into the eerie silence around her.

  “Jeffrey!” Now she screamed. “This isn’t funny! Stop playing games!”

  She spun around, looking everywhere, listening intently as the sensitive microphones embedded in the suit fabric relayed even the most minute sound. But she heard nothing. No clunking sound of Jeffrey lumbering in the suit. No sounds of him crying out for help or calling her name. No howls of Hinterlands beasts or other, smaller predators. She didn’t see any birds flying overhead; they’d all flown to where the Ravagers hadn’t yet invaded… or had been devoured by an ill-timed landing.

  The enormity of her plight crashed down on her. She was truly alone, the last living creature in this part of the world. The plan, the purging phase of Phoenix, had been far more successful than she’d ever dared dream… or feared. And she’d suffer from that success.

  She sank to her knees and let the tears flow, the sounds echoing inside her sealed suit.

  When she’d cried all the tears she could dredge from her system, she climbed back to her feet. Jeffrey was gone. She scanned the ground once more through her tear-crusted eyes, looking for his suit. If she found just the suit, it meant Jeffrey had opened it, perhaps to snag a few more bites of meat, and left himself vulnerable to a Ravager infestation. He’d not treated her with kindness, but he’d been fair, and had forced her to learn skills she’d need to survive until… until… until what, exactly, she had no idea. She knew now that she could kill another living creature for food, could skin her prey for cooking, and could prepare an area safe for food preparation and eating. She paused. There were two things he hadn’t taught her, though, in their brief time together. He hadn’t told her how he’d started the fires; she’d seen no matches, no kindling, no other evidence of tools she typically associated with flame creation.

  She tensed her lower muscles. He’d also not told her how to deal with bodily elimination in a world where any exposed flesh might lead to a rapid, painful death.

  Her eyes moved to the lake. Water was safe. The code embedded in each Ravager prevented the destruction of water and Diasteel, and as such a large body of water was the answer to her problem. She needed to get out of the suit and into the water. That was the easy part; if she survived her dip in the lake or river, she’d have to get back out of the lake and back into the suit. Could she saturate the ground, as they had overnight, and leave the unoccupied suit on shore as she waded into the water?

  She heard a slight howling noise, and realized it was no predator’s cry, but instead the whistle of the wind blowing. She clenched her teeth as yet another obstacle came to mind. The machines individually were tiny, invisible to the unaided human eye, easily transportable along the breeze. If she left her armor on the dry land and waded into the lake, it would take no more than a brief gust of wind to drop a dollop of Ravagers upon her exposed skin or inside the suit. She raged against the hideous devices and those who’d dreamt of, designed, and built them—including herself—for the thorough removal of hope and dignity wrought by the accursed machines.

  She knew what she must do, though she found the idea repulsive.

  Minutes later, the juice from the cooked meat she’d consumed wasn’t the only liquid inside the suit.

  She couldn’t stand the smell, and nearly gagged as she worked on her brain, trying to convince herself that the scent was typical, nothing to be concerned about, and just a natural odor inside the suit. She knew she’d sweated during her suit occupancy, and she’d long since stopped noticing that aroma. She’d do the same with the newly deposited foul-smelling liquid dribbling down her legs.

  She headed south along the western shore of the lake, moving toward the river a mile or so distant. If nothing else, movement gave her a new and different point of focus.

  She knew the approximate location of New Venice, one of a handful of miniature cities built at comfortable distances from the cityplexes for use by the Select. New Venice, like the others, was well outside the usual travel and trade routes, limiting the chances that the non-Select would stumble across the sites and ask uncomfortable questions. If she could cross the river and follow the lake south and then east, she’d eventually reach her destination. She had no idea the distance, no idea how far she could travel, but knew that the freshwater lake could provide for her body’s nutritional needs for what might be a week-long journey… or longer.

  She had no idea what type of greeting awaited her if—no, when—she reached the fortress. She’d be recognized. They’d know her to be Oswald Silver’s daughter, and understand her to be part of the Select. She’d face suspicion about her survival post-Ravagers using an armored suit formed with “liquid” Diasteel and her journey on foot. They’d wonder why Deirdre, expected to be aboard the space station, was left behind to fight for survival. She wouldn’t be able to offer a truthful explanation. Nobody outside the Select was meant to survive. When exceptions were made, negotiations occurred only at the highest levels in Phoenix. The idea that she could openly smuggle her lover to safety ran counter to the entire concept of choosing the Select.

  Oswald Silver’s daughter, trying to manipulate the system, thinking the rules didn’t apply to her, now needed the help of those who’d survived t
hrough proper means.

  No, she couldn’t tell them the truth. They’d likely kill her. That was the greeting that likely awaited her at New Venice… assuming she survived the journey. Death along the way might prove a less tortuous option.

  Deirdre swallowed hard and marched on, ignoring the squishing sounds inside the suit with each step.

  With the muscle enhancers engaged, she covered the distance to the river at the pace of a world-class sprinter while moving her limbs at the pace of a leisurely stroll. The shoreline, once a variegated pattern of dirt, mud, pebbles, rocks, twigs, and leaves lying beneath the canopy of trees, was now worn smooth, the all-too-familiar sight of the Ravager slick everywhere. Deirdre studied the river itself, listening to the gentle current, a soothing sound so out of place in this devastated land. She must cross this river to reach her final destination. The river’s maximum depth would put her well below the surface… and she doubted the heavy armor doubled as a floatation device. Would she find herself able to walk along the river bottom with the aid of the armor’s muscle enhancers while still allowing her to breathe?

  She glowered at the water. Logic suggested that the suit wouldn’t leak; individual Ravagers were far smaller than drops of water. She knew most rivers featured an undertow, a powerful force below the surface that would drag one down and along against one’s will. Would she be able to fight the undertow with those enhancers? She wouldn’t know that until she faced the first tug; if it dragged her out to the lake, it might ease and allow her an opportunity to walk back to the shoreline. If she could breathe underwater, of course.

  She thought for a moment before making her decision.

  Her concerns revolved around unknowns. She didn’t know if the suit would leak, float, or allow her to walk safely beneath the surface while resisting powerful underwater currents. She didn’t know if she’d be able to breathe while underwater. But she had the suit and all the time she needed to alleviate those concerns or prove them legitimate. She would therefore test each of her concerns in turn, slowly, in perfect safety, until she had answers to those questions. She could then decide if she’d swim across, walk across… or find another route. She suspected that alternate course involved a long walk west to a spot where the river’s depth would enable her to ford across without concern. It might take time, but she had time if she found food to eat and water…

  Her mouth felt suddenly dry. The emptying of her bladder earlier was a positive sign; she’d managed to hydrate well in the hours leading up to the Ravager activation, drinking fluids as she’d driven from Diasteel Headquarters to her apartment and the fateful rendezvous with Stephen. But she’d now gone nearly a full day without water, save for what remained in the meat she’d devoured the previous night. Reality hit her hard: she’d have to open the suit and remove the helmet at some point so she could drink from the river. She glanced down at the oozing ground at her feet. That would have to wait until she was in safer environs.

  She stepped cautiously into river, watching as the current altered its course around her, frothing on impact with the armor. She continued her journey from the shore until the water reached her waist. She waited there for several minutes, confirming no new liquid made its way inside the armor.

  The most likely spot for a leak would be the zipper in front. Deirdre continued moving forward, fighting the muscle enhancers as they worked to propel her forward. She didn’t know how quickly the depth would increase, preferring not to test the seals on the helmet unexpectedly. Once the water reach her ribcage, she turned and faced the onrushing current, giving the water its best opportunity to prove that her armor couldn’t protect her from outside moisture.

  She waited what felt like fifteen minutes but suspected to be closer to five, long enough in either case to prove that the suit prohibited water entry through the zipper.

  She turned to the southern shore and took a half step forward before pausing. No, there was a safer way to test additional vulnerabilities. She pulled her leg back, spun around, and moved back toward the northern shore until the water level dropped to mid-thigh. After facing the current once more, she let herself tilt toward the onrushing water until her feet left the ground. She’d confirm the suit’s flotation ability—or lack thereof—while also testing the seal between the armor’s body and helmet.

  She bobbed along down the river, watching as the fish swam by below. Her stomach rumbled, but she knew she wasn’t hungry; the pangs were her body’s signal to find water. She’d need to do that next. Dying inside the suit of dehydration wasn’t a far superior option to dying from a Ravager infestation.

  Five minutes later, she’d floated several hundred yards down the river and hadn’t detected any excess moisture in the suit. She lowered her legs and pivoted so she faced the south bank of the river as she regained her footing. She redirected her attention inside the suit once more, trying to feel any hidden moisture that might have seeped in and rested against the front of her suit as she floated face down. She felt nothing.

  Deirdre couldn’t help but smile and offer silent thanks to those who’d designed and engineered this marvelous suit of armor that allowed her to float in water.

  Emboldened by her discoveries, she walked slowly toward the far side of the river. The southern bank stood nearly fifty yards away, and she wanted to maximize the distance she’d cover on foot. Two minutes and ten yards later, she found herself submerged to just below her shoulders, and decided that was enough. She took two strides backwards to rise a bit further out of the water before springing up and out, arms and legs spread. Even if she sank like an anchor now, even if her limited testing proved fallible, she could still stand here, still push herself back above the surface.

  As she left her feet, she realized she’d never tested the suit’s ability to “breathe” underwater.

  Panic set in. She dropped below the surface briefly due to water displacement, then floated back to the surface as that water returned. She once more found herself staring down at the bottom of the river.

  She kicked her feet, slowly at first, and then faster as she moved toward the south shore. She gained speed, focusing not on the general fatigue in her body but on the curious sights below. She saw fish of different shapes and sizes, some chasing smaller prey, others dodging predators. She saw what looked like a snake slithering along on the ground. The most curious item, though, was the motor scooter. She’d seen a few of them around, but the sight of a machine resting on the bottom of the river reminded her what humanity could produce when motivated by something other than genocide.

  After ten minutes of gentle kicking, the river bottom began rising up to meet her once more. She chanced a quick look up, keeping the glance short to prevent any unintended sinking into the water. She was only about ten yards from the shore, and the visuals suggested she could stand once more. She didn’t hesitate, bending at the waist and forcing her legs to the bottom of the river. When the armored boots contacted the ground, she shifted her weight back and stood up, water dripping off the gleaming metal. She took two steps toward the shore before stopping.

  The ground on the far shore was nearly Ravager free. She looked down at the clear, fresh water. She had to drink or she’d die, and this seemed as optimal an opportunity as she’d find.

  She reached up and undid the clasps sealing the helmet to the body of the suit, then twisted the helmet and lifted it off her head. The gentle breeze refreshed her in a way she’d never felt refreshed before. It was perhaps in part a mental fabrication, an awareness that, for the foreseeable future, she’d not feel anything but the interior of the armor. She closed her eyes, feeling her hair fan out behind her, before she opened them once more. She tucked the helmet under her left arm, bent down, and cupped her right hand, lifting the fresh water to her lips. She drank greedily, and her body felt as if some invisible burden lifted. She drank, again and again and again, until she felt she might burst. She looked at the helmet and saw the juice stain from the meat she’d eaten the night before. She
dipped the helmet into the river, let it fill, and then dumped the water back out. She repeated the process twice more before regretfully tucking her hair back into the armor, returning the helmet atop her head, and attaching the clasps to reform the seal.

  Time to get moving.

  She turned to her left and began striding diagonally toward the shore. She’d taken ten steps when she noticed something, and her heart pounded loudly inside her chest, loud enough to echo inside the armor.

  She saw the other suit of armor, the one Jeffrey had donned the day before, and she saw his face inside. His eyes were closed. He wasn’t moving. His skin looked pale. And a thin film of Ravagers crawled over the outside of the suit.

  She ran toward him as fast as she could in the thigh-high water, praying she wasn’t already too late, hoping against hope she’d be able to help him if he still lived.

  —————

  MICAH JAMISON

  —————

  MICAH TURNED AROUND and watched Sheila.

  He’d become fairly well attuned to emotion-based reactions. Sheila’s jaw dropped. Her eyes went wide. She turned around, slowly, taking in the space they’d reached, then staring at the door they’d just used as a portal to a place thousands of miles away. He knew that meant she felt an emotion called awe, a curious mix of excitement, happiness, and fear.

  He slid past her, walked back through the portal, and began moving the carts through one at a time. He could push the combined weight without issue, but feared that in so doing he’d damage the portal door, and that would be catastrophic. He’d slid the first few carts through

  before Sheila snapped back to reality and began pushing them farther into the room, giving him space to finish the operation. The last of the carts went through the portal door, the one with the picture frame. He picked the special doorframe up from against a nearby inactive portal door and grasped it with his right hand, delicately, while he reached into one of his many pockets. His fingers found the familiar shape of the disk. As he passed through the door, he pressed it against the frame and pushed against the center, activating a thirty second timer. He set the door frame down near Sheila, then closed the portal door. He turned and watched as the light above the door flickered a few seconds later and then went dark.