by M. R. Forbes
“Is it safe?”
He glanced at the front of the transport. “The sensors are clear. I’ll keep a lookout while you work.”
He moved to the back of the transport, where he had stowed the gear he had taken from the bunker. Two rifles were resting among the smaller arms. They were bigger and meaner than the others she had seen so far. They almost looked too big to carry. He picked one of them up, checking the magazine and switching it on. He looked at something on the display and then put it back down. He picked up another sidearm, a small, rectangular weapon with a magazine, checked it the same way, and then handed it out to her.
“Just in case,” he said. “You already know how to shoot. This one has twenty rounds.”
She took the weapon. He didn’t wait for her to attach it to her armor before turning away. She could have shot him in the back. He trusted her not to. They were dependent on one another out here.
He picked up the rifle again.
“I thought you don’t like guns?” she said.
“I don’t. But I like dying less.” He turned the weapon so she could see the display. “The N80 has a one hundred times zoom scope built-in, with an automatic barrel adjustment to account for wind. I can hit a target from over a mile with it, two if the conditions are right. That’s why we stopped in the open. The woods help them more than it helps us.”
“And there are no goliaths here?”
“No. It’s early fall, so it isn’t too cold yet, but they still don’t come.”
“Are you sure it’s temperature that keeps them away?”
“Not at all. We’ll go out the top. The side hatch closes too slowly and is too hard to defend. If I spot any trife, I want you to head inside straight away. They can’t penetrate the armor.”
Natalia raised her eyebrow and then pointed to the cracked glass up front. “I don’t think that’s an accurate assessment.”
Ghost smiled nervously. “I’ve never seen them do that before. They’re still evolving. Let’s go.”
She followed him as he opened the top hatch and climbed out. She could see his face twist as he did, still in pain from the damage Grimly inflicted on him. He hadn’t complained about it at all. He was like Hayden in that way.
The air outside was crisp, but not cold. The sky was darkened by clouds, a light mist coating the area. Natalia gave herself a moment to savor the real atmosphere while Ghost moved to the front of the transport’s roof, bringing the rifle to his face, the display at eye level. He turned a full revolution, sweeping the landscape.
“You’re clear,” he said.
She responded by climbing off the low-slung transport. The noise had been coming from the forward left wheel. She set herself beside it, opening the toolbox and digging through it until she found a flashlight. She turned it on and moved to her back, sliding under the vehicle. She was relatively slim, and she still hardly fit.
She adjusted the flashlight to the well. It was filthy with blood and gore, and she turned her head away and clenched her mouth closed as a small bit of vomit worked its way up her throat. She swallowed it, looking back. She stopped the flashlight on the axle, noting the way the rod was bent. Unsure if that was the right position on this specific vehicle, she slid out and circled to the other side, repeating the scan. The axle on the driver’s side was bent, but not like that.
She came back out, returning to the toolbox and closing it. She looked up at Ghost. He was still scanning the area, paying her no mind.
“The axle is damaged,” she said.
He looked down at her. “That sounds bad.”
“It is. I can’t fix it out here. If we had a lift, a blowtorch, some other materials, I could probably do something. How far are we from Ports?”
“Too far,” he replied. “Thirty miles at least, and it’s going to be dark soon. Let’s get back inside, and we can decide what to do.”
Natalia passed the toolbox up to him, and then let him help her onto the roof of the transport. He tugged her up in front of him, their faces drawing near as he did. Her instinct was to pull away, but she didn’t. She forced herself to linger there and look into his eyes.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He remained in position, his expression soft. “You’re welcome.”
It was enough to steel her resolve. As much as she hated the idea, she could do this.
She leaned forward, brushing her lips lightly against his. He responded gently. Softly. Easing ahead to meet her, but not pushing back with lust.
Then she moved past him, back to the hatch into the transport, her heart pounding, her stomach nauseous, her decision made.
30
THE CONVOY MOVED out two hours later. Six more vehicles had joined it while Hayden, Jake, and Chains were waiting, sitting alone in the back of the transport while the Scrappers organized the group. Jake had given Hayden clear instructions on how to dislodge two of the small, narrow pins that helped stabilize the synthetic musculature inside the hand, and he had spent that time doing his best to get it out and over to Chains before they got underway.
The work was delicate, and his hand was sore and swollen. He had only gotten one of the pins out and over to Chains when the Oversergeant had climbed back on board along with two guards and a driver.
He had quickly tucked the mechanical arm under his other hand, covering the open compartment to the inner workings of the prosthetic. He kept his head down, staring at the floor as the Oversergeant approached.
“Are we all tucked in back here?” the man said, grabbing Jake’s chains and pulling on them. The motion jerked him forward, proving he was still locked in.
He took Chains’ chain next, tugging it to ensure it was all connected. Then he stood in front of Hayden. The Scrapper reached down, putting his hand under Hayden’s chin and lifting his head until they were looking each other in the eye.
“I hated Pig, but he was still one of ours.” He leaned back, and then punched Hayden in the side of the head. The blow knocked him sideways, but he managed to hold his hand over the compartment. “That’s for him.”
Then the Oversergeant pulled on his binds, checking them. Again, Hayden managed to keep the replacement covered.
“Take a look out the window there, Insider,” the man said, pointing at one of the trucks that had joined them.
Hayden recognized it from the upper level of the Pilgrim’s hangar. It had a long bed in the rear, covered by old canvas long spared from the elements.
“Grepping trife had a huge nest down there, hiding a damn treasure. We cleaned up that mess and loaded her up.”
“You took the weapons from the Marine module?” Hayden asked.
“Damn right,” the Oversergeant replied, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, and then wiping his hand on Hayden’s leg. “This ain’t all of them, but it’s a good haul. The first of many. Personally, I can’t wait to get into the colony. The women in there must be mmmmm, delicious!”
Hayden clenched his teeth. He knew the man was trying to get under his skin. He couldn’t let him.
“I’m glad you have them,” he said.
“You are?”
Hayden nodded. “I’m going to kill you with them.”
The Oversergeant roared with laughter, at the same time he punched Hayden in the head again.
“You keep telling yourself that, Insider. Maybe if you wish hard enough it’ll even come true.”
He kept laughing on his way to the front of the transport. The other two Scrappers remained in the back, keeping an eye on them.
Hayden left his gaze on the truck, watching as the large robot climbed into the back, vanishing into the shadows. He shifted his eyes to the guards. They were paying close attention to the three of them right now, but would it last once they started moving? He glanced at Jake and Chains. Jake looked terrified, Chains more confident in their ability to escape.
She was more confident than he was.
Three engines roared to life as Commander Ales appeared fr
om the substation, flanked by a smaller man with a large backpack connected to a transceiver of some kind. They said something to one another as they made their way to one of the later arriving vehicles. That one had the USMC logo on its side, along with a series of letters and numbers. It was heavily armored, ran on treads, and had a massive gun turret resting on top of it. Both men climbed to the top of it, and then pulled open a manual hatch leading inside. Hayden watched them disappear into the machine.
“What is that?” he asked, looking back at Chains.
“Did anyone tell you that you could talk?” one of the guards asked, circling to him. “One more word, and this goes in your face. Do you copy?” He raised the butt of his rifle threateningly.
“Pozz,” Hayden said.
“Huh?”
“He said ‘pozz,’ dimwit,” Chains said. “As in, yes.”
“Shut your mouth, bitch,” the guard said, turning and getting in her face. “I’ll show you how dim I am when we get to Sanisco.”
“What does that even mean?” Chains said, laughing.
It earned her a shot to the gut. She took it and kept laughing.
* * *
“SHUT THE GREP UP, I SAID!” the guard shouted.
“Helks, shut the hell up and move away from the prisoners,” the Oversergeant shouted from the front of the transport. “If they want to talk, let them talk. It ain’t going to do them any good.”
“Yes, sir!” Helks said. He glanced at Chains, lowering his voice. “You’re lucky he likes you right now. You won’t be so lucky he likes you when he brings you to his bed later. If he even bothers to take you anywhere first.”
Chains made a face as Helks went back to his place behind them. Then she leaned toward Hayden as much as she could. “It’s called a tank. It’s pretty much immune to the trife as long as the occupants stay inside. But nobody can stay inside forever.”
“Are they expecting a problem?”
“On the way to Sanisco? Probably not, but you never know. They ambush the convoys every once in awhile. My theory is that Commander Ales is a pansy.”
The guard behind them that wasn’t Helks laughed softly at the comment.
The transport jerked a couple of times, making an awful noise before starting to move. The engine was mounted in the rear, and it roared loudly as it worked to bring them up to speed. The other vehicles began to get underway, too, maneuvering around one another to get into position, with the tank in front, the transport in the center, and the old USSF truck in the back. The other Scrapper cars rode on either side of the trio, protecting it from potential attack.
“How long is the trip to Sanisco?” Hayden asked. What he wanted to know was how much time he had to get the other pin out of the arm and into Chains’ hands.
“About nine hours,” Chains replied. “We should get there shortly after nightfall.”
“After nightfall?” Hayden said, surprised.
“Yes. I wouldn’t worry though; we’ll be close enough to the city it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Hayden started shifting his fingers, moving his hand slowly to reach into the compartment and feel for the second pin.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m hoping it will.”
31
AS HAYDEN SUSPECTED, the two guards standing behind them got more lazy with each passing mile, becoming distracted with the landscape as they made the trip from Haven to Sanisco. He barely noticed the outside of the transport himself, glancing down every few seconds to get an eye on the work he was doing in trying to get the pin loose.
When he did look beyond the barred windows, he saw a landscape hued in brown and orange, cracked and swollen and dirty. The road between the former cities had once been littered with cars, the oxidation of rust followed by rains staining the area around it. The cars had all been moved over the many ensuing years, pushed to the side of the road or reclaimed as salvage, but the impact on the earth had remained.
They stopped once about two hours into the trip, the convoy pulling off the side of the road and into nearby vegetation, taking cover and falling silent. The Scrappers had spent the time ignoring him completely, staring out the window and waiting while a goliath crossed over their path. Hayden was tempted to look for the thing with each rattling step it took, but he had to take advantage of the distraction to keep working.
By the time the group felt safe enough to get back on the road, he had nearly gotten the pin free.
They had been on the road for four hours when Hayden finally felt the small snap of the strip of metal dislodge from the arm. He coughed lightly to cover up the noise, quickly shifting the piece into his hand and tucking it up into his cuff with his thumb. He glanced up at the guards. Helks was biting his fingernails, his rifle resting against the back of the seat. The other one, O’Dell, was looking right at him.
“You need something?” O’Dell asked. He was the more reserved of the two, and he seemed more kind. As kind as any Scrapper could be, at least.
“No,” Hayden said. “Thank you.”
He looked away, to Chains. She had her head back, her eyes closed. He was managing to keep his anxiety under control and stay focused on the situation, but how could she sleep through this? He shifted his attention to Jake. He was clenching his hands together, probably doing his best not to look nervous. It wasn’t working.
He put his head back on the seat. He wouldn’t be able to pass the scrap to Chains until O’Dell decided to stop doing his job. It would happen sooner or later, he was sure. It was the interruption by the goliath that had renewed his attention to them.
Another dozen minutes had passed when O’Dell finally looked away, his head turning and his body dipping so he could see out the window opposite them. He reached out and rubbed the smudged glass, clearing it off and squinting his eyes. Then he turned back toward Helks.
“Hey, Helks. Helks.”
The other guard broke out of whatever thought process he was lost in. “What the hell do you want?”
“Take a look outside. Over there.” He pointed through the glass.
Helks leaned over, joining O’Dell at the window. He stayed there for a few seconds before standing up again.
“Sarge, we have a problem!” he shouted.
“What is it, Helks?” the Oversergeant said. He had been resting at the front of the transport, eyes closed and feet up. He stood now, angry to be disturbed.
“Looks like someone’s coming,” Helks said.
The statement caused Chains to open her eyes, and Hayden to sit up straight. He looked at her, asking her who it could be with his body language. She shook her head. She didn’t know. He looked at Jake, who was equally confused.
The Oversergeant banged on the top of the transport. “Hey, you assholes see that? Or are you bastards sleeping up there?”
The roof thudded as feet pounded, turning inside the turrets.
“Shit, Sarge,” someone shouted back from outside. “Motorcycles.”
“Who the grep could that be?” the Oversergeant said. He leaned over the driver. “Tell the Commander.”
The driver picked up his transceiver to radio the tank.
“They look friendly?” the Oversergeant shouted up to the lookouts.
“Can’t say for sure. They’re ar-”
Hayden could see the flash of light in the distance, even through the grimy glass. A half-second later, the world started spinning.
The impact felt like it picked the heavy transport up and turned it ninety degrees before throwing the vehicle roughly onto its side. One moment, Hayden was looking out the window, the next he was being jerked hard against his restraints, the rest of his body hanging in the air. He grunted at the sudden pain in his human hand, turning his wrist in a desperate attempt to keep the pin from sliding out of his cuff. Chains and Jake were equally dislodged, rolling on their binds, bodies flopping back to the seat, then to the side, the roof, and the seat again as they flipped.
The Scrappers weren’t so fortunate. Noth
ing was tethering them to the vehicle, and they were thrown independently from it, inertia and force slamming them into the hard surfaces. Hayden heard the wet crack of O’Dell’s neck as his body was tossed into the roof at an awkward angle, his face planting into the metal. Helks’ body was equally battered, arm shattering as it hit the metal bars on the windows, nose breaking when his face crashed into the back of the seat.
It seemed like it took minutes for the transport to come to a rest, settling on its side. Hayden turned his body in his chains, getting his feet under him though he wasn’t able to fully stand up. Chains was beside him, still gathering herself, while Jake was up and alert, the body armor protecting him from the worst of the blows.
“What the hell was that?” the Borger said.
“I don’t know, but we need to get out of these chains,” Hayden replied. He picked the pin out of his shirt, holding it out to Chains. “I hope you can do this fast.”
She took the pin from him, producing the other one from her mouth. “Damn thing cut my mouth up pretty bad,” she said, spitting out some blood. “Give me a few minutes.”
The sudden sound of gunfire interrupted the silence of the crash’s aftermath. Shouting joined it a moment later, along with the increased pitch and variance of engines.
“Whoever’s on those bikes, they don’t like the Scrappers,” Jake said.
“That doesn’t mean they’ll like us,” Chains replied. “Anyone with the balls to ambush a convoy like this probably doesn’t give a shit about prisoners.”
“Unless they know who the prisoner is,” Jake suggested. “Or what was in the convoy.”
“How would they know that?” Chains said.
“I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean they don’t.”
“We can’t risk it either way,” Hayden said. “Get us out of these.”
“I’m on it. Give me your wrists.”
Hayden put his hands out, spreading the chain so the lock holding it together was easy to reach. Chains took one strip of metal in each hand, sliding it into the hole.
