Sixth Cycle

by Darren Wearmouth

  “Why don’t you show him?” the barman said.

  “Trader will be here soon. He doesn’t need to see it.”

  When something piqued Jake’s curiosity, he had to know. Besides Mullet, the people in the bar didn’t display any signs of aggression, so he felt comfortable pushing. “He’s not here yet. Surely it can’t be that bad?”

  “All right,” Roy said. “It’s in the yard. Follow me.”

  He led Jake to the back end of the bar and along a tight corridor.

  “Are you from Sigma?” Jake asked.

  “Born and raised. I work on the central heating systems. I guess this all seems crazy to you?”

  “It’s more like going back in time, rather than forward.”

  Roy paused at the rear entrance and looked over his shoulder. “How do you mean?”

  “You have the construction, electricity, firearms, vehicles, farming and basic technology. But you don’t have things like cell phones, the Internet and television.”

  “We might one day. They’d only provide a distraction at the moment. The strongholds create what we need to survive and defend ourselves. I’m sure if we put our heads together, we could get nonessential items working, but they’re a waste of resources.”

  “Understood,” Jake said. Roy’s statement made a lot more sense than some of the other logic he’d heard since waking. With a limited population, they had to prioritize. “How do you wind down? Do you play any sports inside the walls?”

  Roy clicked a switch on the wall and opened the door. “We use this for entertainment after a few drinks.”

  A light illuminated a small enclosed yard outside. Six steel barrels lined the left-hand side. The two closest to the bar had tubes running from the top of them, through a gap at the bottom of the wall. A bronze statue sat on a stone plinth at the far end. Jake moved closer to get a better look.

  The inscription plate read A gift from Epsilon to our brothers in Sigma. A cast of an Orbital Bomber had a bust of a man welded on top of it. He had Phillips on his name tag. Jake felt for his own tag and shook his head. He couldn’t believe they made a statue of him and his ship.

  “They sent it here thirty-five years ago,” Roy said. “The old governor kept it outside the admin building for a couple of years, but people kept vandalizing it. He used to put it back when Epsilon visited, but it was soon forgotten about.”

  The statue’s head had red paint splashed across its lips and dints in the forehead and cheeks. Four loose wooden rings hung around its neck.

  Jake looped one over its head. “What are these for?”

  “It’s a game.” Roy pointed to a yellow line painted across the cobbles. “You stand behind that and try to land a ring over the head. The last person to do it has to get the drinks.”

  Jake smiled. At least he provided them with some form of entertainment. He found it a relief to see a human side shining through their functional society.

  The door swung open behind him. Trader stood in the entrance.

  “I see you’ve found your statue. You’re in my spare room tonight. I’ll show you to it.”

  Jake checked his watch. Just past eight in the evening and he didn’t feel tired. Then again, he’d slept for decades. “What did the governor want?”

  “If I had any information from my scout. I sent him south to try to find out why we’re seeing an increase in wastelanders.”

  “And did you?” Roy said.

  “He should be close to the radiation zone tonight,” Trader said. “We’ll see what he reports back.”

  “Is she taking in the man from the bunker?” Jake asked.

  “For the moment, but if we find any more in the bunker tomorrow, we can’t bring them back.”

  “What time are we heading off?”

  “We’re hitting it at first light.”

  Trader grabbed the ring from Jake’s hand and tossed it at the statue. It bounced off its head and fell to the ground.

  Chapter Twelve

  Deafening blasts of gunfire filled the chamber. A high-pitched whistle rang in Skye’s ears. The wastelander who entered, with an axe raised over his head, collapsed forward and slid down five rocky steps to the ground in front of the team. Children screamed in the chamber behind them. A pungent smell of nitroglycerin hung in the air.

  Ryder sprang forward, grabbed the axe, and returned to the extended line. He moved along the back of it at a running crouch and stopped next to Skye.

  “One of us has to make it out of here,” he said.

  Skye leaned her head toward him but kept focus on the entrance. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s a way out in the third chamber. Climb the wall on the left side and you’ll find a small tunnel. It leads to the east face.”

  “Take the children. I’m staying here to fight.”

  “They can’t make it up. At least you can warn people what’s coming.”

  “I already have. They don’t take it seriously.”

  “If they don’t, you need to think—”

  Skye fired at two wastelanders who jumped through the entrance. The shotgun blasted to her right. One went down straight away. A spray of blood spattered the cave wall behind him. The other clutched her stomach and attempted to raise her spear. Her head snapped back after a round drilled through her forehead, and she fell lifelessly to the stone.

  “Keep your composure, guys,” Ryder said. “They can’t all get in at once. Take aimed shots and conserve your ammunition.”

  His team appeared calm under his confident leadership. The more Skye got to see of him, the more she realized he couldn’t be the man described on the note in her pack. Whoever organized this mission had a different kind of axe to grind.

  A spear sliced out of the dark, flew over the heads of the men in the middle of the rank, and smashed against the wall behind them. One of the men reached back and pulled it by his side.

  “How much ammo have you got?” Skye said.

  “About twenty rounds each. We haven’t been to Epsilon for a while. We’ll use their weapons as a last resort.”

  Skye looked along the line. All of the men and women held stronghold-produced weapons. “They gave you all this?”

  “You’re not all assholes. People should listen to Beth and Barry.”

  She didn’t feel upset at the revelation. Nothing told her these were bad people, and who could deny them protection against wastelanders. Her thoughts were dangerous to express in a stronghold, but in the cave, under attack, only a heartless soul would deny the outlaws a supply of weapons. Skye felt conscious that the trip had started to change her, but she needed to finish it in one piece to make that change worthwhile.

  Ryder swung his rifle up and fired. A wastelander clutched his neck and dropped to his knees. One of Ryder's team ran forward, raised her pistol, and fired in the wastelander's face. She quickly retreated back. So far they efficiently held firm. It was hard to imagine the attacking wastelanders outnumbering the amount of ammunition.

  “If our ammo runs low, you’re out of here,” Ryder said.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that.”

  “What happened this morning at Omega?”

  Omega defense forces were not permitted to discuss any threats or weaknesses with anyone unless they had Finch’s personal approval. Right now, she didn’t care and felt part of a different team.

  “Twenty attacked the northern steps. First time I’ve seen a group like that. Have you heard of Sky Man?”

  “I heard the rumors ten years ago. Nothing since. We’ve seen them heading north in the last few weeks. Any idea what’s going on?”

  She shook her head. “Your guess is as good as mine, but it only means trouble for both of us.”

  The cave fell silent. Shotgun wiped sweat from his brow, opened up a box, and stuffed six shells into his jacket pocket. Two of the team carried out a tactical reload, switching their rifle magazines.

  A collective scream pierced the silence.

  Ryder pulle
d his rifle tight against his shoulder. “This is it, guys. Get ready.”

  Figures moved outside. One of the team pumped two rounds into the darkness. Seconds later, eight wastelanders rushed through the entrance. The first two jerked and fell as rounds ripped through their bodies. Two darted to the right, two to the left. More poured through the entrance behind the first wave. The cave reverberated with the cracks of gunfire.

  Skye twisted left, following a wastelander through her sights, and fired. He slumped against the wall and clutched his hip. Ryder fired at the other. In the corner of her eye, she saw one dive straight over the steps and land with a dull thud in front of the team. Shotgun fired at him from point-blank range.

  She fired at the injured wastelander and struck him in the temple. Ryder took care of the other one on their side.

  The team in the center continued firing. More wastelanders ran in. The ferocity of their suicidal attack didn’t slow. The initial charge must have encouraged others waiting outside. They continued to advance without fear.

  An axe spun through the air. One of Ryder’s men let out an anguished cry. Skye glanced across. He fell backward with the axe buried in his chest. A woman turned to give him attention.

  “Leave him,” Ryder shouted. “Grab his ammo and continue the fight.”

  One of the men ran, skidded next to the casualty, and slipped his magazine out of his rifle. He replaced it in his own, turned and fired.

  A large wastelander, dressed in dark brown animal hide, stopped in the entrance and held a metal tube to his mouth. Skye shot him in the stomach. He dropped to one arm before slumping on his face. She only had five rounds left. If they kept coming, the others would soon run out too.

  Shotgun loaded two shells and fired at a wastelander who jumped from the ledge. Her shoulder jerked to the side, and she fell flat on her back.

  “Cease firing,” Ryder shouted.

  No more ran through the entrance. Skye could hear them grunting at each other outside. Twenty bodies lay inside. Ten around the mouth of the cave, five in front of the team, and the others spread on either side. Two of the wastelanders groaned and tried to pull themselves along the ground.

  The man hit by the axe coughed up blood, and it ran down the side of his pale cheek. He probably wouldn’t live to see the sun rise. None of them would if the wastelanders continued to attack. A woman edged back and placed a hand on the wounded man's shoulder. He placed his quivering hand on top of hers and closed his eyes.

  “Ammo check. One at a time,” Ryder shouted.

  “Five rounds.”

  “Seven.”

  “I’m out. Any spares for a rifle?”

  The team carried on shouting the numbers in turn. The numbers didn’t get any higher. Ryder tossed a full magazine along the line. “Split this between you. It’s all we’ve got.”

  A flaming hay bale slid in front of the entrance. A wastelander must’ve shoved it. It rolled forward, tumbled down the rocky steps, and bounced in front of the team. Hot embers shot across the floor, and smoke puffed into the air.

  One of the team pulled off their ragged old Omega jacket and beat it against the bale. Skye focused through the thin smoke at the entrance. Another flaming bale spun into the cave and rested on the ledge.

  Three wastelanders tried to sneak up behind it. The team fired. Only a wastelander or a fool would think an object like that would provide cover. The smoke rising to the ceiling and slowly lowering was a bigger problem.

  Ryder grabbed her shoulder. “Time for you to leave.”

  “I’m staying. This is my fight too.”

  “Don’t be stupid. If this is a sign of things to come, you need to warn your people.”

  The team members on the far right fired. A wastelander fell in front of them. Skye hadn’t run from a fight in ten years. It didn’t feel right.

  “I can’t leave you here like this.”

  Ryder pulled Skye to a standing position and stared into her eyes. “I haven’t got time to argue. Get the hell out of here and make a difference.”

  Skye turned and ran. She entered the second chamber and glanced to her left. Parents comforted their scared children, but didn’t look in a much better state. She thought about turning and ignoring Ryder’s order, but deep down she understood his logic. As much as it pained her heart, somebody had to survive and tell their story.

  She kept on running to the third chamber. Gunfire rattled behind her as the attack continued.

  * * *

  Skye found a good foothold in the rock and hoisted herself higher. She told herself not to look down. After climbing thirty feet up the wall, a cool draft from the tunnel brushed against her face. Sporadic fire echoed through the chambers, becoming less frequent, but crucially still continuing. They hadn’t been overrun yet.

  While she never suffered from a fear of heights, falling from here would cause serious damage. A bead of sweat ran down her temple. She reached up and gripped a small outcrop and pulled to check its sturdiness.

  Her left foothold crumbled, and she tensed against the rock face. Small pieces dropped and peppered the ground below. Skye’s heart thumped against her chest. She scraped her left foot against the rough surface, searching for another foothold. After finding solid rock to take her weight, she paused to catch her breath.

  Twenty more seconds of ascent would do it. Wind groaned through the tunnel above her. The ceiling wasn’t much higher. She flexed her tired muscles and braced herself. A child screamed in the second chamber.

  She placed her right foot into a fissure, gripped the side of it with her hand, and sprang up to a small ledge. This allowed her to stand and observe below. The flames on the torches had reduced in size. Thin gray smoke drifted through the entrance. Nothing moved below. Three single shots rang out.

  Skye grabbed a six-foot cream-colored stalactite with her left hand. It immediately came loose and dropped. Dust puffed from the ceiling, and she blinked to clear her eyes. The stalactite shattered into pieces on the rocks below.

  She looked up for a more reliable grip. Two small darker rocks jutted from just below the tunnel entrance. One last push to make it; then the hard work really started. Once outside, she had to negotiate her way back through the dark alpine forest, through a half a mile of barren wasteland to the SUV that Rhodes loaned her.

  At least she still had five rounds of ammunition left. Ryder’s team probably had that between them. If shots were still going off, wastelanders were still coming, and they would soon run dry and resort to hand-to-hand fighting.

  Skye reached up and grabbed the ledge. She placed her foot higher up the fissure, gritted her teeth, and raised herself into the tunnel, landing on her belly. A breeze chilled the sweat on her brow, and she let out a deep breath.

  A shallow stream of water ran along the bottom, dampening her uniform. She crawled on her elbows and knees along the cramped space. A large man would struggle to get through, but Skye quickly made her way along the twelve-foot passage to the outer entrance and brushed a leafy branch to one side.

  She knelt behind a bush next to the rock face and listened. Wastelanders grunted and shouted to her left. Far enough away that she could slip away in the opposite direction undetected.

  Moonlight shining down from the star-studded sky provided good visibility. That was both good and bad. Good so she could retrace her steps once out of the forest. Bad that her silhouette would be more easily spotted.

  Two dull cracks came from inside the cave. The outlaws were still fighting, but that also meant that the wastelanders were occupied.

  Skye unslung her rifle and moved away from the bush. Picking her way down through the first part of the rocky forest wasn’t going to be easy, but at least it provided more places to hide from any stray wastelanders. After that, crunching over scree would be noisy. Without her knife, only her wits and rifle protected her. A shot fired in a wastelander-occupied area attracted them immediately.

  She clambered over a rock, stooped low to keep her shape
as small as possible, and ducked between the trees.

  An owl hooted. A dark figure stood from behind a rock and gazed up. Skye darted behind a tree and held her rifle to her chest.

  She heard an extended grunt. A wastelander. She wondered how many were in the forest. This one was only ten yards away, in her direction of travel.

  He sniffed and growled. She couldn’t move from behind the tree without him seeing her. She didn’t want to give him the chance to charge unseen. There was only one thing for it.

  She swung around the tree, aimed and fired. He toppled backward as the shot echoed through the forest. Wastelanders roared in the distance. She looked to her left and saw shapes moving toward her. They were less than one hundred yards away.

  Skye turned and ran.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Carlos bumped along a damaged highway with dimmed headlights. The last remnants of daylight departed, and he had to stop. Traveling one hundred miles south of the strongholds meant any artificial lights would only attract trouble. He steered between two smashed sections of the barrier, pulled his SUV behind a small group of trees, and crunched up the handbrake.

  Trader gave him clear instructions. Keep going until you find something. He’d already patrolled for three days, covering a wide area. Wastelanders were around in small groups, most heading north without any signs of the reason.

  Being a scout had its perks, like avoiding the crap jobs in the strongholds and their strict rules, and having plenty of free time to explore. This was its big downside. Searching hostile territory with the risk of being poisoned by radiation.

  Carlos regretted reading books. His life would’ve been much easier if he just accepted the world, instead of obsessing over the trappings of the destroyed society. It gave him a craving for freedom and adventure. As a scout he could search old buildings and scratch his itch.

  He grabbed a Geiger counter off the passenger seat, folded it under his left arm, and slipped his gun out of his holster.

  The last nine readings were all standard background radiation levels. He’d taken one every ten miles after leaving Sigma, and was approaching the Californian border. He elbowed open the door handle and crouched behind a tree.