This Machine Kills

by Steve Liszka

  “Time to buckle up fuck-holes, things are about to get messy.”

  There was only one entrance to the building; a huge pair of wooden oak doors that when closed creating a large arch that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the walls of a mediaeval castle. The walls surrounding the place were made of thick stone and would easily stand up to the initial rocket attacks, making the doors the only entry point. If the Shepherd really was there Taylor thought, then from his elevated position he would have ample time to prepare for the attack. If his followers were well armed, this could end up being a bloody encounter for both sides.

  He felt the gradient of the land change as the Rhino began its ascent of the entrance road. His and Sergeant Dyer’s vehicle were travelling side by side with the other eight in tandem behind them. They would be the first to attack the gates with the rockets that had been hastily fitted to the gun turrets whilst the officers were being briefed by Mason. As it was Dyer who was responsible for providing the information regarding the Shepherd’s whereabouts, he had the prestigious job of being in charge of the operation.

  Taylor turned and shouted up into the turret, “Hey Skinner can you see anything up there?”

  “Negative Sarge. I can’t see shit. There’s no lookouts, no snipers, nothing.”

  Taylor could feel his mouth begin to dry. If his worst thoughts were confirmed and this was a trap, they’d all be dead in a matter of minutes. Was Milton so desperate for a victory that he was willing to risk the lives of over fifty of his men on the strength of a deformed criminal’s words?

  Spike’s voice burst into Taylor’s ear once more, “Boss, Sergeant Dyer has just been on the radio, he’s ready.”

  “Did you hear that Skinner?” Taylor reacted, “it’s time to let those rockets fly.”

  “Bet you fifty bucks you can’t take them out with one shot,” Spike quickly added.

  “You’re on,” Skinner grunted back.

  Seconds later they heard a whoosh of air, swiftly followed by a dull explosion as the rocket collided with the doors.

  “Damn I’m good,” Skinner squealed in delight, “the doors are completely fucked. That’s fifty big ones you owe me fat man.”

  Rudy grabbed Lennox’s knee, “This one’s for your grandfather, the dirty old bastard.”

  The Rhino increased its speed then turned abruptly to the right causing the men in the back to grab onto anything that would help keep them upright. Taylor recognised they must have been inside the yard and as instructed, Spike had positioned the vehicle to provide cover to the troops who would be coming in by foot. To reduce the chance of succumbing to an ambush and prevent a bottleneck that could trap them inside, only the first four vehicles were to enter the compound. If they did meet any resistance however, the men inside the school would be isolated until the cavalry arrived.

  The Rhino ground to a halt, throwing the men out of their seats.

  “How’s it looking Spike?” Taylor asked.

  “It’s dead, more or less.”

  “Are we safe to exit?”

  “Put it this way, it ain’t going to get any better.”

  Taylor looked to the others, “Don’t let your guard down, this could be a set-up.”

  With both hands he wrenched open the door of the Rhino; “Let’s go.”

  His feet sunk into the soil as he landed. Crops, although withered and small, were growing in small clusters around him. It was the first time he had seen real earth; the sort that could sustain life, not just waste-ground, since he’d got back from Canada. Scanning the area, he saw Spike was right; the place was pretty much deserted.

  Taking absolutely no notice of the invaders that had gate-crashed their homes, a few middle-aged women continued to toil on their knees and tend to the wilting vegetables. If it wasn’t for the noise of the doors exploding, it would have been easy to imagine that they hadn’t heard the convoy of vehicles arrive. A couple of young children sat in one corner of the once pristine lawn. They were using a watering can to wet the soil so they could make mud pies for their dolly’s tea party. In the middle of the field stood a lone underfed cow tethered to a stake in the ground. As the troopers piled out of the vehicles, the cow continued to chew on a small patch of grass, completely uninterested by the events taking shape around her.

  As instructed, Taylor and his men pushed out to cover the eastern buildings whilst Dyer covered the west.

  “Keep an eye on the windows,” he shouted to his men, “if they’re up there we’re sitting ducks.”

  As he spoke, the troopers who had abandoned their vehicles outside ran past his men to take up their position covering the northern buildings. The exact same procedure was taking place behind them, covering the south. It had gone like clockwork; the whole area was secured and they’d met no resistance. At least not yet, there were a lot of buildings to be cleared before their mission was complete.

  For the next two hours they would turn every room in every block over as they searched for the Shepherd. Two teams searched each of the wings, with another two kept back on the lawns to stay guard and run some tests on the crops. On his search of the east building, Taylor had found nothing that would suggest that the place was home to an insurrection. His team had ended up in the accommodation block, with the rooms on all three floors being used to house beds. Some of the larger rooms were being utilised as dormitories, much as they would have done when the fee-paying young ladies had stayed there. The smaller rooms were reserved for families, some baring a child’s cot in the corner. There must have been well over a hundred beds yet they had seen less than a dozen women and children on the lawns. Mason was right to be concerned; someone had tipped them off about the raid.

  Taylor and his team went through each bunk, roughly turning over the owner’s bedding. Some had mattresses or cuts of foam but most slept directly on the wooden bunk beds or else on the floor. It took only a few seconds to rifle through what few possessions were on display. It was mainly a few old pictures and lucky charms, (superstition seemed to play a big part in the way these people lived), but they found nothing worthwhile. Taylor felt relieved; the lack of any decent leads validated his decision not to tell Mason what he knew about the place.

  From the messages he was picking up over his radio, he was able to gleam an idea of the layout of the rest of the buildings. The western block was being used for communal activities and incorporated classrooms, (both for adults and children), a crèche and a recreation room with a battered old pool table and dartboard. At one point Dyer radioed Taylor to tell him he had found a blackboard with diagrams scrawled on it. At first he though it was some sort of plan of attack on the City but was eventually advised by one of his more learned men that it was a description of how plant pollination worked.

  In the south wing they had discovered a primitive medical centre. Judging from the surgical instruments and blood stained bandages that had been discovered there, it was clear that whoever was running the place was operating on the patients when required. On the floor below the make-do surgery were workshops where furniture and other necessities were made from the remains of salvaged junk. Most impressive of all, he felt, was the miniature farm located on the ground floor of the northern block. From what he could make out, there was an area holding scores of chickens, a pen that contained four goats, another cow and a half dozen sheep. The upper floors of the block seemed to be deserted.

  With his brain ceasing to input their relentless moans any longer, Taylor’s men continued to search one of the larger dormitories. They had gone there expecting a firefight of epic proportions and had ended up sifting through people’s junk. Smiling to himself he thought that maybe this was just what Lennox’s grandfather would have wanted for them.

  Just as he was about to wave off the search, a voice broke out into his ear-piece, “All units get back to the lawns now!”

  It was Sergeant Appleby, in charge of the search of the North building; “We’ve found someone up here.”

  While Tay
lor waited on the lawn for Appleby and his prisoner to arrive, he studied the work that had been done to the grounds. He knew nothing of farming, but could see that this was more than just a few vegetables growing randomly. The panes of glass leaning on each other to form A-frames were being used as greenhouses and though much smaller and less attractive than those he was used to, tomatoes, oranges and other fruits were growing plentifully within their confines.

  In neat rows in the soil surrounding him, he could identify all manner of vegetables that he recognised from the shelves of the macromarket. There were others though, whose names he didn’t have the slightest clue of (no matter how hard he thought back to the meals his mother prepared for him). It was easily the most impressive of all the co-ops he had ever come across. Watching the troopers scan the crops with their genetic coding devices, he thought it was a shame it would meet the same fate as the rest of them.

  A set of doors in the northern building swung open and a few noisy troopers charged out. They were demonstrating the sort of high spirits that would have been expected from a group of fans watching their favourite team play murder-ball. Following them was a huge man being led out in hang cuffs. The troopers behind him had their rifles aimed at his head. Taylor could already feel his stomach begin to drop.

  “Hey Sarge,” Rudy smiled, “ain’t that your friend they got there?”

  As Appleby and his men walked Ben to the lawn, Dyer had already made his way to where Taylor and his team were congregating. Judging from his heavy breathing he had run all the way.

  “Hopefully it won’t have proved to be a waste of time after all.” he said in gasping breaths, “We may have just found ourselves the Shepherd.”

  Taylor shook his head, “Nah, that won’t be him.”

  “Really? How come you’re so sure?” Dyer tried his best not to sound deflated, “Looks like he fits the bill just fine to me.”

  “Scuse me for interrupting sir,” Rudy said, his head held at just the right angle to suggest Dyer’s superiority, “but in case you didn’t know, the black fellow and Sergeant Taylor used to be friends.”

  Taylor shot a glance to Rudy who was now smiling broadly at him.

  “Is that right?” Dyer asked excitedly, he could already smell a positive result coming from this new development.

  Taylor nodded.

  “Does he trust you?”

  “Not anymore, he wouldn’t trust any of us now.”

  Dyer smiled, “Maybe, but if anyone can get him to talk then it’s going to be you. Besides, if he doesn’t talk now you know what will happen to him in the interrogation suites.”

  At this point Taylor could feel the confidence exuding from his colleague. He hated being played by his own people and Dyer was playing him perfectly. Seeing that Appleby and his men were nearly with them, Dyer spoke again,

  “Tell you what, I’ll give you five minutes alone with him, see if you can’t get your friend to open up to us. Your men can keep guard,” he said, patting Taylor on the shoulder, “we wouldn’t want our star prisoner making a break for it.”

  The prisoner offered no resistance as Appleby’s men led him to within feet of Dyer and Taylor.

  “We found him in the attic,” Appleby reported, “almost missed him too. He was watching the whole thing through these.”

  He handed Dyer a pair of binoculars. As the men spoke, Ben’s eyes remained glued to his old friend. His face was completely blank of expression.

  “Well done Sergeant,” Dyer congratulated him, “good work.”

  One of the troopers, who had just finished scanning the vegetables, approached Dyer.

  “Sir we have checked the foodstuffs and they’re all illegal.”

  Dyer nodded, “I thought so, prepare the chemical sprays and destroy the lot.”

  Ben’s eyes moved away from Taylor, for the first time betraying his emotions,

  “They’re vegetables,” he said, “how the fuck can they be illegal?”

  Dyer answered in the most patronising of tones, “As you well know, ClearSkies owns the patent and intellectual property to all these products. Only seeds created by them can be grown, and these,” he nodded at a pile of dug up carrots, “are genetically impure. It is illegal to use the non-registered breeds you are harvesting.”

  Dyer turned to face the trooper once more, “What about the animals?”

  “Same,” the man nodded.

  “Then you know what to do.”

  The trooper scampered back to the rest of his unit.

  “Sergeant Appleby, bring your men with me.” Dyer commanded, “We’re going to let Taylor and our man have some time together.”

  When they had gone, only Taylor and his crew were left with Ben.

  “You know I wish I could say it was a surprise to see you here but nothing you do surprises me anymore,” the prisoner said, “you’re so fucking weak.”

  Taylor took a step forward,

  “Listen Ben, just cut the bullshit alright. You are going to be in a lot of trouble unless you tell me everything you know about the Shepherd right now.”

  Ben went to motion with his hands but the handcuffs restricted his movement, “I’d love to give to you some dirt for your masters but I don’t know shit.”

  “Really, then I’m sure they’ll be happy to say you’re him if it means they get a result. Do you want that?”

  Ben looked unperturbed, “They can say whatever the fuck they like, but they’ll soon realise I’m not him when things start taking shape.”

  Taylor leaned closer in; his voice dropping so only Ben could hear him.

  “Please. If you don’t start talking they are going to interrogate you. I have seen what they do to people in those places and believe me, it’s not something you want to happen.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you have. I bet you just love to watch people getting tortured, you fucking traitor.”

  Taylor struck Ben with his open hand. It was out of frustration more than wanting to do him any harm. The slap landed solidly and echoed around the buildings. If it had been a smaller man, he would have knocked him off his feet. As he stepped back he could see a large, red welt had formed across his cheek.

  “That’s it, do it!” Ben said, his voice remaining steady. Only the tears that ran from his eyes betrayed his demeanour.

  “Come on, hit me again. Let me see what you’ve got.”

  It was Ben who was now stepping forward.

  “Do it Sarge,” Lennox yelled, “kill that fucker.”

  Ben advanced another step, “Come on Taylor you’ve always wanted to beat me, here’s your shot.”

  With both hands Taylor pushed him as hard as he could in the chest but the larger man barely moved.

  Ben laughed, “Is that all you’ve got you pussy? Come on, do it. You’ve betrayed everyone else in your life, you might as well turn on me now.”

  Taylor stepped back, “Fuck you Ben.”

  As he retreated, the tears in his eyes blurred his vision of the figure that had charged towards him.

  “Don’t walk away from me Taylor!” Ben shouted.

  His progress was halted by the butt of Skinner’s rifle slamming into the side of his face. When the commotion started, he had left the Rhino to watch the events unfold. Ben staggered to the side, his left leg temporarily buckling beneath him before he found his feet again. Skinner looked shocked; he had hit hundreds of people like that before and none of them had stayed standing.

  Ben managed to smile at Skinner as the blood ran from a deep cut on his eyebrow,

  “Is that all you’ve got big fella?”

  Before Taylor could yell at him to stop, Skinner was on Ben, launching the rifle butt at his head in a powerful arc. Ben ducked under the weapon and drove his right shoulder into Skinner’s exposed ribcage, temporarily winding him. In an instant he had sprung back to his full height and despite being handcuffed, threw his elbow into Skinner’s jaw, dropping the even bigger man onto his knees. As he went down, Ben’s own knee drove into Skinner�
�s face, knocking him out cold.

  With his enemy’s back to him, Lennox saw his chance and launched his own assault. Almost without realising it, Taylor became aware he was calling out his friend’s name, warning him of Lennox’s approach. Ben spun around just in time to see his attacker coming. He kicked out with all his might, landing his foot square in Lennox’s balls. The stockier man let out a cry as he doubled over in pain, then in a display of speed that defied his size, Ben leapt forward with his chained fists above his head, slamming them down onto Lennox’s back, causing him to collapse onto his face.

  Spitting blood at his feet, Ben turned to confront the target of his fury,

  “Come on Taylor, you next.”

  “No asshole,” Rudy’s pistol was aimed at Ben’s head, “me next.”

  Before Taylor could get near him, Rudy had already fired. The man-mountain had gone down so quickly, he thought he must have been seeing things. For as long as he had known him, Nails had never gone down, not ever. He dived to the floor to check for signs of life but it was all-too evident his friend was dead; Rudy’s shot had blown half his forehead away, exposing Ben’s shattered skull to the world.

  Taylor jumped back to his feet, still not sure if what he had just seen had really happened, “What the fuck did you do?”

  Rudy lowered the gun to his waist, “My job. Just like you should have.”

  “You didn’t need to shoot him you son of a bitch!” Taylor screamed.

  Rudy’s head shook in disbelief, “No you’re right, you should have. But you stood by and watched him take out two of your men. You even tried to warn the motherfucker.”

  Taylor was temporarily stuck for words.

  “You’re an animal,” he finally said, defeat resounding in his voice.

  “No,” Rudy answered, “I’m a SecForce trooper just like you. The difference is I’m not a burden on the team. You know something Taylor, one day your guilty conscience is going to get us all killed.”

  Before he realised he’d done it, Taylor hit him with a straight right that he threw from deep down in the soles of his feet. Rudy briefly fell to the ground but was back up before Taylor could shorten the distance between them; he had taken the punch well. The pistol now pointing at his chest stopped Taylor in his tracks.