by Jake Bible
***
“You see,” the councilwoman kept on. “We are quite capable of self-sufficiency. Our society has flourished the past hundred years. We do not need protection or salvation from the wasteland. We are only looking to establish alliances that will best strengthen our way of life.”
“You have a strange sense of diplomacy,” Harlow said.
The councilwoman turned and eyed Harlow carefully. “Strange? Hardly. We had a choice between the few,” she nodded towards Harlow. “Or the many.” She gestured to the wasteland above. “It really wasn’t strange at all. Simple math.”
Harlow laughed. “You have no idea what’s up there.”
***
The councilwoman smiled condescendingly at the mech pilot. “We are fully aware of the shift of power occurring. That is why we already have a delegation above, waiting to speak to the Rancher army marching this way.” The councilwoman eyed the holes in the cavern’s ceiling. “They should be arriving now.”
It was then that Harlow noticed the growing vibrations for the first time. “You think those are Ranchers? You’re all fools. The army that’s coming can’t be negotiated with. You can’t deal with the dead.”
The councilwoman laughed. “Your attempts at deception are pitiful, pilot. I’d have expected better.”
***
The Skinners all became still and silent as the deader army marched and rolled above, shaking the cavern slightly. Men and women eyed the ceiling warily, the noise of the march reverberating off the glowing walls.
“You need to leave. You need to run. There is nothing but death up there. Trust me, it’s my job,” Harlow warned.
“Shhhhh!” the councilwoman scolded.
At once the march ceased, an ominous silence thickening the air.
“You see,” the councilwoman beamed triumphantly. “You were wrong.”
Harlow didn’t flinch as the first explosion, then the second brought dust and debris down on the Skinners.
***
“You were saying?” Harlow shouted over the terrified screams and yells of the Skinners.
The councilwoman waved her hands about, trying to get everyone’s attention. “Quiet! Quiet! I am sure those are just warning shots designed to show us their strength. I am positive no one has been harmed.”
“Who’d you blow to get on the council?” Harlow laughed. “You’re a fucking idiot if you believe your own bullshit.”
The councilwoman glared at Harlow. “I have had enough of your negativity.” She waved her hand at the two Skinners holding Harlow. “Secure her until we finish negotiations with the Ranchers.”
***
“You’re all going to die,” Harlow said to her Skinner guards. “There isn’t a living soul up above right now, nothing but thousands upon thousands of deaders. And I’m sure they are very, very hungry. Marching across the wasteland towards war can work up an appetite.”
“Shut it, woman,” one of the Skinners barked, yanking on Harlow’s arm.
“And you just volunteered to die first,” Harlow stated.
“If there’s death today, it’ll be yours,” the Skinner snarled back.
“What about you?” Harlow asked the other guard. “You feel like being eaten alive?”
“I trust the council,” the Skinner responded.
“Idiot.”
***
“They’re all dead!” a voice yelled. “Seal the entrance! They’re right behind-” But the Skinner never finished as his throat was ripped out.
The guards’ hands fell away from Harlow’s arms and she immediately planted her elbows into both Skinners’ throats. They dropped to their knees and Harlow slammed their heads together, rendering them unconscious. She grabbed her long blades from one of the guards, but didn’t see her sidearm. “Shit,” she muttered.
Strapping her blades to her back, she turned towards the main cave. Zombies poured into the cavern, falling on anyone unlucky enough to be in their way.
***
Screams of agony, screams of terror, pleas for help, pleas for mercy, all echoed within the cavern, but the sounds fell on dead ears.
Harlow scanned the wall of the cavern, finding what she hoped was the tunnel she had been brought through. She dashed for the tunnel, but stopped only feet away as deaders burst from the entrance. Her blades were in her hands without thinking and she went to work.
Hours, days, months, years of training kicked in and Harlow’s blades lashed out, perfect extensions of her body. She was a deadly blur of synchronized strength and agility.
***
Harlow fought alone.
Claws reached for her, but the hands fell, separated from rotting wrists. Teeth gnashed, searching for her skin, but the heads fell, severed from their shoulders.
Harlow was a graceful, beautiful machine of death. A goddess set upon the earth to do one thing: kick deader ass.
She thrust a blade through a zombie child, yanking up and out, splitting the torso up the middle. Kicking out, she knocked the true corpse to the ground. Seeing another zombie lunge, Harlow knelt quickly, raising both blades above her head, dicing the deader like a cook would a carrot.
***
Harlow rolled away, flicking the gore from her blades. She looked down at her uniform and the deader blood on it. The thin cloth, while tough against daily wear and tear, was not going to last against zombie claws.
Feet away, a deader gorged itself on the blood gushing from a Skinner’s throat, apparently the weak part of their attire. Harlow strode with purpose to the deader, dispatching attackers as they came at her.
She kicked in the deader’s head and pulled the Skinner corpse into a nearby hollow. With a wary eye, Harlow stripped the body of its hide.
***
Harlow managed to get her legs in the hide before she had to dispatch four zombies. She got her left arm in, dispatched three more zombies, then her right arm and again three more zombies were dispatched. By the time she had the hide secured upon her frame she was nearly concealed behind a stack of deader corpses.
Pulling on the skin hood and gloves, Harlow reached down and scooped a handful of the liquids leaking from the deaders and smeared them onto the Skinner armor. Hoping the camouflage would work, Harlow vaulted the pile, diving headlong into Hell itself.
***
Harlow ignored the Skinners she passed, leaving them to suffer the consequences of their selfish choices. Many of the Skinners had been lazy in their assumption of security, so had not donned their skins. Harlow kept her eyes averted as flesh and skin were ripped from screaming victims.
She slashed and killed as needed, but her progress was barley impeded by the deaders as they had so many other targets to choose from to satisfy their bloodlust and hunger. Some zombies that came close became confused by her presence, sensing the life in her. Those that focused too long fell.
***
“Please don’t kill me!” a man cried, eyeing the body of a Skinner Harlow had just killed. “I can get us out of here!”
Deaders spun at the sound of the human voice and charged. Harlow stepped in front of the man, her blades a whirl of gore smeared steel. “Shut the fuck up and show me! NOW!”
He pointed to a small opening two levels up, close to the ceiling of the cavern. Harlow surveyed the routes, chose one and moved.
“Hey! Wait!” the man called.
Harlow decapitated three zombies before turning on the man. “Shut the fuck up!”
***
Burying her blades in the skulls of two zombies, one on her right, the other on her left, Harlow let go of her weapons and focused on the deader coming straight for her, arms reaching, clawing at her.
She grabbed the outstretched limbs and yanked, pulling them from their sockets. The look on the zombie’s face was nearly comical, but was gone in a flash as Harlow bludgeoned the deader with its own severed arms.
All happened in a blink and Harlow had dropped the arms and pulled her blades free of the zombie skulls before th
e deaders could fall.
***
The man screamed, calling out, but Harlow didn’t bother turning, all of her attention focused on escape. She heard the cries, but compartmentalized them, tucked them away in her psyche. She owed no one.
The attacks grew more frequent and she was positive the deaders were fully aware she wasn’t one of them, her rouse beginning to fail.
Mere yards away, Harlow could not contain herself any longer and gave into the blinding berserker rage that had always been her core, that had always been her driving force.
Her mind went red and rationality stepped back.
Death incarnate stepped forward.
***
Harlow punched through the wasteland earth with her left arm, her right useless as she had to dislocate her shoulder in order to squeeze through the shaft not meant for human passage.
She kicked her legs and forced her upper half out of the ground. With her right arm pinned underneath her she positioned her body and rolled, popping the shoulder back into place.
She got to her knees and her lips peeled back in a vicious grin. Yards away stood the mech transport.
Now she would only need to annihilate the hundred or so zombies between her and it.
***
“I am Death! I am Death! I am Death!” she repeated over and over, her mantra of destruction, a chorus from Hell.
What humanity Harlow had left fell away in a baptism of red, black and grey gore. The only difference between her and the zombie horde that collapsed about her was her beating heart. A heart that slowed to a steady relaxing beat, as if she was merely taking an afternoon stroll.
The words continued flowing from her lips in a steady, unending chant. “I am Death! I am Death! I am Death! I AM DEATH! I AM DEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAATH!”
***
Like waking from a trance, Harlow found herself atop a heap of deader bodies, covered from head to toe in undead fluids. Inches from her was the transport’s ramp and she dreamily reached out and keyed in the lock code. The second the ramp began to descend she grabbed a hold of the edge, swung her body up and over and slid down into the transport. She immediately stopped the ramp’s descent, brining it back into locked position.
Tossing her soiled blades aside, she sat down at the controls as her chest tightened and she fought the encroaching adrenal crash.
Chapter Eleven
Part One- The First Wave
June put her finger to her lips as the door slid open and Themopolous stepped into the train compartment.
“How’s he doing?” Themopolous whispered.
“He’s been asleep for an hour now,” June responded. “How are Bisby and Jethro?”
“Bisby’s stable and I’ve already prepped the arm for prosthetics. Jethro isn’t doing as well,” the Doctor sighed.
“Will he make it?”
“Physically, yes, we can keep his body alive indefinitely. His mind, though, probably has 24 hours.” Themopolous motioned towards a chair. “But, let’s move on to you. Have a seat here and let’s get a better look at your injuries.”
***
“The first wave is here, sir,” Specialist Nguyen announced.
“How many?” Lieutenant Murphy asked.
“87,000 on the ground and 14 transports,” Nguyen responded.
The Lieutenant looked at her communications Specialist. “Are you fucking shitting me?”
“No, sir, those numbers are shit free,” Nguyen said.
“Smart ass,” Sol said, looking over Nguyen’s shoulder at the tablet.
Murphy activated her com. “Dig in folks. I want concealed defensive positions set up. Who has the charges?”
“I do, sir,” Austin replied.
“Good. Get over here. We’re going to need to plot out some special placement for those.”
“You got it, Lieutenant,” Austin said.
***
June painfully pulled her shirt over her head. Themopolous nodded at the wrapping and began to unwind the cloth from her midsection.
“Looks like the Railer medics have done a decent job,” Themopolous said. “But, I’d like to get a better… Oh, sweet Jeezus, June!” The Doctor looked up into June’s eyes. The pilot held her gaze, never flinching as Themopolous carefully probed the deep purple bruises. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Do you?” June asked. “I can go into grisly detail if you want.”
Themopolous winced at June’s tone. “The ribs are definitely broken.”
“Yeah, I know.”
***
“Um, sir, Johnson is aware of our presence. I don’t see how setting up any position is going to be a tactical advantage,” Specialist Sol said.
Lieutenant Murphy turned to her 2nd in command. “Would you rather we all just stand here with our dicks in our hands?”
“No, sir, but I’d like to see you try,” Sol smirked. Murphy narrowed her eyes and Sol cleared his throat. “I’m just saying that maybe this isn’t our stand. Maybe we should just let happen what’s going to happen and assess the situation after the dust settles.”
Murphy narrowed her eyes further.
***
A light knocking on the compartment door brought a welcome distraction from the room’s tension. The door slid open and the Rookie peeked his head in. “Sorry to interrupt. Bisby’s coming out of it and he’s not being very cooperative.”
“Okay, we’re done. I’ll be right there,” Themopolous said, handing June her shirt. “Rest if you can.”
June didn’t respond, her eyes and attention locked on the Rookie. “Who the fuck are you?”
The Rookie was taken aback and looked to Themopolous and back to June. “Um, I’m the Rookie. Remember?”
“June? Are you alright? What’s wrong?” Themopolous asked, alarmed.
***
“I’m going to explain this one time and one time only,” Murphy said, her anger barely contained. “This is our stand. This is our fight. And if it’s the last one, so be it.” She looked at her unit, assessing each member carefully. “If we run and Johnson wins this shit then we could be some of the only people left alive in the whole fucking world.”
She grabbed up her AR-715 auto-carbine and checked the chamber. “And it may not mean much to you gents, but I really don’t want to have the only working uterus in the wasteland.”
***
“You should rest,” Themopolous said, trying to divert June’s attention from the Rookie.
“Who the fuck are you?” June asked again, ignoring the Doctor.
“That’s the Rookie, June,” Themoplous said.
June gave the Doctor a look of reproach and stood, moving towards the door. “Fuck all that Rookie shit. Where did you come from? You aren’t city/state, are you?”
The Rookie snorted. “Did one of the Railers tell you? No, I’m not city/state. I was born in the waste. I’m, was, a Boiler.”
June stumbled back and Themopolous reached out to steady her.
“You look just like him,” June growled.
***
“You have less than a .003 percent chance of surviving this day,” the Outsider’s voice, Johnson’s voice, boomed. “Submit now.”
“Give up? And miss kicking your ass? I don’t think so,” Mathew responded. “How about you open up instead and we have a nice face to face.”
Johnson laughed, the sound turning into a cackle then snarl. “This door will never open again, for anyone.”
“You know I have to try to get in, right?” Mathew asked. “I kinda have a situation on my hands and I really think the solution is behind that twenty feet of iron and steel.”
***
“Can you give us a minute?” the Rookie asked Themopolous. “June and I need to talk.”
Themopolous looked to June and the woman nodded. “Okay, I’ll be in with Bisby. I’ll come back later and check on you again, June. Before we get to, well, wherever we’re going.”
The Doctor left reluctantly and the Rookie closed
the door behind her.
“Who do I look like?” he asked.
“Does the name Olivia mean anything to you?” June watched the Rookie closely. “Or The Boss?”
Anger flashed briefly across the Rookie’s face.
June sighed and sat. “Yes, we do need to talk.”
***
Harlow didn’t bother dodging the deaders in her path, she just kept a straight heading, throttle at full while she operated the transport’s weapons systems. Five of the UDC transports turned about, ready to engage.
“Fuck me,” she muttered, knowing she didn’t have the capabilities to fend off a full attack.
The screen to her right bleeped shrilly, but Harlow ignored it, busy trying to devise a way out of her latest impossible situation.
The screen bleeped again, louder then again and again.
“What?!?” she shouted then seeing what was on the screen, she smiled. “Well, hello there little guy.”
***
“Charges set, sir,” Specialist Austin said over his com. “Good thing the approach to the stronghold was designed to bottle neck. We might have a shot at stopping them. Or at least slowing them down.”
“Great Job, Austin,” Lieutenant Murphy responded. “Hold tight for my mark.”
“Will do,” Austin said.
“ETA, Nguyen?” Murphy asked.
“Any minute now, sir,” the Specialist answered.
A steady vibration began to make itself felt.
“Or, they could be here now,” Nguyen said checking his tablet. “Dead ahead, sir.”
Lieutenant Murphy and Specialist Sol lifted their binocs in unison and scanned the approach to the stronghold.
***
“You now have a less than .0007 chance of survival,” Johnson’s inhuman voice echoed. “Submission is your only option.”
“You see, that’s just bad math,” Mathew said. “If I have a .0007 chance then submission isn’t my only option. I don’t think all of your synapses are firing right.”
“You cannot comprehend the synaptic complexity of my being!” Johnson yelled.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Johnson ol’ pal,” Mathew laughed. “I not only can comprehend, but I’m pretty much living it right now.”
