This Is the End: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (7 Book Collection)

by Craig DiLouie

  “Get down!” Choi slammed into him suddenly, driving Andrews to the rubble-littered ground. An arrow slashed into the pavement only inches from his face, pelting him with concrete chips. He struggled against Choi, trying to pull his rifle out from beneath him and return fire.

  “Choi, what the—”

  The night erupted into fury as great gouts of flame seemed to arc up the street, turning night into day. A furious ripping sound cut through the air. Andrews turned, looking toward Laird’s position, and saw the armored truck facing them was being slowly demolished in great, sparking explosions that sent bits and pieces of it flying through the air. Laird and the others cowered before the tremendous fusillade, and the enemies facing them jerked and spun as arms and legs were blown off their bodies. The corpses essentially disintegrated where they stood, and Andrews wondered what kind of hell had been unleashed upon the world. The ground beneath him vibrated, the shuddering growing with each passing second as the raucous din grew louder. He heard Choi whoop suddenly, an abrupt exultation of joy that seemed misplaced. Then Andrews became aware of another noise, a mounting whine that deepened into a bellow.

  A gas turbine engine coming to life.

  SCEV Five rolled to a halt right beside them, the turreted miniguns in its slanted nose spitting bursts of 7.62 millimeter death up the street. The opponents that faced Laird and the others broke and ran, but the firing didn’t stop—the fleeing combatants were chopped down as they fled. The SCEV’s outer airlock door cycled open, and the LED lights inside snapped on. The rig’s armored bulk shielded them from the fighters on the rooftop, rendering their arrows ineffective. As if to underscore just how the tide had changed, the missile pod on the SCEV’s back quickly extended into firing position, rotated toward the civic center, and promptly sent a projectile lancing into the structure’s side. Riding a column of fire, the missile tore through the civic center’s outer wall and exploded deep inside, causing the remains of the roof to suddenly bow upwards before it collapsed inward in a rising cloud of dust.

  “Andrews, you guys had better get in. The meter’s running, and I’m low on quarters,” a voice said over his radio. Even in the heat of battle, Command Sergeant Scott Mulligan managed to sound completely bored.

  “About time we rated door-to-door service!” Choi said as he pushed himself off of Andrews and climbed to his feet.

  ***

  “Mulligan! You’re not dead?” Andrews said as he bolted into the cockpit. Mulligan was strapped into the pilot’s seat, so he slipped into the copilot’s seat and buckled himself in. Mulligan looked like hell—he clearly represented the three Bs: battered, bloodied, and bruised.

  “That’s a matter of personal opinion,” Mulligan said. A chime sounded as the airlock indicators went from red to green, and the big man pushed the control column forward. The SCEV responded like a tiger that had just slipped out of its cage, its engines shrieking as its huge tires spun, seeking purchase on the debris-littered ground. Every now and then, a tinny tink and clunk reached Andrews’s ears. Despite the rig’s firepower, the denizens of San Jose were still trying to put up a fight, launching whatever they had at the SCEV as it barreled down the street.

  “I’ve got the guns,” Andrews said, slipping on his headset and taking over the fire control systems. A window opened up on the infrared overlay that was projected on the viewport—a digital targeting system, which allowed him to control the turreted miniguns on the rig’s nose. But there was nothing to fire on; all of Law’s people were laying low.

  “Roger, you have the guns,” Mulligan said.

  “Laird, Andrews—check your six, we’re rolling up on your position. Get everyone ready to board. Over.”

  “Roger that,” Laird responded immediately.

  Ahead, Andrews saw Laird and Kelly marshal Leona and Rachel to the other side of the street so they would be in a better position to board the rig when it came to halt.

  “Choi, override the inner airlock door! We’re going to want to board them as quickly as we can,” Andrews shouted.

  “Roger that!” Choi responded. “I’m on it!”

  “Get them aboard ASAP. We’ll be vulnerable when we come to a stop, and it’s not like we have three hundred sixty degrees of coverage,” Mulligan said as he slowed the SCEV. When it rumbled just past Laird’s position, he braked it to a shuddering halt. The huge vehicle skidded several feet across the loose debris. Andrews reached for the FLIR yoke and twisted it from right to left; the FLIR turret panned in response, and he watched the projected overlay, looking for any signs of life. Motionless bodies lay near the immolated armored truck, the figures glowing dully, still warm against the chilly night. Ghostly pools formed around them—blood, slowly cooling in the nighttime breeze. In the distance, he caught a glimpse of figures moving through the ground floor of a devastated building. He rolled the targeting bracket on them, his thumb hovering above the FIRE button.

  Do it! They want us dead, so do it to them first!

  He crushed the button beneath his thumb. The two miniguns blared, firing long streams of high-powered ammunition at the building. The infrared overlay revealed the destruction caused by the sudden salvo of 7.62 millimeter bullets as they slashed across the building’s floor. Two shapes went down, blasted into pieces by the deadly hail of steel rain. More escaped being blown into oblivion, and Andrews felt a small—but not unexpected—twinge of relief in his gut. He knew he’d reached his limit, had had his fill of killing for the moment.

  “Having an attack of the mercies, are you?” Mulligan said.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t slew the guns to the left—you could have taken the rest of them down.” His voice was neutral, revealing neither compliment nor reproach.

  “All aboard!” Choi shouted from the second compartment. “Airlock sealed!”

  Laird shoved his way into the cockpit. A big grin split his handsome, grime-covered face when he saw Mulligan.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. You must have an angel in your corner, Sarmajor!” He slapped the bigger man on the shoulder.

  Mulligan winced at the contact. “The devil in my detail’s averaging everything out.”

  “Jim, get everyone squared away,” Andrews said. “We’ve still got some work to do, so we’ll decon once we secure the supports and clear the city. Sarmajor, you good to take us back to the warehouse?”

  “Absolutely, sir. I’m a hundred percent operational.” He set the SCEV back into motion, accelerating past the wrecked armored truck. “And the sooner we get there, the better … These guys’ll figure out where we’re headed soon enough, and we’d better get gone before they can corner us again.”

  “I’ll give you one great big hooah on that, Sarmajor,” Andrews said, as Laird retreated from the cockpit.

  18

  The sun was already kissing the eastern horizon by the time the SCEV made it back to the manufacturing complex, turning the sky from midnight black to cobalt blue, then to ever-brightening shades of red, orange, and yellow. As Mulligan drove the big rig across the parking lot, Andrews watched the side of the warehouse loom large in the viewports. Mulligan cranked the yoke hard to the left, and the big vehicle turned obediently, leaning hard to the right as it did so. Even Andrews was surprised by the sudden movement, and he was strapped into the copilot’s seat. He heard Laird swearing up a storm in the back as he and anyone else who wasn’t already strapped down had to scramble to find handholds before they were hurled off their feet.

  “Take it easy, Mulligan!” Andrews barked.

  “I’ll take it easy when I’m dead,” Mulligan replied. He brought the rig to a halt just shy of the door the team had entered through day before, then crawled forward until the entrance was directly across from the airlock. Laird stormed into the cockpit and glared down at Mulligan.

  “Sergeant Major, what the hell do you think you’re doing to my rig?” he snapped.

  “Just breaking it in, Captain,” Mulligan said, unperturbed. An ugly bruise was
spreading across the right side of his face, and Andrews noticed his right eye was red with broken blood vessels.

  “Mulligan, you don’t look so hot,” Andrews said, suddenly concerned.

  “I’m good to go, sir. The second I start losing the edge, I’ll let you know.”

  Laird bent down and looked at Mulligan closely. “Holy shit, you really do look like hell, Sarmajor.” All traces of anger had left his voice.

  Mulligan swiveled his eyes toward Laird. “Ladies, I’m touched by your never-ending concern for my well-being, but maybe you should stop commenting on my less-than-stellar looks and get the goddamned core supports?” His voice was a harsh rasp.

  “We’re on it, Sergeant Major. You stay put and keep an eye on things,” Andrews said as he unbuckled his harness.

  “You might find this useful, sir.” Mulligan reached into one of the cargo pockets and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. Andrews took it and unfolded it. It was the manifest from the warehouse detailing the location of the core supports.

  “Great work, Sarmajor. We’ll have Eklund come forward and keep an eye on things with you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Mulligan said, turning away and looking out the viewport to his left.

  “Is there a problem with that, Mulligan?” Andrews pushed the seat back and rose to his feet, crouching slightly to avoid hitting the overhead panel.

  “Negative, Captain.” Mulligan hesitated. “But please hurry. I think Eklund has the hots for me.”

  Andrews exchanged a look with Laird, and both men snorted. Andrews gently patted Mulligan’s beefy shoulder.

  “Well, I’m sure there are worse things in life, Mulligan.”

  “I can’t think of any, sir.”

  ***

  It wasn’t tough to find the supports, since Mulligan had saved the manifest he’d found during their earlier foray into the structure. Andrews, Laird, Rachel, Choi, and Kelly suited up and armed themselves for the extra-vehicular activity, and Andrews led the group to where the supports were supposed to be. He saw the signs of struggle from when Law’s people had taken Spencer, and he wondered how long they had until they arrived. He knew one of the survivors’ network of tunnels extended to the warehouse; it was the only way they had managed to get the drop on the SCEV Four team.

  “Yes,” Rachel said over the radio as she bent over the open shipping crate. “Yes, these are the supports. They’re in great shape, too.” She straightened and looked back at Andrews. “We should take four, at least. We only need two, but we need some safeties.”

  “How can we tell if they’re structurally sound?” Laird asked.

  “We can’t, but they’re extremely dense. It would take a significant amount of energy to deform them, and this area of the city,” she waved one arm at the warehouse, “didn’t seem to get hit by a direct nuclear strike, so it’s very unlikely their composition has been altered by ionization.”

  Laird turned to Andrews and shrugged. “Well, okay.”

  “Let’s get going,” Andrews said. “Rachel, go back to the rig. Choi, Jordello, you guys stand guard. Keep aware of what’s going on around you at all times—we’ll need you to provide security while Laird and I move some of these things to the vehicle. Questions?” No one had any, so Andrews turned to Laird and nodded toward the shipping crate. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  Kelly and Choi escorted Rachel back to the waiting SCEV, then returned to stand guard over the two captains as they went to work on the supports. They had a special dolly with them that was motorized, so they wouldn’t have to carry the supports all the way back to the SCEV themselves; since each support weighed almost four hundred pounds, that was a huge plus. Yet getting them out of the container was a struggle, and it took almost ten minutes to load one on the dolly. Then their return to the rig was limited by the dolly’s slow rate of speed. Andrews was sweating profusely beneath his environmental suit and respirator assembly, and through the visor of his facemask, he could see Laird was as well.

  “Man, this is going to suck,” Laird gasped over the radio.

  “You think it’s bad now? Wait until we have to get them in the rig and store them in the locker,” Andrews said. “We’ll both have herniated discs by the time we’re through.”

  “Thanks, man. Thanks so much.”

  Andrews was right. While extracting the core support from the container had been arduous, getting it off the dolly and into the airlock required some Herculean effort on their part. Stowing it in the SCEV’s tight confines was a hellish nightmare; it seemed like there just wasn’t enough room for them to move while struggling with the support’s incredible weight. Rachel wanted to help, but both men warned her away; if someone lost their grip, the result would be a shattered floor plate, or worse, a crushed foot. They finally managed to wrangle the support into the floor-level locker without causing any injuries.

  “Okay,” Andrews gasped when they had secured the support. “On to the next one.”

  “Man, this is kickin’ my ass,” Laird said.

  “Better that than leaving everyone in Harmony to die, Captain,” Mulligan said over the radio. He and Leona were listening in to their commo from the cockpit.

  “You’re a hell of a motivational speaker, Sarmajor,” Laird said.

  “I am a man of many talents, sir.”

  Andrews waved Laird to the open airlock door. A beeping alarm sounded every ten seconds, telling the crew the obvious: both doors were open, and the potential for internal contamination was increasing. Andrews led Laird outside, then he cycled the airlock closed.

  They repeated the sequence twice more before they had to stop to rest. With three supports aboard, Andrews was motivated to bust some ass and secure the last one, but both he and Laird were almost dead on their feet. They drank from the hydration packs they carried on their backs and leaned against the SCEV for a few minutes, catching their breath and trying to regain their strength. Andrews’s legs and arms felt rubbery, and his back and shoulders ached. His forearms burned, and he knew the pain would just increase over the coming days as abused muscles, tendons, and connective tissue grew inflamed.

  But it’s still nothing compared to what Law could do …

  “Mulligan, this is Andrews,” he said.

  “Go ahead, Captain. Over.”

  “Do you know anything about some special weapons programs that could turn a man into …” Andrews paused, trying to figure out how to explain it. “Into some kind of super-warrior? A man who could inflict incredible pain just by thinking about it?”

  “Lieutenant Eklund has been briefing me on the individual called Law, Captain. No, I’m unaware of such a program, but it wouldn’t surprise me. I did know of a program called OMEGA, where soldiers were subjected to nanite treatments that increased their ability to heal and gave them superior strength and endurance, but as far as I know, it was never fielded. As a matter of fact, Congress passed legislation to outlaw activities like that, but I guess the CIA or whoever created this Law bozo never got the memo. Over.”

  “I wonder how he could have survived all this time,” Andrews said, more to himself than Mulligan.

  “Nanites are interesting little machines, sir. They can self-replicate and continue doing their job for as long as there’s enough raw material to keep the process going. Have no idea if this is the case with that Law guy, but I’ll tell you what—let’s not hang around to find out. Are you guys about done with your smoke break, Captain? Over.”

  Laird pushed himself away from the SCEV tiredly. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he groused.

  “You guys want to trade places?” Kelly asked. “You can stand overwatch while Choi and I get the last one.”

  “Negative, there’s no reason for all of us to risk getting injured,” Andrews said. “We’ve got it. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

  “Take it easy, Mike,” Kelly cautioned. “It’s a long way back to Harmony, and I’d hate it if you guys were laid up for the entire run.”

  “We’ll ta
ke care of it,” Laird said, his tone terse and clipped. Andrews could tell his fellow officer was getting awfully close to his limits.

  “Easy, man,” he said.

  Laird shot him a thumbs-up. “I’m all right, Mike. Don’t worry.”

  “SCEV Five to all troops—once you’ve stopped sharing this tender moment, I’m going to have to ask you guys to cut some butt. We’re being scouted. I have visual contact on several OPFOR glassing us from another building down the block. I can engage, but they’re right on the edge of azimuth violation for the minis. Over.”

  “How many, Mulligan?” Andrews asked. As he and Laird struck out for the last support, Kelly and Choi flanked them. If they were going to be attacked, it would be while they were away from the SCEV. Both of them held their rifles at low ready. Laird towed the dolly along after him, kicking up dust as he ran.

  “I see three, but that doesn’t mean jack. There could be fifty more on the other side of the building. You guys need to decide if that last support is worth it. Over.”

  “It is,” Andrews replied. “Mulligan, if we get into a furball, you need to leave right away. You got that?”

  “Sorry, Captain. Your transmission’s breaking up. Over.”

  Andrews almost laughed. He had expected a terse acknowledgement of the order and nothing else. After all, Mulligan was the one who was supposed to babysit the others and make sure the mission was completed. And here they were with goblins approaching, and he wasn’t going to leave the others behind without a fight. Andrews had to admit he was impressed by the old soldier’s attitude.

  “They like to get up high and attack from there,” Andrews said as he crawled into the crate and grabbed another support. “You guys keep your eyes open, and if you see movement, open up. There’s no one friendly out here.”

  “Roger that,” Kelly said, taking up a guard position on one side of the warehouse aisle. Choi hung back, positioning himself so he could see the doorway to his left and maintain watch on the other side of the warehouse.

  Andrews and Laird grunted and strained, struggling to get the last support out of the crate. They finally managed to do it, but at the last moment, Laird lost his grip. With a yelp, he jumped back, and Andrews felt his end of the support slide out of his hands. The support slammed to the concrete floor with a tremendous crash, blasting a deep crater into the cement, sending chips flying.