Ayla scratched at the door, wanting out.
"I hear ya." Jessica kicked the frame and adjusted her jacket on the way out.
Where was the bitch? The Black Wind came yesterday, noon; that wasn't Tabby's out-and-about time.
"Let's eat," she said. Ayla clung to her heels. Securing the home could wait, she'd get what she could, while she could.
Downstairs, Jessica found the kitchen pristine and fully-stocked. She braced the basement door under its knob with a dining room chair. After cracking the back door she rubbed her hands together, opening the fridge.
Water, milk, cheese, cold cuts and veggies—"It's motherfucking sammich time!"
She avoided the ham, nuking it before giving it and some bread to Ayla. Jessica made sure not to overfeed—her friend's appetite was tenfold larger than her stomach.
With Ayla chomping happily, she found a half-loaf of rye in the pantry and made herself a Dagwood. It was a welcome distraction. Bread, mayo, lettuce, swiss, salami, tomato, provolone and roast beef. It was bigger than her mouth but not her eyes. "Kosher be damned, hell yes."
Pure glory. The rush from the cheese and protein was psychological and physical. Jessica chugged a liter of milk during the glut, feeling less cranky by the minute. She licked the excess mayonnaise off her thumb.
Thump.
Ayla leapt into warning mode. Too late. Rapid pounding up the basement stairs ended with a charred face crashing through the thin wood. The bracing chair skittered aside. It was Ivan. He was more intact than the others she'd seen, burnt, but everything was where it should be—except his vacant eyes.
Luckily he was as dumb in death as he was in life. Ivan shredded his neck on the paneling as he attempted to stand upright, the door hinge swiveling him into the dining room. Jessica grabbed her stick, leapt, and bashed his knee. He collapsed, his jaw tearing from his skull. Ivan writhed on the hardwood foyer.
Again the stick slammed into his knee, severing it. Jessica called Ayla back and retreated behind the countertop island. As the body crawled in a half-hop, she glanced between him and the back door. Dismemberment seemed to work—thin skin, brittle bones, and weak joints. Jessica circled the island and chopped. First his head, then an elbow, she reduced Ivan to a torso and juxtaposed limbs. Gray blood coated the floor.
Jessica hooked his shirt and braced herself. With breathless yanks, she slid the hefty corpse out onto the porch. When a clawed hand swiped at her legs, she cracked his lower back. Though his spine was exposed and shattered, both arm and leg still flailed. Prick. She flopped him onto the grass and locked the door behind her.
Daylight disappeared down the basement stairs. Ayla sniffed the blood trail. She woofed at the opening. A single, steady moan echoed up from the darkness. With the basement door in splinters, she could either go downstairs or leave.
She could handle one, especially if it was that one.
"Lights on," Jessica called down the stairway, stick at her shoulder. Ayla growled at her side.
~ 5 ~
The dungeon - Inferno
November 29, 4124 — 1:00 PM
Slivers of broken wood tumbled down the stairs with Jessica's footsteps.
Ayla scampered ahead, descending to black carpet. She sniffed the air, ears perked—it certainly smelled like something died. The stairwell's walls were painted a sickly cream, appearing glossy from the ambient lighting panels below. Gummy bootprints trailed around a corner leading deeper into the basement. The moaning stopped.
Jessica had two questions: was she alone, and why hadn't she followed Ivan?
The stairs opened into a well-furnished game room. No bodies, dead or mobile. A full service bar stood opposite a pool table and electric dartboard. A ring of sofas surrounded a large holo-monitor, its screen a free-floating, opaque gray. Two doors led out of the room, both open. Ayla had her back to the closest, where Jessica could see Tabby's pharmacy and cutting tables. The gummy footsteps continued away, across the game room.
Twirling her stick, she padded across the carpet towards the rear opening. It wasn't a door at all, rather a custom hole in the wall with control panel access. A rotating bookshelf would've been just as obvious. The smudged and dented portal was jammed half-open; it's motor clicked in rhythm.
A low growl stopped Jessica mid-stride. Ayla replied with one of her own. A separate moan, the original, returned from inside.
"Get ready, girl." She held the field hockey stick forward, ready to rebound whatever came out.
A black shadow slithered into the breach. A gurgling hiss escaped a dark maw. Ayla sounded off, legs spread wide. The shadow paused. Jessica's eyes narrowed, her mouth agape.
It was a cat—rather, a miniature tiger—rather, a dead miniature tiger. It sat on its haunches, two feet tall and as thick in girth. Whether the tiny Siberian had been orange or white, it was black now, its stripes indistinguishable among its fur. It easily outweighed Ayla four times over. Its vacant eyes were wide; black saliva dripped from its jowls. A jingling red collar encircled its neck.
When the genetically altered pet dropped to pounce, Ayla barked again. The tiger straightened its posture and swished its tail.
"The fuck is this about?" Jessica wasn't a bad brawler, but animals were something else. If the thing wouldn’t get out of her way…even still, she didn't want to pick a fight.
Ayla pawed forward and sniffed. The tiger licked its chops. "Ayla, back!"
She didn't obey. Jessica lifted her stick, trained on the tiger's head, but stayed her hand as it calmly stood and sauntered into the game room.
"So what, you're making friends now?" This was beyond bizarre. Jessica hadn't seen one so docile. Was it because it was an animal, or because of Ayla?
Her ivory friend circled the ebony beast, barking twice, herding it into a corner. The tiger sat, laid down, then rolled on its back. Paw to paw, it was nearly as tall as Jessica.
"Whatever. I'm going in." She entered the not-so-secret-room, stick posed to swing. "Holy…"
The basement’s rear was unfinished with bare-studded drywall on one side and gray cinder blocks on the others. Pistols, rifles and melee disaster-makers hung from hooks and pegboard. Tools and weapons sprawled across worktables, disassembled for cleaning or modification. Cases of ammo were stacked underneath. A line of electrical sockets linked to a row of batteries, all silent, all ready.
The moan continued from an open doorway at the end. Even with lights on, it was dim, offering more shadow than sight. Ignoring the guns for now, Jessica sidestepped forward, awaiting the attack.
Time to settle things with Tabby.
She pushed the door open. With a gasp, Jessica retreated, doing her best to keep her Dagwood down. She couldn't. After emptying her stomach into a trashcan, she cursed, cooling her forehead on a steel worktable. Jessica composed herself and left her stick behind. Sleeve over her nose, she reentered Tabby's dungeon.
"You've really let yourself go."
The reply: a loud groan.
Tabby hung from a pair of shackles, her shoulders dislocated and sagging under the weight. Her back was turned, she was nude, and her legs had been gnawed off at the knees. Her skin was the same golden tan—apparently she'd survived the Black Wind, but not her vices. Muscle and viscera dangled from Tabby's torso all the way around to her kidneys.
The chamber itself was a full-out BDSM parlor complete with clever chairs, machines, and an array of dildos, paddles, and whips. That was never Jessica's scene either; she felt even more grateful she'd ended things with Tabby at the onset.
After checking in on Ayla and the sedate tiger, she investigated the armaments. Shotguns, railguns, plasma rifles, conventional revolvers—she easily found a battery and ammo for her clipper. The non-lethal stun guns, gauntlets and wands were worthless, and while her stick was versatile and effective against groups of two, she hoped for a better answer if she and Ayla got surrounded. She looked towards Tabby's dungeon.
A new rule of survival: know your enemy.
Jessica started with a single barrel shotgun. By now she knew the things couldn't bleed out and didn't need heads. She hadn't tried the heart yet. Point blank from behind, Tabby twisted her head in a toothy snarl. Her eyes were white, her face speckled with bruises. Jessica aimed just left of her spine and fired. Tabby's chest exploded against the back wall. It silenced her moans but not her movement.
She shook off the gruesome satisfaction and grabbed a needler. The submachine gun shredded Tabby's hips, separating her legs from her body. Thankfully the stumps didn't have the balance to rise on their own, though the gore again threatened to overwhelm Jessica.
There was no way to stop the fuckers—except maybe…
She reached for a plasma rifle. With only the barest clue how it worked, she checked a holographic readout on battery-life, ammo and firing solution. The thing even had a tutorial, though Jessica didn't think it'd make any sense. Safe distance ten meters? That sounded like a crowd-pleaser.
Tabby thrashed against the shackles, finally ripping a shoulder free of her arm. Unable to watch, Jessica fumbled with the safeties until a fireball ripped out of the barrel, colliding with Tabby. Her former nemesis slammed against the back wall and burst into flames. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she looked back to Jessica, her eyes melting in the heat.
At least she'd got that over with. The plasma rifle was a—oh, shit. Tabby's writhing reached the wood-studded drywall. It ignited. The rifle's payload spread fast, licking up the walls to the ceiling, to the main floor. Jessica ran.
Stuffing extra batteries and ammo into her pockets, she called for Ayla and grabbed her stick. Smoke already poured up the stairwell. The pattering of her friend's feet behind her, she slipped on Ivan's blood, snatched the remainder of her Dagwood, and crashed through the back door. Black smoke swirled in her wake.
The plasma rifle was indeed a yes, but was it made for indoor use? Hell no. Tabby's home and Jessica's chance at a nap burnt up in a growing inferno. All else being equal, she torched Ivan before she retreated to the street.
~ 6 ~
Welcome to the team – Bunny
November 29, 4124 — 1:31 PM
“Ayla, stop encouraging it!”
Jessica leaned one hand on her stick, the other waggled a finger. Her plasma rifle dangled off her shoulder, rocking with her irritation.
Ayla cocked her head to the side before walking behind the miniature tiger. She barked, spurring it onward, next to Jessica’s leg.
“I swear to God, let the fucking thing alone or I’ll shoot it to shit.”
Ayla barked again, lifting her nose in a princess stroll. The furballs took the lead—frustration was an understatement.
Jessica sure as hell didn’t trust the undead beast with her backside, let alone her constant company. What would happen if Ayla let her guard down? She didn’t come this far to be eviscerated by a pint-sized genetic disaster.
If anything she wished she could understand Ayla’s logic, if there was any. Was the tiger a friend, pet, prisoner, specimen, trophy—a mate? Whatever her dog had in mind, it was against her master’s will. Only her trust of Ayla’s instincts stayed her trigger, though she could only trust an animal’s intelligence so far. One wrong move and the thing was history. The eyeless tiger craned its neck, sniffing the air. Jessica saw a shimmer of gold under its furry folds.
“Stay.” She didn’t think the command would work, but her rearmed pistol was ready if it didn’t. Finding the cherry collar, she tugged the tag around. The tiger remained compliant, staring down the city boulevard. Its fur was softer than Jessica expected, neither burnt nor bloody—more like stained.
The tag stated, ‘Shere Kahn.’ Cute name for a walking corpse, definitely male.
“Well, Mr. Kahn, your minutes are certainly numbered if—”
The tiger snarled, baring its teeth in a half-snap. Startled, Jessica fired her clipper into its back. The tiny round split straight through Khan, chipping concrete on the other side. He didn’t even flinch. Ayla ran between the two and yapped at the tiger. He retreated a few steps before curling to lick the exit wound.
“Seriously, girl, fuck this.” Jessica pocketed the clipper and lifted the plasma rifle, taking aim. Ayla whined and backpedaled towards Kahn. “You gotta be kidding.”
Ayla’s tail wagged high.
“If you’re wrong it’s both our asses…” Jessica looked to Nome’s skyline, ahead and behind.
The pillar of smoke from Tabby’s had grown, spreading from trees to nearby homes. If Phelps Park had been enveloped—that would be a shame, but not compared to her life or the lives of her family. Fuck it. The high-pitched sirens of FireBots traveled along City Centre’s main streets, converging on the blaze.
Jessica had considered waiting for the law-abiding robots for protection, but there were too many variables that could’ve made her odds even worse. There was no telling how the Black Wind affected them, if their AI was malfunctioning, who they were answering to. Besides that, if they decided to investigate her for arson, they’d likely drag her around the city or toss her in a holding cell with those things. Could computers even understand what was going on? Did they have a contingency plan? Maybe they were why City Centre was so quiet.
In any case, she’d returned to Market Street, marching in towards The Spire. The mega-building cast its afternoon shadow over City Centre’s heart. Ayla and Kahn were a good twenty steps ahead, sniffing around a palm tree.
* * *
Jessica’s hesitation stretched five minutes. Her furry entourage again grew impatient, wandering closer to where she wanted to avoid.
Another line of smoke rose above a place Jessica knew well, Marsden High School. She’d spent six years of her life there, from twelve to eighteen. Jacob had been attending, though under advanced self-study allowances. With Nome’s birthrate being as low as it was, junior highs consolidated with high schools, and even those had condensed into three main locations; abandoned elementary schools.
Marsden was a three-story white-brick rectangle, close to Fountain Square, City Centre’s center. Considering the Black Wind came around noon on a school day, she didn’t want to imagine what it’d been like within—for the dead or the survivors. However, running the alleys and side streets now would only invite the kind of trouble she’d already avoided on the outskirts. Ayla’s instincts were probably spot on, as usual.
Jessica slid her stick behind her back, into her jacket, catching the hook on her collar. Plasma rifle posed at the hip, she called Ayla to her side and crossed the street. Kahn dropped his gait and crept along the shadows of an office building. Even during the day, he became near invisible under a cherry tree.
Welcome to the team?
A crackling boom shook the ground as a new pillar of smoke leapt skyward. A block away, Jessica heard breaking glass and echoed shouts—living shouts. With only the school's Market Street cul-de-sac and front lawn in view, she jogged the length of the office building.
A shower of glass rained over Kahn as an office window exploded. A quintet of bloody, whitish corpses (that was new) flailed and climbed over each other, hissing and chomping as Jessica passed. She broke into a sprint. Her view of Marsden grew from a sliver to a panorama.
Two fat-bellied FireBots zigzagged across the lawn, their tank-tread bottoms tearing lines in the grass and landscaping. They aimed tentacle arms at a second-story blaze. The hoses propelled endless streams of soupy foam. On contact, the fires receded or were extinguished.
Thirteenth Street ran beside the school, between it and the office building. Glass, rubble, and twitching body parts surrounded Marsden’s auditorium entrance. The school’s third floor was ablaze with strange, flashing lights. With a sizzle and a pop, a body shattered a Marsden window, colliding with the office across the street before falling to a limp heap. The entire office wall rattled from a hundred pounding fists.
The auditorium doors flew off their hinges, skittering across Thirteenth Street. A soot-coated FireBot jumped the st
airs leading street side and twisted its rail-thin torso. Unlike his fellows on the lawn, this one had already used his water supply. Of his six shoulder-housed tentacles, three had been severed; one clutched an gray-tarred fireman’s axe; and the remaining two secured a struggling girl by the chest and knees.
The girl yelled an incoherent, if living, string of curses. Her skin was dark gold, but as she swung her weight, Jessica saw her eyes. They were black. Not the vacant cavities of the corpses, but a pair of pitch-dark slits, as if her pupils had eradicated the white.
“Drop her!” a voice shouted from inside.
Two boys followed the bot to the street, a trio of monsters at their heels. The corpses mashed at the doorway, tumbling to writhe in a pile of pale limbs and gnashing teeth.
“Unable to comply. She is a threat.” The FireBot’s voice was emotionless, synthetic. Obviously an older model, a Mark Six.
“You’re not going to kill any more of our friends!” She recognized the boys. The speaker was Wade Rose, a hotshot Rugby celebrity. He gripped a bloody flagstaff in one hand and a makeshift locker-door-shield in his other.
“Please follow me to a safe location. All other students are confirmed deceased.”
“Confirmed my ass. Kati’s still inside!” That was Anton Garajulo. He was unarmed and bled from a gash on his thigh. Jessica knew all these kids from when she was an upperclassman. His girlfriend, Kati, was the shy type, always bullied. She couldn’t have made it.
Jessica considered intervening, but she didn’t like the FireBot’s tone, plus the girl’s eyes—her eyes.
Ayla nudged her leg and woofed. The office window’s quintet had reached the streets and trotted along her trail.
“Suppose I should see if this’ll work.”
Anatali: Ragnarok Page 3
