Anatali: Ragnarok

by A. C. Edwards

  The sad thing was, she half believed it, wanting a perfect end to a situation that did nothing but deteriorate. She’d went from a daughter to an orphan, being attacked by her dead family, slowly losing her humanity as she killed people who had already died, and even one who hadn’t. She put more faith in animals and machines than people, and she had every reason to do so. The brothers—and she hated herself for it—she wanted Christy’s comfort with one of them, with both of them, to feel something other than death, the ever-growing desire to abandon hope.

  She was not Nicky’s Valkyrie. She loved ghosts, ideals, and promises that could never be kept. Her life ended two days ago. She was just a ghost herself, pretending, struggling to act alive. How cliché was that? She bristled at the angst.

  Fuck it.

  If Nicky made any sense, it was that people lived their roles. That, as such, had value.

  She hooked her arm around Trent’s elbow, hugging close, feeling Calvin and Dillon’s eyes on her back. “Game on.”

  “Indeed.” He leaned towards her, consciously or not. “H-How are the others?”

  “Querying...” Nicky remained at the rear. “Holly has retreated to Rose City, leading the Mark Sixes away from Spangler. His group is within three-blocks of the warehouse, and the stronghold has been alerted of their arrival. Six have perished on the journey, their bodies left behind.”

  “The baby?” Jessica dropped Trent’s arm for his hand.

  Nicky was silent, his blue light blinking. “The infant has survived by care of her surrogate. Two seniors perished from their effort, and a quartet of hot-blooded youths were overwhelmed on Morgal Avenue after they abandoned the group. Spangler used an emergency detonation code to collapse Clydesdale North, slowing the Dvoraks’ pursuit.”

  “Like a fucking war.”

  “He estimates twenty were destroyed, though a sizable mob has coalesced, dominating Morgal Avenue since we passed.”

  “Cutting off our escape route,” Calvin said. “Getting out of City Centre will be tough at this rate. I guess it’s The Spire or bust.”

  “Don’t sound so nervous.” She released Trent’s hand, resting it on her hip as she looked to the sky. “We got this covered. Remember, I wanted to come here to get saved, but even if there’s no one inside, even if there’s nothing but a fight waiting for us, we can still save ourselves by shutting down the Umbrella.”

  She tapped a finger on her temple. “We got our tank fixed. We’re fed, armed, and have the best Dvorak detector in the city, not to mention her pet, the world’s best assassin. We know how to stop them, how to stay alive, and best of all, what we can do to stay that way. We win.”

  Jessica turned to see Trent’s smile. Calvin nodded, checking his rifle’s safeties and ammo. Dillon showed something other than total contempt and even Christy’s deer-in-the-headlights expression relaxed. Ayla and Kahn’s tails swished in unison.

  “Aw fuck. Don’t say it, Nicky.”

  He did anyway. “At the base of the mighty World Tree, Yggdrasil, noble Verdandi again defies fate, unwilling to take her last breath under a sunless sky. Her confidence measured and true, as were her wolves and Einherjar, the future is finally hers to create.”

  “After we’re sipping cold beer at the Winslow estate, I promise to read the damn thing if you quit quoting it.” Though she really didn’t mind anymore. It had gone from senseless, to creepy, to interesting, the parallels he was able to draw. She almost believed there was more to it than coincidence and creative interpretation. “Let’s do it.”

  “We’re ready.” Trent said.

  As a team, as friends, they marched, rolled, and pawed across The Spire’s courtyard.

  * * *

  Not quite their best foot forward.

  The sun had gone, twilight a thin red band on the horizon; the rest violet and blue. The smoke of recent explosions had dispersed, inviting hundreds of equatorial stars to sparkle overhead. The Mission dominated a fat arc of skyline, including the rising moon, silent and without running lights.

  The Spire’s west courtyard was grass and gardens, the parking garages underground. A row of automated taxis slumbered along a cul-de-sac, their passenger doors open, their occupants nowhere in sight. They’d already seen one empty bus make its stop, open its shattered doors, then squeal away, bouncing off an ill-parked car in a crush of sparks and broken glass.

  Jessica and Calvin shared a cigarette. He’d found a case of Russian Milds at the pawnshop. They tasted like shit—she wasn’t much of a smoker anyway—but it gave them something to do as they watched the endless curved wall, guarding Trent and Nicky during their ‘attack’ on the front door.

  Every ground-floor window was dark. Thirty-feet wide, the lobby entrance was just as lifeless, and each of the five double doors were locked. The FireBot had backed up to an access panel, stating that The Spire’s private network had blocked his emergency access requests. Rather than the ruckus of smashing bulletproof glass, Trent suggested he try hacking the network with aid of his new laptop. She didn’t know about that sort of thing, but Calvin assured her of his skills, though Trent understated them.

  Jessica raised an eyebrow when he plugged a white cord from the computer to the base of his skull, then plugged another from the laptop into a maintenance terminal. Being an Anatali lab coat, the cybernetics weren’t a shock, but he was unique compared to the people she’d run with all her life. His eyes had been closed the five minutes since; his brother explained Trent had immersed himself in the system, his body represented in a virtual universe.

  “Dillon, sit down,” she said, offering him and Christy a smoke from her own pack. Calvin barely acknowledged the two, though Kahn had stalked them since they left the firehouse. She sparked him a flame.

  “Sorry.” Lighting both, he handed one to Christy, who accepted it with shaking hands. It had gotten a bit chilly. “Not as good at this as you are.”

  Calvin ‘humphed,’ leaving to chat with Nicky.

  “I’m good because I have to be. When we’re inside, try not to get your girlfriend killed riding our coattails.”

  “This ain’t like you—why are you being such a bitch?”

  “Gosh, shit’s changed the last few days. And you said it first: you’re tagging along until you find something better. Keep your eyes open.”

  The couple leaned together on the curb for warmth or comfort. Jessica didn’t envy their situation, the choices they had to make, or what they’d already been through, but that didn’t mean it was her job to fluff their egos.

  She flexed her toes over the cold pavement and walked away, watching the line.

  Minutes later, Trent’s chin turned from his chest to shoulder. “We’re in.”

  “What’s it look like in there?” Jessica snapped her fingers. Ayla came running.

  “Funky. There must be a million breaks in the code.” He remained plugged in, studying his computer screen. “It was hard to find a clean path. The office and residential registries have been wiped clean, and the security network keeps shifting from lockdown to wide-open. Climate and fire control are still up, but water pressure is all held in storage, not active current. The first fifty floors are without power, including the hyper-lifts, but everything above looks good as gold.”

  “Communications?” Nicky said.

  “Not from here. Not even a beacon. Under these conditions, I’m surprised I was even able to access. The security network must run independent, an auxiliary system.”

  “Can you do anything cool like find survivors, Dvoraks, bots, or Plan DE008?” Jessica looked over his shoulder. None of the code made sense. “I’d like to know what this place is being used as.”

  “If anything like that is going on, they’re keeping it quiet, on invisible channels I can’t see. The Spire looks empty in the system, but you have to believe it’s not. My travel brochure said it had like six thousand residents, not to mention the business-hour suits and workers.” He paused. “It doesn’t look too good.”

&nb
sp; “Hey now, I’m the one with cold feet. Don’t tell me you’re getting them too.” Jessica said into his ear, exhaling a hot breath. “We stick to the stairs. Nicky becomes a doorstop in some apartment above the blackout. After our nap, we ride the lifts. Don’t start none, won’t be none. Floor two-twenty-three, we take care of business.”

  “You make it sound easy.” He unplugged, twisting his head, his face inches from hers.

  “It is.” She smiled, staring into his eyes.

  Girlfriend be damned. She’d break him down.

  ~ 21 ~

  Lobby — Floors

  November 30, 4124 — 9:55 PM

  Nicky’s engineers had it right when they made him, that’s for sure. Jessica was as impressed at his entrance into The Spire as she was any of the miracles he’d performed the past day. Not only was he dutiful, highway fast, softhearted, ten-men strong, virtuous, network-linked, artsy, battle-hardened, ever vigilant, and a master of his fire-and-rescue craft, he could also scoot his half-ton frame through passages he had no business entering.

  By narrowing his tread-base and lengthening his back—effectively slimming his water-balloon—he tipped his height backwards on an impossible center of balance and rolled through the doors without so much as a squeeze.

  Inside, his axe snapped to the front, its wind tossing her hair. She shouldered her plasma rifle, viewing the pitch-dark lobby through her night-vision holo-screen. Three outlines stood in a row, as tall as Nicky, but half as wide. Boxy and with actual arms, she recognized the shape, though it’d been a decade since she’d seen one.

  “Ayla!” She yelled, calling her dog back from the front, Kahn followed in tow.

  “What is it?” Trent also backed away, railgun swiveling across the black.

  “Unauthorized entry of a secure area,” boomed a hollow, synthetic voice. “Surrender your weapons and lie facedown immediately.”

  “Uh…”

  “Mark Threes,” she called over her shoulder, catching Calvin’s eye. “Demoted to security. There’s no reasoning with these after they make up their minds.”

  “Aim for their wheel-base,” Nicky clicked ahead. “These models had mobility issues.”

  Twin fireballs left their line—it felt good to really shoot again. The outside pair of bots stalled under the barrage as Nicky intercepted the middle one. He squirted a thick blob of foam at its metal wheels before slashing crossways with his axe. Another torrent of fire collided with the outside Mark Threes, sending both into continuous spins, their arms raised and spraying water at each other in rotation.

  Worst robot battle ever.

  Jessica struggled to keep from laughing, but this was pathetic. That was until the lead Three broke away from Nicky, dragging him sideways by his tentacles, winning a tug-of-war against her FireBot’s smoking treads. It was coming right for her.

  “The neck!” he shouted.

  She had learned better than to argue against the bunny’s red X—she ran away. She heard Trent’s railgun zing twice, glancing behind her to see the bot pinged once in the shoulder, once in the head. The thing was incredibly well-armored, but thankfully slow as shit. It was so dark, no wonder her boy couldn’t shoot straight.

  A blue flare crackled to life, a wand held by Calvin. He leapt forward as Nicky retracted all arms. The Mark Three jerked for traction, wheels squealing. The young man stabbed at its neck, a four-inch gap between head and shoulders. The wand hit home—and burst into an electrical discharge, arcing up the baton. After a dull ‘pop,’ it went silent.

  As did the bot, smoking from its binocular eyes.

  Nicky beheaded the other two without struggle, their helmets clanking against the floor and walls. Their endless circles ground to a halt.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Jessica said. “Nice shot, Cal.”

  “Thanks for running this time.” He tossed the wand aside. “I torched it. Let me in, Nicky.”

  “I apologize for the scare. I will not underestimate their horsepower next time.” He popped his box, allowing Calvin a blind search for a replacement stunner.

  “Not your fault. Thank you for the tactics.” She liked liking Nicky.

  “You guys are all fucking nuts.” Dillon interrupted the love-fest, stepping out of his and Christy’s hiding spot, the bulletproof foyer.

  “I don’t even know you and I’m tired of your shit.” Trent spoke up, meaning she didn’t have to. The hundredth surprise of the day. “Stay in that glass box and wait for the bus. See where it goes. We can either see you in the next life, or you can shut the fuck up.”

  The anger. Oh, that was hot.

  Then she realized he was nursing a bloody nose. When did that happen? The fight?

  “You ok?”

  “I’m fine. A headache.”

  “Vidar…do you know the symptoms of radiation poisoning?”

  “Yeah. But this isn’t it, I don’t think. It was just a rough dive. I can’t see too well, but at least I can blame that on the dark.”

  “Let’s get to floor fifty or so and get a room,” Jessica said. “It’s been a long day.”

  * * *

  They left the indiscernible black of the ground floor for an ambient-lit stairwell. The big discussion was whether Nicky should guard the front or back. He certainly made a great plug, but his ability to block whatever came ahead—and there were moans—was opposed by his awkward cornering in such a tight place. If they were ever pursued from behind it’d be a risky battle, pinned behind the slow-moving-wall, racing an inferno that burned upwards.

  Without a compromise, Jessica put him in front, Dillon and Christy at his back, and the rest following at their own speed. At every floor, the stairwell doors clanked open and shut in clockwork rhythm, something no one was willing to test without Trent’s hacking. The animals took the climb as a game, frolicking up and down flights two at a time. Ayla’s carelessness was encouraging, though a bit misplaced.

  It didn’t take five floors for them to meet their first Dvorak, rather, an fish-out-of-water arm, flopping, its body demolished by the door’s relentless assault. Christy took a moment to vomit over the rail, a moment Jessica took to chuckle, albeit quietly. Being desensitized was a blast.

  Until floor nine.

  The smell turned everyone’s stomach, though the veterans kept their cookies from tossing thanks to a high-pressure blast down the corridor from Nicky. She and Calvin peered down the darkened hall between clanks, their lips curling at the scene. Over a dozen shredded bodies dribbled crimson. Their undead killers stumbled to their feet.

  Fire. Lots of fire engulfed ninth-floor-west. Nicky braced the emergency door with a tentacle, bent at a makeshift elbow. He slapped a flaming Dvorak against a wall, pinning it until it burned out, immobilized.

  Floor sixteen:

  Mashed to a stack of bones, a quivering mountain of gore spilled across the landing, crunching under Nicky. Ayla wouldn’t even approach, instead she was carried against Jessica’s chest. Christy was down to crippling dry-heaves, Dillon pale-white, not in much better shape. They probably would have given up if not for the moans below, something Calvin monitored, one flight behind.

  “Clear!” he shouted from floor fifteen.

  Well, that was good to know. Jessica slipped, but caught her balance. Ayla whimpered in her arms.

  * * *

  At twenty-three, she called for a breather.

  She flossed her toes, not wanting to guess specifics of the black gum’s ingredients. After a glare at Christy’s shoes, the girl covered them with the hem of her dress. Everyone drank from Nicky. The half-dozen fires they started had transformed the stairwell into a hotbox—between the heat and smell, breathing had become an adventure.

  “So far, so good?” Trent patted his brow with his tie before stuffing it back in his pocket.

  “Yeah,” she said. “As long as the doors keep this up, I like our odds.”

  “Not much room for error.” Calvin cupped his hands, catching a trickle for Ayla and Kahn. “If
we need a quick exit, we’re screwed.”

  “You worry too much.”

  The boy looked at his plasma rifle, the smoky stairwell, the bloody footprints leading up, and the undead tiger drinking from his palms. His mask finally broke, first in a smile, then in a chuckle. Trent grinned. Shoulders shaking, Calvin’s hand slapped his forehead as he burst into laughter.

  Did Jessica think he was cracking up? Hell no. She wrapped her arms around Kahn and cheesed a vacation-photo smile, ‘V-sign’ with her fingers. The laughter hit its apex, Trent and her joining in.

  ~ 22 ~

  Dillon’s awakening — Door forty

  November 30, 4124 — 11:11 PM

  “Anyone else hear that?” It was the first time Dillon had spoken since the lobby.

  “Hear what?” Jessica said.

  “Crying.”

  Ok, now Dillon, maybe he was cracking up. It’s not like they’d been supportive of his and Christy’s plight, nor had they shielded them from the horrors they’d already been weathering for days. The couple had been tossed into greatest amount of carnage any of the veterans had seen without the benefit of a half-dozen battles to harden their nerves.

  She thought about it: being locked in a box with only questions and hints as to what was going on, wondering what was in store when the bots came to take them away. At least she and the brothers had violence as an outlet for their stress, though how it had affected their humanity was open to interpretation. Perhaps the couple, puking over the railing, hearing shit that wasn’t there—maybe they were the most human of the group.

  Jessica didn’t want it. She was fine being an animal, cold, fierce, wanting to kill the dead, and now ready to execute the living, if necessary. Even if Kahn had done it for her, she’d been ready to pull the trigger on that pawnshop cocksucker.