LZR-1143: Redemption

by Bryan James

  But it was the outside of the jacket that won the award for awesome. The forearms, biceps and triceps were protected by narrow, flexing plates of hinged titanium sewn into the fabric, while the torso of the jacket contained integrated, lightweight paneling of the same material. Along the forearm of each sleeve, a one-inch wide tube was barely noticeable, hidden by the layered and gusseted fabric. But the tube housed a spring loaded, razor sharp titanium blade, serrated on one side and honed to a fine edge on the other.

  Gauntlets of the same material zipped into the lining of the jacket, making a damn near impenetrable web of reinforced fabric, titanium and pure, refined awesome.

  The pants were similarly accoutered, with the added benefit of an integrated sidearm holster, also spring loaded and concealed in a thigh pouch on the right hand side at perfect draw height. Plates of titanium lined the shins and the thighs, and kneepads protected the joints.

  The final piece was an attached, lightweight balaclava designed more for a primary bite and scratch resistance than for heavier combat. It was retractable and easily stowed and removed, so it wouldn’t become a problem in low visibility situations.

  Kate whistled through her teeth as we took in the haul. Behind us, Williams finished his explanation of the gear and paused, waiting for questions as he adjusted the paper on his clipboard.

  “This is great,” I said. “Do you take MasterCard?”

  He simply stared for several seconds, and I glanced at Kate, who merely shrugged. No smile, but a condescending grin.

  Tough room.

  Maybe they didn’t know I was famous.

  “Obviously, we have weapons for you as well. We have a primary prototype to show you. It hasn’t been tested in the field, but we’ve conducted limited trials to ascertain its effectiveness—”

  I interrupted, curious. “What does ‘limited trials’ mean, Captain? Have these been used on actual dead people, or just dummies?”

  He paused, looking away. “I’m not sure, to be honest. But rest assured, we had top men working on this project. We are looking to deploy more combat-effective weaponry for the battlefield, and close engagements are more common in this battle than they have been since World War One.”

  I couldn’t help myself.

  “Top men?” I asked, keeping a straight face.

  “Top men,” he replied, no smile invading the cold replica of a human face that he had clearly removed from an actual human and was wearing as a mask over his alien body.

  Laughing as he missed the reference to one of my favorite movies of all time, I shrugged in the jacket one more time, feeling the comforting weight of it on my shoulders.

  Annoyed at my laughter, and seeing that Kate was simply ignoring us both as she adjusted the sleeves of her own garb, he turned to the rack of interesting weaponry behind the suits.

  “As you know,” he began, reaching for the first in the rack and lifting it slowly from its mount, “long guns, including weapons on full automatic, are not nearly as effective as scattershot weapons that provide a higher likelihood of damage to the head. As you also know, you are often in situations involving close quarters. This weapon aims to solve both of those problems with one tool.”

  He held up an incredibly ungainly looking piece of weaponry, and I frowned, staring at the beastly creation. It looked like a normal combat shotgun, but with a magazine protruding from the underside at a slight curve. Instead of the normal rounded stock that slowly widened as it progressed toward the end, the stock of this weapon was squared off and short. At the end of the stock, a cushioned grip was inserted perpendicular to the length of the weapon, presumably to provide support for thrusting the long bayonet affixed to the top of the barrel. Not a normal bayonet, however, this one was narrow on both ends, and wider in the middle, resembling a battle axe that had been shaved off to half its width and welded to a gun, with a slightly longer, narrow tip near the end of the gun barrel that was clearly designed for thrusting.

  He continued, “This is a prototype automatic shotgun that fires regular ammunition on semi and full automatic, but is also equipped to handle a special type of round we have been working on.”

  He locked the magazine into the gun with a loud click, and sighted the weapon down the length of the room. Then, turning it quickly in his hands, he positioned it so that we could witness the hand-to-hand design. Gripping it by the slightly wider forestock, he swiped it through the air in a lateral motion, demonstrating the effectiveness—and the wide range—of the bayonet axe.

  “We call it a Pathfinder. Obviously, this isn’t designed to be your primary hand-to-hand weapon. We have provided you with a much simpler, and might I add, more ‘retro’ solution.”

  He handed me the gun, which I bobbled briefly, unsure of how to hold it without hurting myself, and grabbed a long parcel from the rack and withdrew a machete that had been designed with a three foot long blade made of thick steel, a razor sharp edge, and serrated back, with a thick knuckle guard and a four inch spike on the bottom of the hilt.

  “Captain, you mentioned a newly designed type of ammunition?” Kate was examining the Pathfinder, and was expertly working the various mechanical pieces, sighting the weapon and giving it an experimental swipe. We had spent the last few weeks ensconced in training in a variety of weapons in an effort to kill the boredom—and help our chances on the outside if we were ever allowed to leave—and it really showed in her instant expertise with the new toy.

  “Yes,” he turned again, picking up a bland, Army-green box from the shelf below the rack, and gesturing toward the end of the room, where a thick iron door led into a stairwell to the basement level. We climbed down the cement block stairwell as he spoke.

  “We didn’t create these recently. They were worked up in prototype-form several years ago, designed originally for places like Baghdad and Kabul. House clearing. Street to street combat. We wanted to give our guys the ability to make an impact at close range, and with very little accuracy needed. Short of pounding through cement or brick, these do the trick.”

  We reached the bottom of the stairwell and emerged into a single lane firing range, with a simple target affixed to the wire fifty feet away.

  “You’re going to find that effectiveness with a standard shell starts to dwindle at around fifty feet,” he said, tossing each of us a pair of ear protectors and putting the gun carefully to his shoulder. After checking to ensure we were wearing the protection, he sighted and fired.

  The normal round tore through the target, leaving a scattershot of small holes and a large area of shredded paper. He pressed the button on the actuator for the target, replacing it with a new paper, and moving it back to one hundred feet.

  “These are a little different. The pellets don’t deploy from the shell until they’ve gone fifty feet, or until the round hits something, whichever comes first. Then, they release—with a little extra at the end.”

  He took the magazine from the weapon and placed a single shell from the small green box into the receiver and sighted the weapon again.

  This time, after the roar of the discharge, a small discharge of flame appeared from the muzzle, and another explosion almost immediately followed as the target simply disappeared. The paper shredded into confetti as small pieces, still flaming, drifted to the ground. Behind the target, the wall smoked from secondary impacts.

  “What the…” I began, my voice muffled in my own ears by the heavy protection.

  Those things could stop a goddamned elephant on crack.

  He continued, still clinically.

  “These rounds have explosive pellets that ignite on impact with small micro charges. They have proven quite effective on test subjects.”

  “No shit,” I said, staring at the small pieces of paper, none of which would have been large enough to stick into a growth-retarded, miniature fortune cookie.

  Beside me, Kate whistled softly, and I turned to her.

  “Well honey, what do you think? Should we get one?”


  FIVE

  The day went by quickly. Between operational and flight briefings, in between which we managed to grab some food, it was afternoon before we were able to find a short time to talk. Ky was still AWOL, and we were beginning to worry.

  “I’m just saying that teenage kids aren’t known for clear thinking,” I sighed, swirling the last of the bitter, cold coffee around in a cheap white ceramic mug, watching the small grounds catch on the side and slip slowly into the sludge beneath.

  “She’ll be fine. She can’t go anywhere, you know that. She needs to cool off. We’ll find her tonight, and we’ll see her before we leave. You know we can’t take her, don’t you?” Her voice was patient and soft, and I knew she was thinking the same thing. Feeling the same thing.

  That somehow, Ky was safer with us.

  “Yeah, I know. I hate the idea of leaving the kid. I’ve gotten to not hate her, and there aren’t that many people left out there I could say the same for. Especially now that there’s around seventeen people left alive on the planet.” I pushed the mug away, glancing toward the mess line that was vacant, considering a refill.

  It would still be like drinking sewer water, but at least it would be hot.

  “You ever think about what this is all going to look like in five years? In ten?” Her voice was curious, her eyes staring at the wall behind me.

  “Old?” I offered.

  She smiled slightly, then brought her own cup to her lips, taking a drink and then holding the cup in both hands.

  “Besides that. I mean, it’s never going to be the same, right? Millions of abandoned cars and falling buildings. Machines that will stay useless and empty. Buildings that will never be inhabited again. Even if we went conservative on our estimates, the human race has probably lost eighty percent. Entire cities will be empty. Entire states, possibly.”

  I thought for a moment, considering what we had already seen.

  Highways jammed with wrecked and abandoned cars. Windowless buildings. Broken bodies and empty neighborhoods.

  Silence.

  Death.

  Abandon.

  “I suppose it will look like a civilization has died, and we’ll be picking up the pieces, and leaving the bulk to die or be forgotten with time. It happens. We’ll be the new generation. The ones that start over.”

  “It’s a heavy burden, if you think about it,” she sighed.

  “That’s why I make a point not to think.”

  She nodded, still thinking, slightly smile stuck on her lips. I knew she was turning to thoughts of her daughter, so far away. So young and alone.

  “Listen, let’s just get some rest, and…”

  The last half of my sentence drifted off as we both turned toward the large window facing east, toward the city. A massive fireball was spitting into the sky from directly across the river, and our seats had just vibrated substantially.

  “What the hell is that?”

  We both adjusted our sunglasses and squinted against the filtered light coming in from the heavily shaded window.

  Black, tarry smoke was curling into the air, and the air rippled with the heat of the blaze.

  “It’s got to be a gas line,” I said softly, watching the flame and scanning the sky for any sign of an airplane or helicopter that could have been the cause. An air patrol had been set up around the District, looking for targets of opportunity as large herds formed and congregated. They never took a shot at the guys on our doorstep because of the risk of collateral damage, and they avoided the highways and airports under the deluded hope that those could all be useful once again. Some day.

  But the rest of the city was fair game.

  There was no sign of an external cause, and I assumed an accidental one. In all seriousness, we were damn lucky that the power plants and industrial chemical processing plants along the Eastern seaboard hadn’t combusted or sprayed the atmosphere with chlorine bleach or some other nasty concoction. They had been unmanned for long enough for shit to go sideways in a bad way, and the fact that they hadn’t yet was either dumb luck, or sheer providence.

  “It’s getting bigger,” said Kate, staring at the flames, which were mesmerizing in their orange and red fury.

  We both stood up to move closer to the window, but as we got out of our seats, another explosion rocked the skyline and we sat down as the floor shook and dishes rattled in their racks.

  The 14th Street bridge, one of the main arteries in and out of the city from Northern Virginia, and clearly visible from our vantage point, had just split in two amidst a massive fireball, seeming to detonate from underneath the expanse. Massive pieces of cement and asphalt were falling into the calm water of the Potomac, and oily black smoke was curling in thin streams from several points on the portions of the bridge that remained intact on either side.

  “Definitely gas lines,” I said, slightly anxious now about the pathway of the line that was disintegrating in pieces as it crossed the river.

  We shot out of our chairs toward the hallway as the red emergency lights began to rotate amidst a sudden backdrop of wailing klaxons.

  Men and women in uniform were walking quickly—and in some cases running—as we ducked into the hallway. I spared a quick glance for Kate as I made my way forward, toward the ops center on this floor. But before we could reach it, Captain Williams appeared out of a door on our left and we skidded to a halt.

  “Captain! What’s happening? It’s not a breach, is it?” My voice was calm, but my heart was racing. It was as if my body was anticipating a fight already, and I had to suppress a slight urge to start looking for the first intruder.

  He looked at us, almost as if he were surprised to see us standing there, before shaking his head slightly and responding with a shake of his head.

  “No, no. Nothing like that. The explosions outside triggered a seismic alarm, and a doorway in the sub-basement registered a breach. But the tunnel attached to that doorway is secure—in fact the entire subway line from here through Braddock Road station past National is secure. We cleared it and locked it down soon after the outbreak to make access to National easier if and when we tried to retake it. No breaches. Just a standard scramble.”

  I heard Kate sigh, and I registered the feeling, even though my body was still screaming for a fight. I swallowed and closed my eyes, willing my blood pressure to decrease as Kate spoke.

  “Have you seen Ky, Captain? We haven’t seen her since this morning, and since we’re due to leave tomorrow, we were hoping…”

  He shook his head again and backed away, disinterested.

  “No, I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me, the general will want a report, and I’m running late. Have a good night.”

  I raised my hand to stop him, but Kate’s fingers were on my shoulder.

  “No, don’t worry about it. He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t care. Let’s take a walk. Maybe she’s on the roof. She goes there sometimes with the dog to stare at the crowd.”

  I nodded once, noticing the softness in her voice. She was thinking of her daughter again. I could hear it. Every day that we spent confined in this building, stationary and helpless, was another day she wasn’t moving. As a parent—as a mother—she felt like a failure.

  Every day, she felt more and more removed. I could only imagine. Laying in bed at night, staring at a ceiling, feeling warm, rested and safe while on the other side of the continent, your child was out there.

  Dead or alive, she was out there.

  And you didn’t know.

  It was impossible for me to imagine. I knew enough to know that. But as she led me to the closest stairwell, I knew that I had to try to understand enough to make sure I went to hell and back to get her to her little girl.

  We reached the gravel-covered expanse of tar and metal, just as the sun was sliding over the horizon. Squinting, we both moved methodically around the oddly shaped building, calling out to her and Romeo, but receiving no response. Below us, more than a million dead bodies groaned and reached up to the
roof, as if willing our bodies to fall to the earth.

  As we returned to the stairwell we had come from, we looked at each other, faces passive.

  The roof was a bust.

  So was the third floor.

  And the second.

  We did several laps of the first floor, checking the gyms, the cafeteria, and the break rooms. The young woman who shared her room gave us an understanding frown, and told us that she hadn’t seen her, but would call for us if she did. It was impossible to know whether she had taken anything else from her room, as it was an unrivaled disaster area, but her crossbow—and her backpack—were missing.

  That was a problem.

  “We don’t know anything,” I said calmly as Kate paced the room the next morning. She had tossed all night, rising more than eight times to check Ky’s room. Her hair was getting long and it slowly swayed back and forth across the cotton shirt she wore as pajamas. Her long legs paced frantically past the bed as I watched her dizzying motion.

  “What do you mean we don’t know anything? We know she isn’t in her room, and hasn’t been there since yesterday. We know she isn’t on the roof, and she most likely isn’t wandering the upper floor offices and command centers. We know her weapon is gone, and her dog hasn’t been seen since she left. You know what else I think I know? I think she left.” She stopped moving, folding her arms across her chest, her body language daring me to argue.

  Realizing that the better part of valor is patience, I paused and thought for a moment. She made a good case. But there was no way to leave this fortress. I was about to make that point when the phone next to the door rang. Kate was a lioness tackling a sick zebra.

  “Hello? Yes… but we… Yes. We’ll be there.”

  I stared as she slammed the phone down. Her eyes were sadder than before, but her words were angry, and somewhat confused.

  “We need to get to the supply locker and gear up. The operation has been moved up. We’re leaving in an hour.”