by Chris Hechtl
Percy was in awe of the machine shops. He'd disabled anything electronic by the simple expedient of pulling the plug—then found out someone had gone through the place and had smashed a lot of the hardware. He'd sulked for days after that.
“So what now?”
“Onward and outward. Carefully. We are going to put patrols out. Secure the area, fort up here. The shuttle crew will work on their baby. We've got that supply of jet fuel in the fuel dump. But they need to make certain their bird is flight worthy first.”
Fiben nodded.
“Once they are up again, we'll send scouts into the surrounding area. They'll avoid contact with the robots, but they will watch and note their locations and concentrations. Any humans or others they run into they'll make contact with of course,” Harper said, listing their priorities. “And of course secure sources of food and materials for us,” he said.
“Of course,” Fiben nodded.
“We've been avoiding the towns and major population centers. We didn't know if they were radioactive or how bad off they were with everyone and everything killing and all that,” Pat said, eying Percy and then Fiben. “They are most likely picked over and well, kill zones for the robots,” the engineer stated. “Besides, there weren't enough of us,” he said squirming. It sounded like even he didn't like making that excuse.
“Ah,” Harper said. “Prudent.”
They had picked up the stories from the locals, one by one. Harper had detailed a couple of his people and the copilot to listen to their stories and record them. Each had been asked to report what they had seen to an audio recording that the flight team would eventually bring up to space.
Harper was still dealing with the fallout from that little dropped tidbit. It had alarmed some who had expected to be abandoned once more. He'd carefully explained that he and his team weren't going anywhere. That had put out a few people like Baxter, and Pat. But that was tough; they were needed right where they were.
They had only managed to dig and move the shuttle because of Jimenez, the local blacksmith farrier. He had used his small portable forge and old school methods to turn scrap metal and appropriated tools into improvised snow shovels and pickaxes. Fiben brandished a shovel. “We're not licked yet, people. See? We can adapt with time. Civilization can survive. The robots, they can't do this. Not on our level.”
“For a while I had my doubts,” Pat said dryly.
“If the shuttle is going to take a while, should I compress the recordings and upload them?” Harper mused. Pat frowned then shrugged when the chimp eyed him.
“Your call,” he said.
“No, don't,” Fiben said slowly. Pat and Harper turned to him. “I wouldn't. It's going to take a lot of time to process it all. It will also take time to upload it. Also, if they see the compression, they might not accept it. They might think we've been compromised and ignore us.”
Harper grimaced but nodded. “All good points. I don't want to be cut off. Good call.”
Fiben shrugged. “I just shot from the hip.”
<>V<>
That afternoon an exodus took place while Saul rested from the night's defense. He was furious that his men had allowed it when he woke, finding only his loyal four and one other left behind. “But you said if they want to go to leave!” Edward said, spreading his hands apart as Saul paced.
Saul scowled and shot him in the knee. The man screamed clutching at his knee as he went down, sobbing in agony. None of the others did anything to help or stop what was happening. Pasha turned a little green but that was it. Roshenko's lip curled, but he knew better than to challenge Saul's authority. Besides, he had no idea on what to do. Saul backhanded Edward with the berretta then put a second shot in his skull as he sobbed to put him out of his misery.
“Anyone else want to interpret my orders?” he asked, eying them coldly as he waved the gun. Forchenko and the others shook their heads.
“Boss, what do we do? We don't have enough people to man the whole perimeter, and it's taken so much damage. If they come back tonight, we're screwed,” Forchenko warned.
“We're about out of food anyway. Probably why the typcs ran away,” Pasha said, shaking his head. “We've been on short rations for a while,” he grumbled.
“You've needed to go on a diet anyway,” Forchenko said. Pasha shot him a dirty look then looked to the body and then away. He knew better than to open his mouth further.
“Get the vehicles ready. Strip this debil of his gear. He won't be needing it anymore anyway,” Saul said, kicking the body. “Then get your gear ready. Pack all the food and weapons.”
“Where are we going, boss?” Forchenko asked.
“Somewhere else. We'll get in and take it over. Somewhere with plenty of food, women, and vodka,” he said. That got the men to grin in appreciation.
“Get moving,” Saul snarled as he stormed off.
Saul took his anger out over the situation on Megan. When he beat her to wake her up, she went catatonic.
“Boss, we're ready,” Roshenko said, coming to the door as Saul finished cleaning himself with a towel. The battered girl laid on the bed naked. He put a shirt on as Roshenko stared at the girl, licking his lips. Behind the slim Roshenko, the much larger Pasha showed, up.
“What do we do with her, boss?” Forchenko asked, pointing to the girl. “We can't carry her. She's dead weight. A mouth to feed we don't need, even though she eats like a bird,” he said.
Saul eyed him then the girl. He was right. He was tired of Megan. Besides, let them have his nebrezhnyy sekund, sloppy seconds. He was through with her he thought as he finished gathering what gear he wanted to bring. He picked up his heavy coat, gloves, scarf, and hat. He had more items packed away for trade goods.
“Have your fill. Fuck her silly then put her down like the stupid pizda she is,” Saul said, looking at the men as the woman curled into a ball. “You've got twenty minutes, no more, no less. Then we move out. Don't use a bullet,” he growled as the men began to unhitch their pants. He shook his head as he turned her over to them to use and abuse, then kill. The act would cement their loyalty to him for a little while longer.
<>V<>
October 31, 2200
On their second trip out of the town, they turned onto the main drag headed for the farm and home. Boomer was tired, sore, and ready for a nap but determined to drive and keep an eye on things until they were safely inside the farm perimeter.
He'd wanted a tractor trailer to move some of the trailers in town, but it was not to be. None of the vehicles had survived the human's wrath. All but one he noted, seeing headlights coming up behind the last vehicle. It was some distance off but it hadn't made the turn like the others. It wasn't even at the turn yet he realized. He started to curse under his breath.
“What?” Hallis demanded. He caught where Boomer was looking and looked himself. “What is it?”
“Shawn jinxed us. Or I just did wishing for a big rig,” Boomer cursed. Boomer saw it in the rear view mirror as it creeped up on the convoy, gaining ground. It was faster since they were loaded down with precious gear. Heavy gear he thought. A convoy at its most vulnerable when it couldn't run away fast enough. And when they did run, they'd lead the damn thing right to the farm he thought with a pang. The idea of a giant vehicle tearing through his parent's house like tissue paper wasn't appealing. Not in the slightest.
“You sure it is one?” Hallis asked.
“Or it's a camper. Either way we're in trouble,” Boomer said. He wished he had a CB. Unfortunately, there were two sets that Sora's wife, Tara, had resurrected from the pile of electronic parts her spouse had deposited on her. One was in the farm serving as a base station while the second set was in Molly's moving van.
“Frack me. We're in trouble. Only one place on this road it could have come from—the warehouse,” Boomer growled, eyes constantly cutting to the mirrors.
“Are you sure there aren't people on board?” Hallis asked. He glanced at Boomer's set jaw and then exhaled s
lowly. “No, that'd be too much to ask for, wouldn't it?” he asked. Boomer gave a tight nod as Hallis looked over his shoulder again to the bright headlights. “It's getting closer.”
When the truck got up to the rear-most vehicle, it immediately began to swerve back and forth. “What is it trying to do?” Hallis demanded.
“Pitt maneuver. It's trying to run them off the road,” Boomer replied grimly, watching the drama unfold behind him.
Eventually the truck got enough of a lead or the driver panicked and zigged instead of zagged. Either way, the front bumper of the truck clipped the jeep and it spun, then tumbled as it passed the truck.
“Frack me!” Hallis breathed. “Did you see that?”
“Yeah. We're so screwed unless we can think of something,” Boomer growled.
One by one the truck rammed the vehicles it approached from behind off the road. Some turned on their own, running into the ditch to avoid the monster. One pickup was turned and plowed for its trouble—brutally slammed sideways, dragged a bit in front of the truck before the truck slowed and got the front end of the pickup into the dirt and gravel on the edge of the road. The additional drag tugged the truck enough to pivot it and allow the tractor to pick up speed, turn the wheel, and hit the pickup from the rear, sending it careening into the ditch. Without it hindering its progress, the monster picked up speed once more.
“What can we do? We're so screwed! That thing is a tank!”
“Not quite,” Boomer replied grimly, getting the glimmer of an idea. It was crazy, but if it worked it wouldn't be crazy, just scary stupid.
Boomer fell back through the ranks. “What are you doing?” Hallis demanded frantically.
“Hallis, get back there,” he ordered jerking his thumb to the back. “Get in the bed and cut the stove loose. Throw the gear aside.”
“Lighten the load. Right,” Hallis said nodding as he rolled his window down.
“Hell with that. We're going to use it as a weapon. So tell them to time it right,” Boomer ordered. Hallis looked at him and then nodded. He leaned out to shout the orders to Shawn and the kid with him in the bed. “All right, you lot! We're going to push the pot bellied stove off the back of the truck. Get on it!” he ordered.
“You're nuts!” Shawn said, clinging to the side of the truck.
“Just do it!” Boomer bellowed, looking at them briefly before he went back to concentrating on the dark road ahead.
Hallis climbed out the passenger window to help. Shawn helped him into the bed, then they went to work. Together the trio sawed through the ropes holding the gear in place, which made it slump and some of it fall out of the bed.
Shawn then dropped the tailgate and got down on his butt with his back to the cab and pushed with his legs. “Give me a hand!” he snarled, panting. The kid got down hastily to help as Hallis tried to push from above without falling out of the careening truck.
The stove got to the tail gate and weakened it, then it fell off under the overwhelming weight. The gate hinge snapped but the safety chain held it on the driver's side. It was dragged behind them, grinding on the road and sending up a shower of sparks into the night like a rooster tail.
The stove bounced and skipped before it hit the truck on the passenger side nose. The plastic nose shattered. The cast iron stove pierced the radiator sending up gouts of steam. It was then ground down under the bumper to tangle up around the axle. It made the truck buck, shredding the passenger front tire as it ran over the now torn-apart stove. The truck kept rolling over it, bucking as it ran over the stove then ejecting it out the rear.
The truck slowed immediately, brakes squealing. It stopped for a long moment. Boomer kept going for a bit then slowed to a stop at the top a hill.
“Hell, I couldn't have planned that better if I'd tried,” Roger quipped. Shawn snorted as he disconnected the trailing tail gate. It fell with a clatter startling Roger and Boomer.
“What the hell are you doing?” Roger demanded.
“We've got people back there,” Boomer said, pointing. He could see people climbing out of the rolled vehicles a couple of kilometers away. A few waved their hands over their heads to get their attention. When the truck did a K turn and went back, rumbling slowly, they got hastily out of its way. It was sending up plumes of steam and smoke as it limped away.
Boomer performed his own K turn and then went back cautiously. They had people to pick up, and stuff to salvage.
He was careful to pick his way past the trail of fluids the truck was leaving behind like bread crumbs. With any luck the stove had given it a fatal wound. The tires alone would hamper its ability to move.
“We should track it down. Finish it off,” Roger growled as Boomer pulled up on the first group.
“We pick up the people it ran off the road. Then we get our people home safe first. We get revenge later when it's light out so we can see,” Boomer said, flipping the truck's motor off as he climbed out to lend a hand.
<>V<>
Boomer and Hallis found the truck parked on the road blocking it the following morning. It was dead, leaning heavily on the crushed passenger side front tire. The axle looked shot. With the radiator gone, the engine had either blown up or shut down. Once they were certain it wasn't going to move, they went to work.
They picked it over for parts while they disabled it. Boomer was careful to only pull the computer, sensors, and GPS out. “No, save the rest,” he said putting a hand up to stop Shawn from smashing the rest of the truck up.
“Why? This thing killed two of our people and badly hurt Tom Brody, Mary, Al, and Yuri! It deserves to be smashed!” Shawn said, eyes tearing up.
“Because we can use the parts. And besides, we've got a mechanical genius, remember? And an electronic one,” Boomer said, hefting the electronics. “So I wonder, if we hit the reset on this sucker, maybe reflash it, can we trust it? Just to run the truck, no sensors.”
Hallis frowned. He looked at the damage the stove had inflicted, then back to Boomer.
Boomer shrugged. “It'll be an interesting project for her. Keep her busy,” he said with a light smile.
Hallis snorted.
“Hey! Looky what I found!” Shawn said, climbing out of the cab with a bent stick of some sort and a bag with more sticks. It took a moment for Boomer to understand the longer bent stick had pulleys. Then he put it together and realized it was some sort of bow.
“Okay …”
“It's a compound bow and arrow set like on the TV shows and shit,” Roger said, handing them over. Shawn looked up with interest as Boomer hefted them.
“This is giving me an idea,” he murmured thoughtfully.
“What, that? Cowboys and Indians?” Roger demanded. “It's a little early for Indians and pilgrims right? I mean Thanksgiving is right around the corner but if you expect to … you aren't serious,” he said eying Boomer. The other man was absolutely fascinated by the bow.
“Yeah,” Boomer said, nodding slowly. “Yeah.”
“You are …,” Roger eyed him for a long moment as he cut himself off. “You are,” he said in a defeated tone of voice. He looked at the bow. It was a carbon fiber design with few metal parts. It looked in decent shape. The arrows looked good too though a few could use a little fletcher tweaking.
“It's a weapon. The robots and people who took what they could before forgot that. It's time we reminded them,” Boomer said with a grim smile. “I'll need to practice though,” he said.
“I've got it,” Roger said, taking the bow. “You're liable to hurt yourself, Mister Marine. I've hunted with a bow a few times,” he admitted.
“Get anything?”
“Yeah, a hangover from the beer made worse from the deer piss we'd sprayed all over ourselves,” Roger admitted. He grinned, testing the bow. “My uncle got poison ivy,” he said.
Boomer snorted. “Okay. Let's see if we can scare up a few more. If this works they won't hear it, and we'll get the first shots in.”
“I'm more concerned about w
here,” Roger admitted, flexing the bow. “It isn't like shooting a person. An arrow doesn't do as much damage as a bullet you know,” he warned.
Boomer nodded, enthusiasm slightly deflated. Roger was right; they'd have to think of something.
“Still,” Roger picked up an arrow and checked to make certain it was still straight. “I remember watching a few archer videos when I was really into it. I watched one vid on the net where they had all sorts of trick arrows. Most of it was old vids, even some of the stuff from Marvel,” he said with a nod as he put the arrow down and picked up another.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Hawkeye? Rambo? Robin Hood 2400? Green Arrow? Not to mention the guys back in the middle ages who fired flaming arrows,” Roger said. “I always wanted to fire an arrow that would explode,” he murmured, sighting down the arrow carefully.
Boomer blinked then chuckled. “Well, since I know explosives, maybe I can help out there,” he said with a grin.
<>V<>
Saul found out the hard way when they left that getting anywhere wasn't going to be as easy as he'd thought or like anyone else who had left before him had thought. They found a trail of bodies in different places so did their best to avoid those areas. If a street seemed too quiet, too perfect, they moved on.
They had to abandon the four-wheel vehicles early on, resorting to the motorcycles Pasha and Charlie had recovered and repaired. The bikes allowed them to pick around the debris and frozen bodies in the streets, though riding on the ice and snow was a bitch.
Saul tried to head west but ended up getting pushed further and further north as obstacles presented themselves to them.
“Boss, the radiation …,” Pasha said nervously, looking to what was left of Brooklyn.
“So? Your klyuv will glow in the dark, if it doesn't fall off. We're all dead mean anyway,” Saul muttered, moving them onward through the worst of the devastation, skirting the inferno of the nuclear weapons that had shattered the city.
