Clio and Cy: The Apocalypse

by Christopher Lee

  Russ and Clio made trips in and out of the house until the truck was loaded with all the items the old man thought were necessary to bring.

  “We ready?” Clio asked after she followed Lady up and inside the cab.

  “Almost,” Russ responded.

  “What are we missing?” Clio asked with a bit of disappointment.

  Russ rubbed the top of Lady’s head and looked at Clio as he familiarized himself with the truck again. “We need more fuel, need to make a stop or two before we hit the railroad tracks,” Russ explained, craning his head toward the tailgate as he put it in reverse.

  CHAPTER 40 - AND IN THIS CORNER

  “Use only that which works, and take it from

  any place you can find it.”

  ― Bruce Lee

  Atlanta:

  Dr. Pavlov wasn’t a big fan of losing any of his mechanized soldiers but it was the only way. A test, a mini war game was the best litmus to find out if his new creation of Super Destroyers were as lethal as he’d designed them to be. Simple really, he would pit one against the other. Old vs. New: Ker vs. Super Destroyer: fighting for the heavyweight title.

  He programed both to seek and destroy. Wired in, they both were downloaded to hunt each other and fight to the death. Dr. Pavlov would critique this duel in person, up close and in living color. Screen images wouldn’t suffice. He wanted to witness the match first hand, sitting ringside in the city streets of Atlanta.

  Dr. Pavlov set his test in motion. Bristling with excitement, the scientist watched the combatants storm out of the old CDC building. He left his makeshift factory and hurried to the desolate arena.

  Waiting for the combatants to appear, Dr. Pavlov stood flanked by a garrison of protective Ker. Man and machine stood on the rooftop of an Atlanta landmark. Interstate-75 was the battle ground and the top of the old Varsity restaurant was the best seat in the house.

  Any minute now, he thought after glancing at the time displayed on the top of his computer tablet. He saw their images on the screen coming from opposite ends of the city, both about to enter the octagon. Letting the tablet hang down at his side, Dr. Pavlov looked up and fixed his gaze over the interstate.

  Pounding toward I-75, Seth Pavlov heard the heavyweight contenders making their way. Guarding Dr. Pavlov’s from any Resistance monkeys, Ker surrounded and towered atop the Varsity. Their electronic sounds scanning and guarding the scientist as they gently moved around. They watched.

  The old Ker model arrived at the arena first. Intentionally, Dr. Pavlov gave it a head start. Peeking through driver’s glass, the Ker crouched behind a cargo truck and waited to spring a trap.

  Galloping like an iron horse of the apocalypse, the Super Destroyer appeared after launching over a guardrail. It burst on the Interstate with violence, crashing down. Dr. Pavlov felt the force of its weight, sending a shock wave through the building underneath his feet. With the force of a hunting T-Rex, it rippled the puddles and shook everything within a hundred square yards.

  With armored vertebrae erecting its torso, and multiple extremities, the Super Destroyer looked like an insect rising on its back legs. Gold and black arms stretched out. Its exotic metals reflected the sun when it aimed a small launch tube eighty degrees up and pulled the trigger, firing a recon probe to seek and find. The mini UAV spy probe hovered, gliding in the air, transmitting information back to the Super Destroyer’s guidance system. Got you bitch! Target acquired!

  The Ker stayed hidden behind the vehicle, waiting to jump out and shoot when the metal bug got closer.

  As if it was reaching for a samurai sword, the Super Destroyer clutched the railgun attached to its back, and pulled it over. Its railgun was capable of firing six-pound missiles housed in its feeder at hypersonic velocities of Mach 8. It was an improvement in performance from when the U.S. Navy first tested such a weapon over a thousand years ago. Back then, the Americans gave the weapon the motto, "Velocitas Eradico," Latin for "I, who am speed, eradicate."

  Not wasting an inch on his new Super Destroyer’s design, Dr. Pavlov engineered powerful-clawed hands on all six extremities. Like the two that were planted and digging into Interstate-75 right now. Using its top set of pinchers, it gripped the railgun, holding it tight. Adding another layer of armor, the two mechanical arms in the middle of its body crossed over its abdomen, ready to swing into action when needed.

  Whining sounds pulsed out over the battleground as the railgun energized to full power. Now armed and ready to go! The Super Destroyer dug in and fired. Missile projectiles raced out of its barrel at over eight times the speed of sound.

  Spitting out rounds like a flamethrower, the bug sent missiles through layer after layer of vehicles that lined the Interstate in front of the Ker. Sparks flew and steel lit ablaze. Vehicles launched, flying airborne as if the boot of a Titan kicked them. The Ker remained in its hiding spot and paid the piper for not moving clear. With the force of a wrecking ball, the cargo truck whip smacked the Ker out of control.

  Tumbling end over end, the Ker flew back while the vehicles slid and twisted in masses of Swiss cheese. A four door landed on top of the Ker and pinned it underneath. The air became quiet after the sound of the Super Destroyer’s railgun hummed down.

  Pinned on the ground, the trapped Ker positioned its hands against the vehicle and bench-pressed it off its chest. Crashing through the silence, the vehicle landed on its hood, and the older bot jumped to its feet. It was ready to fight again. Erupting war noise, the Ker fired back with precision, bouncing rounds off the massive bionic bug.

  Dr. Pavlov armed the Ker with 30mm projectiles, similar to what the Super Destroyer Bugs would have to go up against when they eventually got the chance to invade RMB Pendleton.

  Avoiding the tracer rounds and the bullets in between them, the bug launched cars toward the Ker. Chunks of an overpass fell to earth and the smell of destruction lingered over the interstate. The Ker stopped firing as both combatants moved counter clockwise through the seven-year-old traffic jam that littered the highway. Getting flat, it appeared to be even more bug like as it stopped and lowered its body to the ground.

  The Super Destroyer launched off all six legs and concrete flew from the brutal force of its digging claws. Like a nuclear bullet train, the bug shot forward intending to explode through and kill the outdated bot. The Ker stood its ground and fired in a hailstorm of bullets being fed from its interior ammo well. Empty casings showered out, breaking through the glass of the vehicles as the deafening sound rang out over the barren interstate.

  Wading through bullets, the Super Destroyer faced into the wind of the Ker’s sighting system. The Ker perfectly placed each bullet against the armor of the charging metal insect, bouncing off and ricocheting while it kept coming. Dr. Pavlov programed the Super Destroyer to use its railgun only once. The giant bug had the option of using hand-to-hand combat after one attempt with the railgun – nothing else – that was it. Still holding its ground, the Ker continued to fire at the unarmed insect.

  “Ting!” a ricochet round hit one of the Ker guards that stood next to Dr. Pavlov. Its body swayed and a respectable dent was now on its chest. Like a disciplined soldier, it stood back to attention and resumed watching, motionless. Nervously, the scientist realized that maybe, he was too close to the action.

  Reaching the limits of how many consecutive rounds could be dispensed from its cannon, the Ker continued to fire as heat poured out of its barrel. The Super Destroyer’s body jolted from each shot as it flew through the air on its final approach. The Ker continued to hold its ground, firing direct hits on the airborne bug while the barrel of its gun glowed orange. Like a mechanized barbarian, the insect was at the gate.

  The Super Destroyer crashed into the Ker, sending them both in an out-of-control skid, sparks flying as if they were meteors crashing through earth’s atmosphere. Cars shot out and toppled over like bowling pins. After leaving behind a deep rut scored into the concrete, they slid to a stop. Pouring out heat, the air smell
ed like machine sex.

  Mounting the lesser bot, the insect held the Ker down with four arms. The massive bug grabbed the Ker by both wrists and sunk four alloy clawed talons into its body. The new and improved killer held the Ker tighter, ripping its arms out. Glancing in Dr. Pavlov’s direction, the Super Destroyer tossed the Ker’s extremities aside. The arms landed with wires exposed and fluids draining. Still looking on the rooftop of the old Varsity restaurant, wanting validation, the insect paused for a second. Dr. Pavlov nodded with approval.

  The giant bug stood over the Ker as if it were a bird of prey, holding its meal in its talons before it went back down to tear out more flesh. Fighting helpless and armless, its electric blue eyes watched the insect holding it down, the Ker was barely functional, only able to kick its legs. The Super Destroyer gripped the bottom edges of the Ker’s Samurai helmet and pulled.

  The Ker was on life support after its head was torn off its shoulders. After throwing the head on top of a car, the bug looked over toward Dr. Pavlov again. With a deranged grin, the scientist golf clapped. A knockout. It finished the job and won the belt by crushing the Ker’s body between six clawed mitts, crushing it like a beer can after thirty talons sunk in deep.

  CHAPTER 41 - HOT ROD

  “All human males were as fascinated with cars as they were with breasts.”

  ― Anita Clenney

  North Carolina:

  “This the place?” Clio asked.

  Russ didn’t answer as his eyes scanned over the neighbor’s house and yard. The place was quiet and Russ noticed the garage door was shut.

  “He keeps it inside,” Russ said.

  “What?” Clio asked, looking around.

  “Gas.”

  “Oh,” Clio responded.

  “Got an old hot rod inside,” Russ said pointing with his eyes toward the garage doors.

  “What’s a hot rod?”

  “It’s a car,” the old man responded.

  Russ parked the truck after backing it in near the front of the aluminum doors. “Stay inside the truck with Lady,” he ordered.

  “I don’t wan…”

  “Inside!” Russ ordered, pointing his finger down toward the floorboard, stopping Clio before she could protest further.

  “Ok,” she responded, dreading the thought of being left alone.

  Russ jumped out and locked the doors. Aiming, his rifle came up and he slowly approached the front door. He could tell it wasn’t shut all the way after he arrived at the top of the steps. Using his barrel, Russ pushed it wide and paused as he heard it creaking open. Before he entered, the old man looked around the yard behind him and then glanced at the truck.

  “Anyone home?” he shouted, knowing damn good and well no one was. Not alive anyway. His voice bounced off the walls and he looked around before walking inside.

  Russ halted in the center of the living room; he stood still motionless and listened. No reason to stand here, get your ass moving Russ, he prodded. Whether the owners were dead or not, Russ felt creepy being inside someone else’s house, uninvited.

  Russ used his high mileage legs to walk to the kitchen and moved at a quick pace. Causing him to double take, something beneath his feet caught his eye. Blood covered the kitchen floor and trailed over the tile before leading outside through a mangled, back door. Something had bled profusely and it had obviously been dragged out of the kitchen and through the back yard. A crusty line was etched and doused in blood patterns similar to a Rorschach test, leaving grim designs all over the outside deck’s pale wood.

  Blood ran across the unstained deck and vanished off the end of the patio. Dragged them into the woods, Russ thought as he looked into the forest shadows beyond the back yard... The old man continued gazing into the woods that hid the railroad tracks beyond them; Russ pondered what the homeowner’s demise must have been like.

  No way for a person to go, he thought, and then realized his loved ones must have gone in a similar primal act. He shuttered, noticing a smashed window in the living room that complemented the mangled patio door. Turning away with mind and body, he quickly entered the garage. Goddamn things…

  Clio kept her pistol gripped tightly, nudging close to Lady, dreaming of shrinking to the size of a pea while waiting for Russ to hurry back. She scanned through the windshield with her body tense. Frightened, she jumped. “Rrrmmm.” The dull humming sound of the garage door opened behind her. Clio whipped around and observed it roll up.

  “You can get out now, Clio,” Russ shouted, knowing the girl must have been frightened, waiting alone inside the truck.

  Clio approached and Lady raced by her, sniffing at everything inside the garage. A finch chirped as the girl entered behind the dog.

  Russ pointed outside as if he were an Irish setter, rigid-armed. “Hey, cover your area… Remember what I taught you,” he said. “Keep watch while I do this.”

  Clio nodded and stood guard, remaining a few feet inside the garage. She saw Russ’s shadow before he walked by her, going out to his truck.

  “What’s that for?” Clio asked referring to the garden hose the old man was carrying back with him.

  “You’ll see,” Russ said.

  The old man opened the gas cap on the Camaro that was parked inside the garage. Other than for the thin layer of dust that covered its sheet metal, it could still win first place in a car show.

  “Never seen one like this,” Clio said drawing a C with her fingertip, revealing the shiny paint that lay underneath the buildup. “It’s cool.”

  “Yeah… real cool... don’t make ‘em like this anymore,” Russ announced as he slid the hose inside the car’s gas tank.

  Clio watched as the old man put his lips to the hose as he sucked and syphoned out the gas. The fuel began its journey through the rubber tube while he continued to straw suck it through. Tasting it, Russ jerked the hose out of his mouth coughing and spitting. Gas spilled onto the concrete deck and stained it dark. The fuel’s puddle edges quickly shrunk inward, evaporating. The old man continued spitting the burning petrol out of his mouth and quickly slipped the end of the hose through a plastic gas container. I’ve done that better before, he thought.

  “That doesn’t look fun,” Clio said, grimacing and wondering if gasoline tasted as bad as it smelled.

  “You still watching!” Russ ordered pointing through the opening.

  Clio turned back around and faced the outside, continuing to do her duty as she felt a gentle breeze across her skin, anxiously wanting to get out of the confines of the garages cool shadows. She wanted to find her mother.

  Russ struggled under the weight of the full gas can as he shuffled toward his truck. “Knock it off Lady,” he said as the dog sniffed the can and almost tangled up in his feet. “Trying to kill me dog?”

  39 minutes later:

  Driving to RMB Jackson:

  “So far so good,” Clio said. “Right?”

  “So far so good young lady,” Russ answered as the trucks suspension bounced along the side of the railroad tracks. There was enough room to not have to drive on top of the rails so Russ drove below the tracks where it was a bit smoother.

  It was only a few miles to the RMB, but for Clio, they couldn’t get there fast enough. “How much further?” Clio asked.

  “Not much farther… should be close,” Russ answered.

  CHAPTER 42 - DMV

  “The one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion, economic status, or ethnic background, is that, deep down inside, we all believe that we are above-average drivers.”

  ― Dave Barry

  “Are you tired yet Dr. Marcus?” Cy asked. Dr. Pressfield knew what his cyborg really meant. “Not yet Cy. Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance to drive.”

  “Ok Dr. Marcus. I just think you should take a break soon…” Cy suggested, smiling and fiddling his finger on the dashboard.

  “I’m sure you do Cy,” Dr. Pressfield answered, looking out the side window. They’d made it past R
ichmond having to off road it several times along the way. So far nothing too rough prevented their progress, nothing that the Hum-Z couldn’t handle anyway.

  Green signs that once reflected brightly, now hung dirty over the interstate. Some were barely attached as they twisted in the wind. Nature was making an impressive comeback on this part of I-95. Sections of road, as if it was being eaten for its delicious blacktop, were completely covered over with plants and green things. Patient as the slowest quick sand, foliage was climbing up cars, munching and swallowing them.

  “Look at that Cy,” Marcus announced, pointing at the barely legible sign on the side of the road.

  “North Carolina Dr. Marcus. We’re making excellent progress aren’t we?”

  “We sure the hell are,” Marcus affirmed, thinking, we sure the hell are… hoping this trip wasn’t too easy... Effortless things always seemed to have a way of jumping up and biting you on the ass when you least expect it. As if to punish your easy goings in the beginning, “chomp,” making you pay by turning the rest of your journey into a painful endeavor.

  “Ok Cy… can’t take much more of you eyeballing me.”

  “I can drive now Dr. Marcus?”

  “Yup… your turn.”

  Dr. Pressfield pulled the vehicle over needing to stretch his legs anyway. “Keep your eyes peeled,” he said getting out.

  “Of course Dr. Marcus.”

  Cy was already at the driver’s side door before Dr. Pressfield made it to the front bumper, shaking his head, smiling, as the cyborg climbed in. “You ready Dr. Marcus?”

  “Let me go to the bathroom first. Relax will yah… geeze!”

  “Ok Dr. Marcus. Relax mode engaged,” Cy answered with his hands ready on the steering wheel. Yeah right, Pressfield thought after looking at his young cyborg already pretending to drive. Shaking his head, Marcus turned away and peed.

  A feral cat wandered by Marcus as if it didn’t notice him standing there, peeing. It slipped quietly as most felines do, without eye contact. He shook his pecker a few times before zipping back up.