This is the End 2: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (9 Book Collection)

by J. Thorn

  “I don’t think so,” I said, whipping out the .44.

  I’d never killed anyone before. But unlike Sata, I was in full possession of my faculties when I squeezed the trigger, aiming a shot right at his diseased head.

  The hammer rose, and fell, connecting with the bullet in the chamber.

  It cartridge sparked, then fizzled, without firing.

  A dud.

  I pulled the trigger five more times.

  Dud.

  Dud.

  Dud.

  Dud.

  And finally, a big, fat dud.

  If McGlade had been nearby, I would have shoved that gun so far up his ass it would have poked out his nose.

  Sata laughed, absolutely delighted by this. “Where on earth did you find a firearm?”

  I thought about throwing it at him, remembered how much it was worth, then stuck it back in my shirt.

  “And none of the bullets worked,” Sata continued. “How marvelous.”

  “Fuck you.” It was the best I could come up with, under the circumstances.

  “If you’re done playing around, we have a lift to catch. Or we could hang out here, and I could keep sending people to the land that time forgot as they disembark their cars.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “A noble, albeit shortsighted, choice.”

  I walked through the metal detector and managed to palm a confiscated can of aerosol spray from the security bin. I tucked it into my dô as Sata prodded me forward, to the next available lift.

  The tether car was about the length and width of a bus, with two rows of seats facing the gigantic front window. This lift was empty, except for the pilot, a chubby guy with wide eyes who was raising his hands up over his head.

  “Please don’t send me to another dimension,” the chubby guy said.

  “I should, because it’s impolite to eavesdrop,” Sata said. “These cars aren’t difficult to run. It’s just an up button and a down button, isn’t it?”

  Sata aimed the TEV at the pilot.

  “Leave him alone, Sata,” I warned.

  “Or else what? You’ll misfire again?”

  “I beg you, sir,” the pilot said, spreading his hands.

  “My name is Hinge. Jonbar Hinge. You really can’t predict the potential ramifications of your actions here. The slightest miscalculation could have far-reaching consequences that—”

  “Boring.” Sata activated the wormhole and imploded Jonbar. “Some lucky allosaurus will make a good meal out of that tubby.”

  I swung a fist at Sata, and he easily dodged the blow, rapping me on the head with his forearm, dropping me to my knees.

  I stared at him, disgusted. “I used to look up to you.”

  “It’s so sad when our heroes fail us,” Sata said. “Even sadder to not even know who the heroes are. You’re hated by over one billion Americans, and yet you’re still fighting to save them. Why even bother, Talon? They’re meaningless. Worthless. There are an infinite number of them on an infinite number of worlds. You could wipe a trillion of them—a trillion to the trillionth power—and there would still be infinitely more. What does it hurt to have a little fun with a select few?”

  “Every life counts, Sata.”

  “Impossible. You could never count them all. Now, strap yourself in, or you’ll be allosaur dessert after he finishes with Jonbar.”

  I crawled into a seat and buckled my lap belt. Sata went into the control booth and barked a laugh. “I was right. Two buttons. What a predictably primitive species we are.” He sat down, pressed one, and said, “Going up.”

  The lift raced skyward, pinning me in my chair. The car floated on a track of ceramic magnets, the same mechanism used in bullet trains, and reached 300 mph in less than twelve seconds. I stared, impotent, out the front window as we shot up.

  “Take a good look at the Chicago skyline, Talon. It will be the last time you ever see it.”

  The ground, and even the horizon, quickly disappeared as we entered the domain of clouds. When we reached our peak speed, my body adjusted and I unbuckled my belt.

  Sata chuckled. “I’m reading that dim-witted pilot’s cue card. All the little factoids he was supposed to share with his passengers. Did you know the tether is wirelessly powered by the Tesla field? During construction, six workers were blinded by Tesla lightning, which made their eyeballs boil, then burst. That’s not a very family-friendly tidbit to impart, is it?”

  I stood up. From the control room, I saw Sata frown.

  “Sit back down, Talon, or I’ll hit the emergency brake and you’ll have to be scraped off the ceiling.”

  I sat, and rebuckled my safety belt.

  “The dashboard says we’re going through the Tesla field now.”

  On cue, the windows darkened like automatic sunglasses. The entire car filled with sparkling blue light as we shot up through the Tesla field surrounding the earth—the same field that supplied our electricity. It looked like a million lightning storms, all firing at once. I would have been impressed, but it was eerily similar to what I just saw at the station while getting shot several hundred times. I was grateful to be in the lift, and not out in that mess.

  “We have some free time before reaching the space station, so allow me to tell what I have planned. Undoubtedly, news has gotten up to the security force up there. I plan on dispatching them with the TEV. Unfortunately, unless any of them are wearing space suits, they’ll die immediately when they travel to a parallel earth without any space station.”

  Sata smiled, as if the image pleased him.

  “If any are in space suits, they’ll either float out into space, or orbit the earth a few times until gravity pulls them into a free fall. Hopefully their space suits will be heat-resistant, for when they reenter the atmosphere. And they’ll need parachutes. Of course, on dinosaur earth, they won’t have to worry about free-falling through the Tesla field. I’ve only done a cursory study of the life-forms, but there are several species of flying predators likely to pick them right out of the sky.”

  His speech was getting faster and faster, like it had been a long time since he’d talked to anyone. And that might have been the case.

  “The reason we’re going up here,” he continued, “is the same reason snipers use a perch. From this height, I’m able to aim my device thousands of miles in any direction. Yesterday I tagged Boise from the window of my bedroom suite at the Hilton. But this time it will be different. Once I send Chicago into the wormhole, the base of the space elevator will vanish as well, and it will float away. So I’ve made some provisions for that.”

  I had a headache, and wanted more than anything for Sata to shut up. But as long as he was talking, he wasn’t killing me.

  “In a locker in Airlock C, near the docking station, are two atmosphere suits of my own design, retrofitted with chutes. They’re insulated against cosmic rays, pressurized, and have rebreathers. They also have air jets, for getting to the earth’s atmosphere. Once gravity takes over, the suits will protect against the heat of reentry and the electricity of the Tesla field—though admittedly, I’ve never tested them. No one has ever skydived from two hundred miles up before.

  “If you’re able to stop me, the suits will be unnecessary. But if you’re not, the TEV has a timer on it. You’ll have twenty minutes to jump out of the space station and get a safe distance away before Chicago disappears. We’ll then continue our game in Milwaukee. I hope you know your geography. You can adjust your aim accordingly as you plummet. Wisconsin is just west of the state that looks like a big mitten.”

  Sata smiled again, obviously enjoying himself. “The highest known free fall was from twenty miles above the earth. The world-record holder attained speeds in excess of six hundred miles per hour. I expect to beat that. Though, by next week, a world record won’t matter very much, because there won’t be a world left.”

  “What about the nanopoison?” I asked. I was feeling lighter in my chair. We’d risen higher than the mesopshere
, passing the Kármán line. The blue and white of sky had been replaced by the enormous blackness of space. I knew enough about gravity to understand that weightlessness didn’t happen because you were far from earth. In low-earth orbit, you weighed only 11 percent less than you did on the surface. Being weightless happened when you went into orbit around a planet, because an orbit was essentially a free fall around a curve. You could float in zero-G because you were falling at the same rate your ship was falling.

  “That’s wonderful, Talon. You actually have delusions of winning. Alter-Talon has the antidote, of course. If you survive this game, there will be others to play. Which brings us to our current situation. At Airlock C, I’m going to mollybond the TEV to the wall, program the angle of the wormhole beam, set the timer, and leap to safety. Your goal is to try and stop me. It’s sort of like hyperfootball, with higher stakes.”

  “Thanks for the info dump,” I said. “But what if I don’t want to play your game, Sata?”

  His jubilant face darkened, becoming sinister. “Then I’ll call Alter-Talon, and you can listen in while he skins your pretty little wife.”

  FORTY-SIX

  I unbuckled my seat belt and stood up, convinced Sata wasn’t going to hit the brakes. He didn’t go through all of this meticulous planning for me to die in the lift car. I, however, had no such compunctions. If he died in the lift car, I was fine with that.

  Sata eyed me, looking curious and somewhat superior, like a cat watching a mouse. Besides his TEV, I assumed he was armed. But he was pretty gung ho about going mano a mano, so I doubted he’d use weapons.

  “You’re wearing bogu ,” Sata said. “Clever of you. But it won’t be enough.” He set down the TEV and reached behind his neck, drawing an aluminum sword.

  So much for him not using weapons.

  I advanced anyway, taking small, quick steps, keeping my balance centered. I could feel my heart start to race and my palms get sweaty. Insane as Sata’s motives were, he had a point about the world being unexciting these last few years. I had become a cop to protect and serve. Right here, right now, was the essence of who and what I was.

  Time to kick this old fart’s ass.

  I ran to him, jumping into the air, aiming a flying kick at his chest. Not a regulation kendo attack, but I wasn’t worried about points this time.

  My foot connected, and it was like hitting a wall. Sata’s feet remained firmly planted. I pushed myself away from him, landing on all fours, and checked out his footwear.

  Antigrav shoes. There were magnets in the rubber soles, which adhered to the steel floors of the lift car and the space station.

  In my rush to get here I’d forgotten to bring a pair for myself.

  Sata walked robotically toward me, lifting and planting his feet in an awkward manner. He raised his shinai and swung at my head, the sword a blur. I lifted a padded forearm to block, but as soon as he hit me he pulled back and struck again, tagging me in the side.

  Even with the chest plate on, it hurt like a bitch. The metal shinai had more weight and speed than the traditional bamboo version. I rolled to the left, bumping into a row of seats, ducking again as Sata knocked off a headrest. Then he raised the sword up in both hands, like Arthur freeing Excalibur, and drove the tip right into my gut.

  I braced for it, blowing out a gust of air through my pursed lips as the sword connected with my diaphragm. Ignoring the pain, I latched onto the shinai with both hands. I was determined to rip it from Sata’s grasp.

  I heard the zap at the same time I felt it, a burning sensation that ran all the way up both of my arms. I immediately let go of the sword, somehow managing to bring up my leg and kick Sata out of range.

  “My own design,” Sata said, admiring his weapon. “I’ve infused the shinai with a cattle prod. Makes things more interesting.”

  He thrust the tip at me, ramming my hip. It was like I’d been struck with a mining pick. I cried out, smashing my forearm against the sword, knocking it away. Then I pulled myself to my feet using a chair, rubbing my thigh furiously to get some feeling back in my leg. I considered pulling out the Nife, but decided to hold off for the time being. Accidentally disabling the car or cutting through the fuselage would kill us both. Plus, based on something he’d said, I had a feeling I’d need the Nife later. If I revealed the Nife now, I could very well miss a last-chance opportunity.

  I second-guessed my reluctance when Sata zapped me again, this time in the shoulder. It lit up my nerve endings like they’d been soaked in acid and then set on fire. I danced away from the blow, did a quick spin-kick, and hit Sata between his legs. He wore a supporter, my foot bouncing harmlessly off. I was going to have to rethink my affinity for the groin shot; it never seemed to work.

  Sata swung the shinai like a hyperbaseball bat. I went in low and got inside the arc, clipping him under the jaw with my elbow. When his head snapped back, I chopped at his neck with the edge of my hand. His throat was corded with muscle, and my blow bounced off harmlessly. I might have to rethink my opinion of steroids as well. The only thing staying roid-free has gotten me was multiple beatings.

  I picked up the detached headrest and backed away, standing on the balls of my feet. Sata glanced at my makeshift weapon and shook his head, looking disappointed.

  “I expected more from you, Talon-kun. Back when we first met, you showed so much promise. You reminded me of—”

  “I’d rather get beaten to death than endure another one of your endless monologues,” I interrupted. “Now, shut the fuck up and fight, old man.”

  He thrust the sword at me. I blocked with the headrest, did a tight spin-kick, and knocked him upside his diseased head. Sata staggered, pitching onto some chairs, leaving his back exposed. If I got my arm around his neck, I could choke off his air and end this right now. I dropped the headrest and jumped at him, bracing myself to land on his shoulders.

  But instead of landing I sailed right over him, heading straight for the rear wall of the lift, moving in what felt like slow motion.

  We’d ascended high enough to reach zero gravity.

  I held my hands out in front of me, Superman-style, and soared into the wall. My fingertips brushed against it, and I bent my elbows, kissing the metal, and then pushed myself back toward Sata.

  He was waiting for me, his shinai resting on his shoulder. I flailed my arms, trying to change my speed and/or trajectory, but I kept drifting straight at him. I was about to learn how it felt to be a slow-pitched hypersoftball.

  Sata smacked me in the arm. It hurt, but before he could get his zap on I was floating away from the blow in the opposite direction. Thank you, Mr. Newton, for your Third Law of Motion.

  I hadn’t spent much time in zero-G, but I knew the challenges it posed from the few times I’d had space sex with Vicki. Unless we held each other tight, a single pelvic thrust would send us in flying opposite directions. Amusing at first, but it eventually got frustrating. That was why space hotel bedrooms came equipped with suction cups and bungee cords.

  There were no such luxuries in the lift car. But I did remember the can I had taken from the security bin earlier. It was one of those feminine deodorant sprays, guaranteed to make your nether region smell like cherry pie. While I’m pretty sure nature never intended for women to smell like bakery goods, Vicki told me the reason these sprays were so popular was due to an ingredient that stimulated nerve endings. One spritz and sensitivity quadrupled.

  But I had a different use for it. I pressed the spray button and the hissing gas functioned as an accelerant, halting my momentum. Another quick spray and I was able to spin around in midair. I rotated too far, twirled three hundred and sixty degrees, and then slowed myself down and faced

  Sata. He sniffed the air.

  “Do I smell…pie?”

  I sprayed it again, heading for the ceiling. It was just high enough that Sata wouldn’t be able to reach me, even with his sword.

  My relief didn’t last long. Sata walked up the wall in his magnetic shoes, and
then clomped onto the ceiling.

  I sprayed myself back down to the floor. He followed. By then, the can was almost empty, and my mouth was watering for cherry pie. I tucked the can into my men and tied a seat belt around my leg, waiting for Sata to approach, believing I could defend myself if I was anchored down.

  Not my wisest move.

  The word piñata came to mind as Sata let loose with an electrically charged barrage of hits, pummeling me so quickly that all I could do was cover up and hope he got tired.

  He didn’t get tired. Luckily, the knot around my ankle came loose and I floated away from him, a blob of blood trailing from my mouth and floating silently through the air in my wake.

  This time, Sata didn’t chase me. He drew his Glock.

  My hands and head were my vulnerable spots, so I covered my face with my padded forearms, and kept my palms on my scalp. I heard the shot, felt the impact in my chest, and waited for the Tesla bolt to come.

  It didn’t come. Instead of a wax Taser bullet, Sata had fired a mollybond round. Newly attached to my bogu was a length of jelly rope. I watched Sata reel in a bit of length, then shoot himself in the leg.

  We were now tethered together.

  He grabbed the rope and tugged. It stretched, then contracted, and we began to drift toward each other. Sata raised his shinai. Once again I thought about the Nife, wondering if it was still too soon. Sata was better at hand-to-hand combat. He could block it, and take it from me, and then Chicago would be lost. Then I thought about getting hit with the sword again, and decided to risk the chance.

  I reached around, grabbing for the blade—and Sata kicked his leg back, pulling the jelly rope like a rubber band. I flew at him at a quick clip as he drew back his shinai.

  My face versus Sata’s sword.

  His sword won, connecting with my cheek. I spun on my axis, lines of blood spilling from my lips and twirling around me like a DNA helix. I pulled in my arms to reach the Nife and spun even faster, the world blurring around me, unable to focus on anything. But I kept my head, closing my eyes to ignore the rotation, feeling around the back of my utility belt, wrapping my fingers around the handle of the Nife and unsheathing it.