Earth Unrelenting (Forgotten Earth Book 2)

by M. R. Forbes

  “Roger,” Needle said.

  James lowered the helmet of his visor, picking up speed as he stomped back to the west in pursuit of the robot. Needle shifted her weapon toward the remaining pair of Amtraks.

  “Needle,” Nathan said instinctively. She fired two rounds, each one a perfect shot that killed the frightened people. Then she looked back at Nathan.

  “Yes, Colonel?”

  He locked eyes with her. There had been no hesitation, and there was no remorse. But he didn’t blame her for that. She was a soldier. A good soldier. She had followed General’s orders.

  General, on the other hand? There was no reason for him to kill these people. They weren’t a threat to him. But Nathan could tell by the tone of his voice and his choice of words he didn’t see the Amtraks as people. Maybe he didn’t see anyone as human who wasn’t one of his own.

  “Relentless, let’s go,” Glitch said behind him. “General’s got something.”

  Nathan glanced back at the people lying dead in the street. He looked further out, to where the girl had stopped and crouched behind a large slab of broken stone to watch. His jaw clenched, and then he turned and followed the rest of his group.

  It felt good to be a soldier again.

  Until it didn’t.

  Chapter 22

  Hayden opened the hatch, greeted with a draft of air, a sharp echo of the door’s whining hinges, and a view of the cavernous interior of the Navy vessel’s hold.

  It was a dirty mess.

  The ship’s captain had tried to dock on the island and rescue survivors. He had failed, and a new group of people decided to set up camp on the ship. Hayden had seen evidence of them throughout, a history of their former occupation written in decomposed bodies scattered around the passageways and cabins. It was a sad story, and the hold provided the unhappy ending.

  Tents covered the deck of the hold, numbering in the dozens. There were old food wrappers. There were metal barrels that had probably once held fires. There was a pile of bones in the corner. Trife bones, indicating the survivors had been catching them for their meat. There were water jugs and old plastic bottles.

  And of course, there were bodies. Dead and decomposed, reduced to skeletons with small remainders of flesh and hair, or in some cases less than that. There were nearly fifty of them huddled in one corner, and Hayden noticed there was an opening to the outside on the opposite side. A second hatch like he had guessed, leading out somewhere on the side of the ship.

  That observation caused him to run to the closest tent and crouch behind it, out of sight. He didn’t see any trife in here, but he hadn’t confirmed it yet.

  He waved to Rhonna, and she followed him into the room, crouching beside him.

  “Another way in,” he said, pointing to the hatch. It was barely cracked open, and its position meant that maybe the trife hadn’t discovered it? They were such good climbers, and he didn’t see how that could be the case.

  “It’s terrible in here,” she replied, looking around.

  “They got trapped in here,” Hayden said. “Maybe the inner hatch was sealed at the time. They had nowhere to go.”

  “Trife don’t attack unarmed people,” Rhonna said.

  “Maybe not now. Maybe not your trife. Back then, they did. Others still do. It depends on the nest and the situation. They aren’t mindless killers.”

  “I’d prefer mindless killers to smart ones.”

  “I wouldn’t call them smart either. Smart enough to be a problem.”

  “Pozz.”

  “I want to see what’s on the other side of that hatch.”

  She flipped her head toward him. “Are you crazy?”

  “We need to know if there’s a mooring out there. I’ll cut it if there is. Make your way over to the corner there. You can cover me from inside.”

  She looked over to the space he indicated. It was near one of the old metal barrels. “Pozz.”

  Hayden unslung his rifle and put it on the ground behind the tent. He drew the long knife from his hip, holding it against his forearm. Then he circled the closest tent and made his way across the hold.

  Rhonna angled toward the side of the room, to the barrel he had pointed out. She reached it at the same time he reached the hatch, crouching behind it and aiming her rifle in his direction. He used his bad hand to push the outside of the hatch, and it swung inward, whining slightly as it did.

  Hayden ducked behind it, staying pressed against it. Daylight flowed in from outside, bathing the hold in fresh light. It only made the scene more morose. He remained in place, waiting to see if any trife came to investigate and wondering how strong the smell was filtering out.

  Thirty seconds passed. Hayden decided that was long enough, and he came around the door, blocking Rhonna’s view of the outside. He crouched low, moving out onto an opening on the free side of the ship. He could see the water only a couple of meters below, and a boat across from them, another Navy ship that looked like it had been decommissioned at the time of its abandonment.

  He pressed himself against the bulkhead beside the hatch when he saw a glint of light reflecting out and above him. A moment later, the airship from the night before became more visible in the distance. It hovered there for a moment and turned east, descending and vanishing behind one of the taller buildings.

  Had they returned to look for he and Rhonna? If the enemy soldiers were in the city, now was the time to make their move.

  He turned back toward the open hatch, pausing when he noticed something lying on its side at the far end of the deck, a few meters away. He walked over to it. A motorcycle. It was in good shape, all things considered, the overhang of the ship keeping it out of the elements. It was electric, with airless tires mounted on oddly fashioned spokes.

  “Sheriff?” he heard Rhonna whisper.

  He backed up to the hatch and pointed toward the bike. Then he held up two fingers and mouthed, “two minutes.”

  He sheathed his knife and returned to the bike, lifting it upright. He rolled it back to the hold and inside. Then he slowly closed and locked the hatch. If the bike was functional, it would be a valuable find.

  “A motorcycle?” Rhonna said. “Does it work?”

  “I don’t know. The battery is probably dead.” He lowered its kickstand and pressed the button to turn it on. The headlight came on, as did the small display mounted between the handlebars. It showed the battery charge at ten percent. “Not quite dead.” He mounted it, pushing the kickstand up.

  “You know how to ride that?” Rhonna asked.

  “Yeah. A friend of mine back out west taught me. This one’s a little different.”

  He gave it some throttle and picked up his feet. It shot forward, faster than he was expecting. He hit the brakes, coming to a hard stop and dropping the bike.

  He picked it back up and tried again, accelerating more carefully. He rode a small circle around the tents and back to Rhonna. The machine was nearly silent, the electric motor giving off only a slight whooshing sound. “This is perfect,” he announced.

  “Perfect for what?” she asked.

  “Our escape. I spotted the Liberators’ airship entering the city. They’re here, which means it’s time for us to put our plan in action. Head up to the bridge. I’ll meet you there once I cut us loose.”

  “Are you sure about this, Sheriff?”

  “Pozz.” Hayden smiled. “Are you worried? This was your idea.”

  “A little. Just because it was my idea doesn’t make it a good one. I don’t know what I’m doing, except trying to stay alive.”

  “That’s all any of us are doing, isn’t it? The value of the idea is in the execution, so let’s make sure we get it right. Do your part, and I’ll do mine, and we’ll get out of here.”

  She nodded. “Good luck, Sheriff.”

  “You too.”

  She left him alone in the hold. He positioned the motorcycle near the closed hatch, looking back at the door they had entered through and judging the distan
ce. Then he unlocked the outer hatch, leaving it slightly open as before. He retrieved his rifle and headed back into the passageway, taking it to the nearest ladder and up to the main deck. He had already checked the hatches out onto the deck to ensure they were sealed. He headed forward to the bow, to the first port side hatch. He opened it slowly, keeping his rifle slung, ready to use his arms if he needed to fight off any trife. He stepped out onto the deck, ducking behind the low bulkhead that ringed the space. He pushed the hatch closed again and looked around. He could see a number of trife spreading out on the deck between him and the rope, sleeping in the warm sun. As long as he was quiet, they would remain that way.

  He made his way toward the head line, near the center of the ship at the front of the bow, stepping carefully between the creatures. He had the firepower to deal with them if they woke and attacked, but he didn’t want to fire his rifle unless it was going to save his life. Any loud noise outside might draw the attention of the Liberators, and that was attention he didn’t want.

  He reached the first mooring line without disturbing the trife. The thick rope that moored the ship to the pier was covered in a thick coat of grime, a few of the many individual strands already frayed. Hayden didn’t know what it was made from, but when he put the knife to it and started cutting, it began to part without too much difficulty.

  He cut through the head line, letting it fall away, contracting as it lost its tension. It made a soft twanging sound as it did, and Hayden turned back toward the trife, switching his grip on the knife and crouching lower behind the bollard. When none of the trife moved, he retraced his steps back to the port side, to the next mooring rope to repeat the process. He paused before he started cutting, checking on the trife to ensure they hadn’t noticed him.

  He froze, dropping to his knees and getting as low as he could. One of them was moving, rolling over and shifting to its feet. It hissed and scampered a few steps toward him, eyes in his direction. Did it see him? Hear him? He gripped the knife more tightly, watching as it lowered itself back to its side, finding a better angle of sunlight. He let himself breathe, and then cut the second line, and then the third. Now that the bow was free, he had to hurry to the stern to cut it loose, before the current could swing one ship into another.

  He ran along the side of the vessel. The deck was more narrow here and currently in the shade, keeping it clear of trife. He looked over the side and could see the pier getting further away from the bow, the aft lines gaining more tension.

  He made it to the stern, cutting around the corner toward the aft breast line and spring. Now that he could see the way the ship was moving, he realized he probably should have cut these lines first. If the aft was swinging out, it would be easy to engage the engines and reverse straight back into the river.

  Damn it.

  He started cutting the aft breast line, forgetting about caution in his race to get them free. He was interrupted when he heard a hiss from nearby and saw a trife climbing over the stern railing. It jumped onto the deck in front of him, crouching there and looking at him.

  It regarded him coldly, small eyes fixed on him, mouth open and sharp teeth bared. It hissed and snapped its teeth, flicked its long tongue and scraped its claws on the deck. It didn’t attack. Not yet. It was trying to keep him distracted.

  It would know the damage he had already done to the other members of its nest. It would know to be more careful. It would know to wait for backup.

  He turned away from it, hitting the rope with the knife and trying to speed up his work. It was risky to take his eyes off the creature, but he had to finish. The breast line snapped with a much louder twang, and he turned away from it as the line whipped back and nearly cut him in half. He fell to the deck, rolling over and rushing to get back up.

  The trife took advantage of his fall. He knew it would. He led with the knife, stabbing up as it pounced down at him and burying the blade in its chest. It hissed and clawed at his arms, unable to get enough leverage to break through the bodysuit. He tore the blade up into its neck and out, bathing himself in its dark, malodorous blood. He dropped the creature off him and got up. Looking toward the bow, he could see trife making their way back toward him. He was sure there were others on the starboard side, doing the same.

  He was almost out of time.

  Chapter 23

  He returned to the aft lines, setting his knife against the rope and beginning to cut. The trife seemed to sense he had a purpose to his actions, even if they didn’t know what it was. They charged toward him, racing furiously along the main deck, nearly a dozen strong on the port side, and likely as numerous on the starboard.

  Hayden only had to cut the rope halfway before he wisely dove aside, the pressure of the heavy ship pulling against the mooring doing the rest of the work. The line snapped, lashing out over him and hitting a trife, severing its head. Hayden bounced up, glancing back at the final line. It was stretched so tight there was no doubt it was going to break.

  He didn’t want to be near it when it did.

  The ship rumbled, a sudden vibration sending a shiver along the deck. He heard the splash of water from the stern, the propellers beginning to spin.

  Rhonna was backing them out, or at least trying to. The pier was in the way.

  Hayden shifted his rifle off his shoulder, dropping the knife to the deck. He started shooting, not bothering to aim, sending a solid burst of slugs into the front lines of the trife. They hissed and tried to avoid the assault, getting in one another’s way and winding up dead.

  The trife on the starboard side came around the stern just as Hayden rushed along the port deck, back toward the hatch he had opened. He threw his rifle back over his shoulder, grabbing his sidearm. He didn’t have time to reload. He fired at the first trife that appeared in front of him, the slug hitting it in the chest and knocking it down. Another replaced it, eager to grab him.

  He waited until it was nearly on top of him before he fired, the bullet going right through the creature, the muzzle flash burning its flesh. He grabbed its arm in his hand and turned, throwing it past him and into the ones giving chase, slowing their advance.

  The ship shook beneath him, hard enough that it threw him off his feet. He heard the groan and whine and snap of the pier behind them. Rhonna was backing the ship up, crashing it into the dock. The ship rocked and turned, the dock damaged but not collapsing, redirecting them out into the center of the river.

  Fortunately, the collision had knocked the trife over too. Hayden stumbled back to his feet, resuming his run to safety, the trife close on his heels.

  He made it to the hatch, yanking it open and ducking inside, and then pulling it closed behind him. A trife hand stretched out for him through the opening, and he slammed the hatch on it, severing it. It flopped onto the floor while he locked the hatch.

  He didn’t slow down, running up the ladder from the main deck to the bridge. The door was locked, and he pounded on it to get Rhonna to let him in.

  He heard the lock click, and he opened the hatch. Rhonna was already on her way back to the helm, reaching for the wheel and the throttle.

  “I don’t know how the fuck anyone is supposed to drive this thing backward!” she shouted.

  Hayden didn’t know either. He looked out the forward window. They were close to the middle of the river.

  The Liberator’s airship was on their left. It was still a short distance away, but there was no way it hadn’t registered the commotion.

  “Get the bow pointed south and keep the throttle up,” Hayden said. “We might not make it as far downriver as we planned, but I’ll take what we can get.”

  “Pozz.”

  Hayden took the few spare seconds to reload his rifle, pulling a fresh magazine from the satchel he had left on the bridge. He looked back out to the airship. At the same time, a trife dropped down onto the glass.

  It hissed and started punching at the window, running its claws across it in a vain effort to get inside. Another one joined i
t, smacking the window and trying to get in. A third climbed up. Then a fourth.

  “We have to get out of here,” Hayden said.

  “They can’t get in,” Rhonna replied, pointing at them. “Ah ha, you stupid black bug fuckers.”

  “No, but they’re telling the Liberators right where to aim their heavy cannon.”

  Rhonna stopped laughing, her face turning pale. “Shit.”

  The ship’s bow was turning, rotating toward the south and pointing downriver. They were clear on both sides, able to float freely.

  “Come on,” Hayden said, grabbing her satchel from the floor.

  She ran over to him, pushing open the door and leading him through. Then he handed the bags off to her, shifting his rifle to his good hand. She pulled the straps over her shoulders before getting her weapon into a usable position.

  Hayden heard the roar of the cannon an instant before the heavy slugs shattered the forward window and the trife trying to break through it, deafening thumps and pings ringing out as the bullets smashed into the equipment inside. Hayden ran to the ladder and started down, taking them three at a time with Rhonna right behind him. A few trife were coming up, and he fired a burst of rounds that cut them down.

  They hopped over the dead creatures, continuing to the main deck. Hayden could hear the soft whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of the aircraft nearby, and then the cannon unleashed its ordnance again, the slugs puncturing the armored sides. Sparks flashed above their heads as the rounds ricocheted too close, and they hit the main deck as the cannon silenced again.

  A hard vibration on the deck told Hayden the armored soldier had jumped from the aircraft. He was almost glad for it, knowing the bulky powered armor wouldn’t fit through the narrow confines of the ship’s interior. He continued leading Rhonna down, deeper into the hull of the vessel. It would take the enemy soldiers a few minutes to find the open hatch.

  He only needed a few minutes.

  Everything was unraveling a lot sooner than he had hoped, but it wasn’t going that badly yet.