by Allen Kuzara
Like a well-oiled machine, Delta not only took out crazies efficiently, they seemed to be watching out for each other, progressing from one end of the camp to the other without getting any of themselves too far out from the rest of the crew. They were brothers in arms, Nick decided; though he wasn’t sure how much of this collective posture was innate and how much came from Vaughn’s programming.
Suddenly, Nick heard a familiar sound behind him; a crazy had emerged—from where, Nick couldn’t say—and Nick realized he was on his own this time. He twisted back and raised his rifle. He didn’t waste time aiming but instead shot from the hip, knowing his burst fire would cover a multitude of sins.
He squeezed the trigger.
Nothing. Not even a click.
As the crazy charged his position, Nick scrambled to arm his weapon. He searched for the safety, found it, and confirmed it was hot. And he could see his magazine had rounds in it by the thin cut-out strip that ran down its length. Only as he felt the impact of the crazy tackle him did he realize he’d forgotten to cock his rifle.
Stupid! came his inner critic. But the inner critic would have to stand in line today; Nick had to get this thing off him before it tore him apart.
The crazy, on top of Nick on the ground, scratched and clawed at him before rearing up and delivering a punch to Nick’s cheek. Nick’s head slammed back against the rubble ground and he lost vision and consciousness for a split-second.
Not good, he thought. Can’t fight with the lights off.
Nick tried to raise his hands to defend himself, but he quickly discovered the crazy was sitting on them, effectively pinning him down like it had done this maneuver a hundred times before.
Besides the sharp pain of his gun jamming into his back, Nick was pain-free, his adrenaline doing its job for the time being. But pain-free or not, he could only sustain this kind of damage for so long.
He squirmed, trying to wrestle his arms free, but the crazy seemed to sense his attempt to escape and became more incensed, more determined to keep its captured pet. The crazy was a large man, probably a late adopter of the DataMind app, because it still had considerable body weight it hadn’t lost. Not before the update and not during the winter. It leaned down, placing more of its body over Nick’s arms and torso.
The momentary respite from getting pummeled allowed Nick to think, though the stench of this man’s year-without-toothpaste breath could have been patented as a knock-out serum. Nick attempted to kick his legs up, to roll backwards and make the crazy lose its balance, but the effort was completely futile; the crazy must have outweighed him two-to-one.
Right as the crazy drew back to punch Nick again, Nick found the answer his riddled mind was searching for: his headset.
“Two, help!”
The crazy posed for a knock-out punch, its fat-hand fist drawn back nearly to its shoulder, which appeared to be a million miles high in the sky to Nick—waiting to descend upon him like Thor’s hammer.
A million thoughts ran through Nick’s mind as time indeed seemed to slow down: Does my headset still work? Is this the end? Where is Lusa?
But right as the guillotine fist began to fall, a bullet tore up the air, a foot above Nick’s head. The crazy received it but froze, suspended in mid-fall.
Two more rounds rang out, and Nick saw bullet wounds in the crazy’s chest and forehead. This time, all the crazy’s momentum was lost, and the fat beast collapsed on top of Nick.
Nick struggled to breath deeply. Both the weight of the crazy and the digging-into-his-ribs pain from the rifle he lay on made it difficult. Finally, he rolled the killer slob off and over to the ground beside him.
He looked up and saw Two standing over him. Nick attempted to get to his feet, but his body skipped a beat, and his mind’s commands weren’t obeyed immediately. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Nick shouted at Two. “Help me up.”
Two remained motionless. “Didn’t you hear me?” Nick shrieked. Then it occurred to him: he wasn’t talking to a man. This was a simple case of user error. “Two, give me your hand and help me up.”
Instantly, Two assisted Nick to his feet. Nick dusted himself off and looked at the dead crazy on the ground. Once dead, these monsters transformed. Not literally, but when the wheezing and animal-like affect was lost in death, the body resumed its human appearance. At least it did to Nick, and he wondered what life this man had lived before the update.
He turned back to Two and realized something: Two didn’t see the crazy as a man or beast; it was just one more object to be acted upon, like the tree they had destroyed. And Two and the other drones were just like the crazy, had been crazies, had had lives of their own, and the only reason Nick saw them as tools instead of beasts was that chip on their temples.
Nick turned and looked back at the camp. The gunfire had slowed, and he saw several of the drones standing in one spot, aiming their rifles in the direction of one of the still active drones who was carrying out the finishing touches of the sweep. After a few moments more, a single shot rang out from behind one of the far buildings. Then the drones began their return back to Nick.
The sweep was complete. The crazies were eliminated, and besides Nick’s dumb mistake of forgetting to cock his rifle and getting clobbered by the crazy, it had been an easy task.
As the crew made it to Nick’s position, something ate at him. He stared at their feet as they trotted toward him. Something was wrong.
“Delta Three, halt.”
They stopped cold in their tracks, but the dull rumble Nick heard continued. It wasn’t their footsteps. Nick searched for the source, for an explanation. He turned in circles, trying to triangulate it.
The rumble grew louder, and soon Nick realized it was the sound of distant engines. He looked to the sky, thinking it could be an airplane, a sight unseen for over a year now.
But then he realized the sounds were coming from behind him, south from over the subtle hill that blocked his view.
He turned, ran up the hill to the top, and saw what looked like an armada of vehicles, the most he’d seen traveling in tandem since before the update. Stupefied, Nick watched the convoy approach, ripping up the tundra plains beneath them.
CHAPTER 17
RUNNING BACK DOWN the hillside, Nick yelled to Delta Three, “Assume defensive positions!”
He reached the bottom and turned to see multiple vehicles burst upon the crest of the hill. They were trucks, but they weren’t the mismatched Dodges, Fords, and Toyotas that Vaughn had commandeered. These were green and olive drab, clearly military vehicles.
Nick stood, gripping his rifle as more than a dozen men in camouflage uniforms spilled out of the trucks, each armed with rifles like his own.
“Delta Three, hold your fire unless fired upon,” he said. The last thing he wanted to do was poke a bully in the eye.
The camo soldiers all fell to the ground, making themselves small targets, and took aim at Nick and Delta.
Nick felt the flood of adrenaline pour through his veins, his legs and hands feeling numb. He wanted to run or hide. Maybe, he thought, he could command Delta to fight, and he could crawl behind one of the buildings and escape.
“Lay down your weapons,” came a voice from a loudspeaker on top of a truck’s cab.
Nick froze, not knowing what to do. They were outnumbered and probably didn’t have a chance of winning. But laying down their weapons seemed unthinkable.
Nick maintained his forward gaze but saw the opposing soldiers crawl left and right. They were being surrounded. No way out.
“I’m warning you,” came the voice. “Drop your weapons, or we will fire on you.”
If it’s a fight they want, it’s a fight they’ll get, Nick decided. “Delta take cover,” Nick commanded.
Quickly, he and the team scattered from their positions, each taking what might be their last refuge behind boxes, buildings, and machinery. It had been a gamble, one that could have ended with them losing their lives, but fortunately they wer
en’t fired upon.
“Delta, when I give the command, engage target.” Nick carefully tapped his command display, trying not to make sudden moves. Through his glasses he targeted the truck with the loudspeaker on it. “Target,” he whispered, and the truck blinked red—locked in, he figured.
“Down on your faces, maggots,” came the voice again. “You worthless excuses for soldiers better listen, or we’ll do far worse than fire on you. Drop your guns and get on the ground. Now!” The speaker crackled and squelched from oversaturation.
Nick thought the voice sounded like a cliché imitation of a drill sergeant at boot camp, and he knew something wasn’t right about this. The army wouldn’t just roll up and pull their guns out, would they? But then Nick realized he was mixing police procedures with military protocol. They weren’t the same thing.
The voice came back on. “Alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Platoon, forward assau—” The speaker squelched loudly before he finished.
Nick, behind a crate that was probably insufficient to block any high-powered rounds, couldn’t see the trucks without sticking his head out from around the corner, something he didn’t want to do now. He listened and heard footsteps. They weren’t the sound of twenty men marching on his position but rather the sounds of a solitary soldier.
He gulped down his fear and looked out. Once he got past the fact that a bullet hadn’t zinged straight between his eyes, Nick’s vision focused on a man descending the hill. The solitary figure waved his hands like he was making a snow angel in the air.
“Don’t shoot,” said the man repeatedly.
Nick watched him, trying to decide if he should step out and meet him. The man didn’t look like the typical soldier; his five o’clock shadow was whitish gray. And though he wore camo fatigues, he didn’t wear a helmet but rather the military version of a ballcap. He stopped his advance, apparently unwilling to stick his neck out any further in his attempt at brokering peace.
Before he had time to think it through, Nick stepped out. He heard the countless clicks and clacks of soldiers regripping their rifles and aiming at him. He instantly felt his heart rate push higher as he gently let his rifle swivel around his shoulder sling in a less threatening posture.
He whispered, “Delta, watch my back. Be ready to cover me.”
“Ah, there you are,” the man said with a warm grin. Nick could see the man’s pitted face, a former acne sufferer. But now the face just seemed hardened, weathered, grin or no grin.
“Here I am,” Nick parroted. He was close enough now he could make out badges and insignias. “United States Army?” he read aloud.
“The one and only,” the man said. “I’m Colonel Ayers, the commanding officer of Thirty-Fourth Infantry Division. And who might you be, Mr. blue jeans?”
Nick looked down at his clothes self-consciously. He suddenly realized he wasn’t a real soldier and undoubtedly appeared to be an imposter of the highest order. “My name’s Nick,” he said plainly. “I’m working with the Navy.”
“Navy?” Ayers huffed loudly for the other men to hear. “Isn’t this kind of dry territory for the Navy? Which fleet, and who’s your fleet commander?”
Nick stammered. “I—I have no idea.”
Ayers examined him, tested him for deceit. His eyes were dark, and it was hard for Nick to tell where his pupils ended and his irises began.
Nervously, Nick confessed, “My brother and I were up in Deadhorse at a research station. But we were picked up by Dr. Vaughn Craig.”
“Never heard of him,” Ayers said simply. “Who’s with you?” he asked, looking past Nick toward the hidden drones.
“Six men,” Nick answered. He felt the instinct to maintain secrecy, to hold back some of the truth. But he couldn’t think of a good reason to lie.
“Let’s see them,” Ayers said, still looking past Nick. The way he said it, Nick could tell he was used to having things his way, unchallenged and the top of the pecking order. Ayers looked back to Nick and grinned. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Nick’s mind was scrambling too much by the first proposition to be fazed by the off-color remark. “Okay,” he said. Then he spoked over the headset. “Delta Three, come to my position.” He intentionally left out anything about putting the guns down or not staying on alert. Unlike regular soldiers, he didn’t have to worry about them losing their cool. They could stay on high alert indefinitely.
Nick heard the drones’ footsteps behind him and watched the face of the colonel who seemed visibly surprised by what he saw.
“Ah, now these look like real soldiers,” Ayers said. He stepped to one side of Nick, examining the drones up close. “You can put your gun down, young man,” he told Six.
Nick looked over, alarmed. The drones still had their rifles up and aimed at the colonel.
“I said lower your weapons,” Ayers barked.
The drones didn’t flinch.
“They won’t listen to you,” Nick said. Then he added, “Sir,” which felt necessary. “They only take orders from me or Dr. Craig.
“Well, they need to learn—”
“Delta Three, lower your weapons,” Nick ordered.
They did, and Ayers raised his eyebrow and looked at Nick sideways. Nick couldn’t tell if it was a look of newfound respect or disgust.
“They can’t help it, sir,” Nick said. “They are drones.” He stepped over to Six and pull off his hat. “See?” Nick said pointing at the chip.
Ayers didn’t respond for a moment. Then he said, “You mean they’re robots?”
Nick almost laughed at the question, but he kept his wits about him. “They were crazies. Vaughn salvaged them and placed these control chips on them. They respond to my voice or command prompts.” He raised his wrist display for Ayers to see, then tapped the command for the drones to assume the prone position. Instantly, Delta Three dropped to the ground.
“Well, I think I’ve seen everything now,” Ayers said. He turned to the line of trucks behind him and yelled, “Higgs, get down here.”
Out from the truck with the loudspeaker that Nick had targeted came a short stocky soldier. He looked twenty years younger than Ayers, and he stomped the ground with each step he took.
Ayers introduced the man. “This is sergeant Higgs,” my second in command.
“And heir to the throne,” Higgs said with a raspy energetic tone.
Ayers shot dagger-eyes at Higgs who instantly heeled. “And this is…” Ayers paused, remembering. “Nick and his drones.”
“Drones?” Higgs asked as he looked them over.
“They were affected by the update, and this,”—Ayers pointed his finger toward a drone’s chip, and Nick had the distinct fear of watching someone try to pet a dog known to bite—“is how the Navy is trying to overcome the problem.”
Higgs snickered. “All this time, I thought they were the lucky ones, floating in their armored mansions miles from trouble. Guess the grass is always greener.”
Nick was confused. “Didn’t the army use DataMind?”
Higgs bellowed a “Ha!” that was more scoff than laugh.
“I think you’ll come to see,” Ayers said, “that the United States Army does things a little differently than the Navy. We don’t take the easy way out, and we don’t take shortcuts. Too much is at stake. Our chow isn’t always warm, and neither are our beds. But we continue on when others don’t. Survive. Adapt. Overcome.”
“Hooah!” shouted Higgs in support.
Nick was baffled. He’d thought that all the branches of the United States military had adopted the DataMind app; he even remembered seeing news stories about how it allowed more troops to be admitted, the forces knowing they could shape up and ship out applicants whose IQs were ordinarily too low to serve. But here he was, talking with living breathing proof that the army hadn’t taken the blue pill after all.
“That’s good to hear,” Nick said honestly. “I just thought we were all on our own.”
“It�
��s a good thing for you and the United States Government,” Ayers added. “We may be down, but we’re not out. Continuity of government has been maintained, though we are admittedly scraping the bottom of the barrel in terms of leadership. Those yahoos in Washington all went broke like everybody else. But we have a plan and the will to carry it out.”
Nick took it all in. It was a revelation, a game changer, and when he looked at his drones, those men/machines/tools that he was moments ago so proud of and grateful for, all he saw was something he no longer wanted. Ayers was giving him hope, the notion that there was a chance the lights would all come back on, that someone besides he, Lusa, and his little brother would save the world. Someone else could be a grownup. Someone else could be the hero.
“Say Nick,” Ayers said, “what were you boys doing out here anyway?”
“The pump station,” Nick thumbed behind him. “We were making sure it was on line, clear of crazies, and we’re setting up a radio relay system that runs from Deadhorse to Valdez.”
Nick showed him the map on his command display and proceeded to tell him the whole plan, how Vaughn had masterminded it, and what their ultimate goals were.
Ayers listened attentively. Nick was starting to get used to his cool, calm sense of power. It was bridled strength he seemed to possess. And though Nick couldn’t tell what Ayers thought about their mission, he knew the colonel was considering it and its implications to whatever objectives he and the Thirty-Fourth Division were bound by.
After taking it all in, Ayers seemed to chomp and chew on something, though Nick didn’t think there was anything in his mouth. Finally, Ayers said, “Tell you what, kid. Why don’t you finish setting up this pump station’s relay—who knows, it might come in handy for us all one day. I’ll even get my men to help you set it up. Then, after we fill up our tanks,”—he pointed at the truck with the hundreds-or-thousands-of-gallons large tank— “we’re heading back to base. I suggest you come with us.”
A base. The words seemed to reverberate in Nick’s mind. Not a ship. Not a vault. A base. Bases were secure. Bases had people, food, weapons, security. And these people were real people. Normal people.