The Quiet God (Earth Exiles Book 4)

by Mark Harritt

  The canyon twisted and turned, narrowing as he ran forward. He rounded a bend and stopped, stunned into immobility. The robots looked like a pack of wild animals trying to pull down their prey. The press of robotic bodies flowed around the mech, a river of murderous automatons. Everett could barely see the mech beneath the writhing pack. The robots tried everything they could to inflict damage on the mech. They weren’t built for this fight, though. The mech wasn’t a helpless Neolithic farmer. They needed rockets, lasers, or a railgun to kill the mech, but strangely, they didn’t have any weapons to do so.

  Everett watched as Rita punched one of the robots. She picked up another and crushed it on one mailed gauntlet. Now limp, she used its body as a club on the the others until it ripped apart. That didn’t come close to slowing down the tide of incoming robots. She picked up two, smashed them together, and then let them drop. She punched down and smashed another. The railgun buzzed and ammunition spat, destroying anything in her way. Still they came, unending, untiring, unflinching, trying to kill the mech, and by extension, her as well.

  Everett raised his rifle and started shooting. The rest of the team followed his example, and started throwing lead downrange.

  Rita heard the gunshots, “Hey, ‘bout time you made it here.”

  “Well, sounded like you could use some help,” Everett replied.

  “That’s an understatement. I’m trying, but they just keep coming.”

  “Well, we’ll do what we can.”

  Billy suddenly realized how many of them there were, “Jesus!”

  “He’s not here! You better do something!” Rita yelled over her mic.

  Everett raised his rifle, feeling like he was trying to shoot one flea off of an elephant. He couldn’t miss, but he wasn’t sure how much good it would do. His rifle barked, and more rifles spat death around him. Still, the robots swarmed. Everett realized that they weren’t inflicting enough damage to help Rita. They’d have to get closer and use the grenades. Suddenly, he wished they had more of the 40mm grenades and Rob’s M203. That would have taken care of their problem right there, instead of having to get up close and personal.

  Everett pulled a grenade out, “Guys, the rifles aren’t going to do it. We have to get closer and use grenades.”

  Hank started cursing.

  “You okay?” Everett asked.

  “Yeah, I’m okay, just not too happy about getting closer to that scrum.”

  “And how do you think I feel about it, Hank?” Rita asked.

  “Don’t give me shit, Rita. I built that box you’re in. There’s no place safer right now.”

  “Maybe, but if you don’t move your ass, I’m not going to stay that way!”

  Everett grinned in spite of himself, “Alright, follow me. We run forward, throw the grenades, then we move back again. Will, Hank, you’re on the sides of our formation. Keep your guns ready and your eyes open. You have to make sure they don’t get to us. If they swarm us, we’re dead men.”

  “Got it.”

  Even though it was a short reply, Everett could hear the fear in Hank’s voice.

  “Don’t worry, buddy, you ain’t the only one,” Everett thought.

  Everett started forward at a trot, and the rest of the group followed. They ran forward until Everett decided they were in grenade range.

  Everett pulled the pin, yelled, “Grenade!” and pitched his grenade forward. Three more followed Everett’s grenade through the air. Two landed right in the middle of the robots, and two landed short, with one bouncing forward into the scrum, and the other bouncing just outside, but still within range.

  As soon as he threw the grenade, Everett turned and started running. There was no way they would escape the explosions, but Everett didn’t want to spend any more time near the hunter/killers than he had to. Right now, distance was their friend. The explosions ripped through the air. Everett could feel the overpressure from the grenade as it hit his body armor. They were far enough away that the concussion grenades didn’t harm them, but the confines of the canyon compressed the blast wave close to the mech and did some damage to the robots around it.

  Maybe a third of the robots had some damage, some with too much damage to move. Others were damaged, but still in the fight. It was a qualified success. Even the ones that weren’t damaged were thrown around by the blasts, giving Rita some maneuvering room. Rita used her size sixties to stomp some of the slower moving robots into the ground.

  It was only a small reprieve for her. The robots got their bearing and came at her again, even harder. The railgun buzzed in a semicircle as she tried to do as much damage as possible before they were on her again. They hit her and she started using every trick in the book that she knew. She punched with the bladed gauntlets. She cut robots in half with the pulse laser. And still, they kept coming.

  Rita’s labored breathing cut through the air, more stress than exertion, “They . . . won’t . . . fucking . . . die!”

  Everett and the team filled the air with lead. Still, it didn’t seem like they were making a dent in the swarm.

  “We can’t stop them! What the hell are we going to do?” Scott asked.

  There was only one thing that Everett could think of doing. He had to call for back up.

  “Mickey!”

  “What is it, Everett?”

  “We need some help down here. They’re too many of them. We can’t kill them all! We’re going to need more men. We need more guns.”

  “You got it, Everett. Already comin’ to you. Bringing you a few presents. We have the SAWs.”

  That was great, but Everett wondered if Mickey and the reinforcements would arrive in time. Everett turned to his team, “We’ve got to use the grenades again. Let’s move forward!”

  They charged forward again, throwing grenades. This time, though, robots came charging as soon as they turned to run back. Hank and Will shot at the robots, but they were only able to kill one of them. Everett saw what was happening, and stopped dead, knowing it was a choice between being hit with the blast wave or being pulled down from behind by the robots. He chose to ride out the blast wave, hoping his body armor would mitigate the damage.

  He shot the robots, knowing that if he turned, he was a dead man. There was no way out. The others saw what he was doing and they turned back also, choosing to face the robots with him. Everett’s admiration for his friends grew. Not long ago, as civilians, they probably would have run. Not anymore, though. On his left and right, they stood, facing death and pouring fire into the robots, all of them trusting his instincts and their guts. Their bullets ripped into the robots, and then the concussion grenades exploded.

  Everett winced as the blast wave hit. It knocked him back on his heels, and he thought he tasted blood, but he was still alive. Thank God for the body armor. Everett had no doubt that there was some damage, but it could have been much worse.

  The concentrated fire of the bullets hit the robots and broke one, two, three. The last one was knocked down by the overpressure. They shot it until it didn’t move anymore.

  Robots went down, but there were always more to take their place. The quadruped robots looked like predators, and Everett was struck again by how quiet the combat was. The shape of the robots awoke some primeval atavistic fear in him. They should be howling, growling, and snarling. The quiet created a surreal landscape in Everett’s mind, the robots turning into some kind of phantom beast that wanted to kill him and his team. Only the metal claws crunching through the gravel made any sound at all.

  They poured bullets into the robots. Some went down, but it wasn’t enough. The robots drew near, and Everett pulled a concussion grenade and yelled, “Grenade!” only to hear the same thing from two others’. The heavy graphite canisters flew through the air, landing among the robots, exploding in a staggered succession, the overpressure hitting him like a hammer, staggering him. The taste of blood in his mouth was overpowering. Dust and smoke mixed with the mist to create a haze that was impossible to see through. O
nly the enhanced vision of their helmets enabled them to see what was coming.

  The grenades had done some damage, with fifteen or twenty of the robots down completely, at least for the moment, and another twenty or so with enough scrambled electronics that they had to reset. But, that left another thirty at the back of the pack and out of range of the grenades, whipped past the others, trying to close with and kill them.

  Rifles shifted and one, two, three, four, five of the automatons went down. Two more grenades flew through the air. The explosions knocked the ones in front down, but the ones from the previous grenade barrage got their bearings, and they ran toward the team. Rita had turned and was running after the robots, trying to smash them from the back.

  For moment, and just for that moment, Everett thought they were going to make it, but that thought disappeared as Rita screamed in frustration.

  “I can’t stop them!” she wailed.

  There were too many of them left. Guns barked and fire flared from the muzzles. Then, at the worst possible moment, he pulled the trigger, and nothing happened as the bolt locked back. The rifle was out of bullets. Curses filled the air as the same thing happened to others on the team. Time seemed to slow as one of the robots touched down right in front of him. The robot went low, and pulled the back legs in, bunched up, and got in position to leap through the air.

  At that moment, Everett saw his death. He knew he didn’t have time to reload. He couldn’t pull a grenade in time, and his pistol was in the holster. Muscle memory took over, and he dropped his rifle, feeling a jolt as the rifle sling took the weight. His hands swept down and he pulled his pistol. It seemed forever for the muzzle of the pistol to come up in line with the robot.

  Then, the robot turned. The front of the pistol came up, and Everett shot at the robot’s retreating back. He wasn’t sure if he hit it or not as it ran away. It dodged a punch from Rita as it ran back down the canyon. Then, Everett noticed that the other robots had turned en masse, all of them retreating out the canyon. Death had been so close, that he’d gotten tunnel vision on that one robot. His mind, and his eyes, had been so focused on the robot that he hadn’t noticed when the others turned to retreat as well. Everett kept shooting, trying to hit more robots before they got away. It was impossible, though. His hands were shaking too badly.

  “Damn, that was close.”

  Everett didn’t know who said it, but stronger words were running through his mind. He’d seen the glint of metal as the robot opened its mouth. Now he knew why the robots were shaped the way they were. His reaction to the robot was primordial, gut wrenching, warning him that he was about to die. He could only imagine what the people back at the necropolis felt as they faced what to them was some kind of animalistic demon. He was used to the concept of robots and other mechanical apparatus. Those people had no clue what the things were, and, even worse, there was nothing they had that could have inflicted any damage on the robots.

  He had body armor, rifle, pistol, grenades. He’d been trained to kill terrorists. He seen green soviet bloc tracers fly over his head in Iraq and Afghanistan. The people in that village watched in horror as the robots slaughtered their families, their wives and children. And still, they found the courage to fight back. Right now, with his hands shaking as he put his pistol away, Everett wasn’t so sure that he was a brave man, at least not like those villagers had been.

  At that moment, Mike called for an A.C.E. report.

  “Everett, how’s things over on your side?”

  Everett thought calm thoughts, and then replied, “Things here got a little bit exciting, but we’re copacetic now. We’re good, green cubed. The robots seemed to have gone back to wherever they came from.”

  “Think we’ve seen the last of them?” Mike asked.

  “Nope.”

  Mike chuckled, “I think you’re right. Mike out.”

  “Hey, what the hell?” Mickey asked.

  Everett turned around, securing his rifle as he did so. He started changing out the empty magazine for a full one as he asked, “What?”

  Mickey had been as good as his word. He had one of the SAWs and Tom had the other. He’d brought more than just the SAWs though. He had thirty men with him. Mickey had brought the best. They were men from Matki’s tribe. Lind was there, acting as the Contai leader for the group. All of these men were battle hardened warriors. They had their rifles at the ready position to engage any targets that might present themselves.

  Mickey strode forward, just past Everett, and pointed down the canyon, “Where the hell did all the robots go?”

  Everett pointed at the dead robots on the ground, “There they are.”

  “Is this it?”

  Everett looked around at the destruction and debris. “Maybe,” he answered. The shaking in his hands subsided as he gripped his rifle and he started to enjoy the banter. His breathing smoothed out, taking deeper breaths as he calmed down. He really could have used a cigarette at that moment.

  “I thought you guys were overwhelmed. I distinctly heard you say, Everett, that you were being overrun and you needed our help.”

  Everett nodded, “We were. We did. We needed your help.”

  The rest of the team started nodding.

  “Oh hell yeah we needed your help,” Joe exclaimed.

  “God, I almost pissed myself when that one started to leap onto Everett,” Will added.

  Mickey looked around the team, then out at the canyon in front of them. Only the shattered bodies of the robots were left, “Where the hell did they all go to, then?”

  Everett shrugged, “Maybe you scared them away? Maybe they heard you were coming and wanted to get the hell out of dodge.”

  Mickey’s head turned slowly toward Everett, and then stopped as Everett felt Mickey’s ‘don’t bullshit me’ look through the faceless helmet, “Are you screwing with me, Everett?”

  A drawl from the back of the reinforcements announced Tom, “When has Everett not screwed with you, Mickey?”

  Mickey looked back over his shoulder at Tom, “Yeah, you’ve got a point there.”

  Mickey snapped his fingers, “Oh, if you’re done screwing with me, I brought you a present.”

  Mickey had a heavy bag on his back. He pulled it around his body and unzipped it, pulling out a claymore, “I thought these might come in handy.”

  Everett stared covetously at the anti-personnel mine, “Oh hell yes, big man. Come here, let me give you a kiss.”

  Mickey held up a fist, and then started counting by raising his index finger, “First, eewwhh, no. Second, helmets would get in the way of a big, sloppy kiss. Third, Tracy and Joan might get a little upset with us.” Mickey finished by folding two fingers down and flipping Everett his middle finger.

  Everett shook his head, “And you went straight to a big, sloppy kiss. Are you sure you aren’t in the closet?”

  “Ah, no, I didn’t go straight to the big, sloppy kiss. Remember the eewwwh part?”

  Tom walked by Mickey, grabbed the claymore out of his hand and headed down the canyon, “If you two love birds don’t mind, I’m going to go ahead and drop this aways down there.”

  Mickey dug around in the bag, and pulled out a second one, “Hey Tom, while you’re at it?” Tom looked back, and held out hand. Mickey did a soft toss. Tom had to juggle it, but he was able to catch the claymore without dropping it.

  “Tom, what are the numbers on those?” Everett asked.

  Tom stopped, and looked at the numbers printed on the front of them, “104 and 105.”

  “Hey Luis, I need you to slave claymores 104 and 105 to my command.”

  “Well, I can’t slave them to you, but I just uploaded the code to your A.I. When you need it, you can trigger the switch.”

  Tom started walking again, “If you don’t mind, Everett, I’d appreciate it if you’d wait on that until I get back.”

  Everett chuckled, “No problem. Latricia would give me hell if I was the cause of your demise.”

  “I’d co
me back and beat your ass as well,” Tom replied.

  Joe held up his hand, “Hey, wait a sec. I’ll go with you. One of those things might be playin’ ‘possum.”

  He jogged forward until he caught up, and then started walking down the canyon with Tom.

  “SAW?” Joe asked.

  “Seemed more appropriate to the occasion,” Tom answered as they walked.

  Luckily, the explosive they’d liberated from the Turinzoni base had been chemically close to Semtex. This seemed to be even more stable though. They’d shot at the stuff, and it didn’t explode. Since they didn’t have a way to make ball bearings, they cast iron in a tessellated reverse honeycomb, a phrase that Ed had used and Everett had memorized, so that it would break into multiple projectiles with the same effect. They didn’t have to worry about wires. They had a digital switch on the claymores, with 128-bit encryption so they didn’t have to worry about one accidently going off. Since there weren’t any of the old style cellphones around, and they no longer had to worry about patent infringement, not that they ever cared about that anyway, they setup a limited cellular network for the explosives.

  Everett looked over at Mickey, “Man, I wish we had more of those.”

  “Well, fabrication can only do so much,” Mickey answered.

  “Fabrication does a hell of a lot,” Will pointed out.

  Suddenly realizing that Will and Hank were here with Everett, Mickey parroted Will’s words, “And fabrication does a hell of a lot.”

  “With very little, and they’re pretty damn good with what they do make,” Will added.

  Mickey continued, “With little, and they’re damn good at making stuff.”

  “And the Mech, Sec, and Spec teams should be damn grateful that we’re around to supply them with the necessary equipment to keep their collective asses out of a sling.”

  “And now you’re pushing it just a little too far,” Mickey answered.