by L. J. Suarez
The deeper Ionne dug, the more things didn’t add up. Ionne was convinced that someone was trying to get humans and Monads into an all-out war. Was Gideron lying about there not being any SO spies within their ranks who were pulling the strings behind this escapade? She wasn’t so sure about that anymore. Things were escalating out of control. One thing was for certain: there was a war coming. And she needed to find out the truth before that war appeared right on their doorstep.
Chapter 24
Once over the next hill, Mace would reach the end of his voyage. The place he and his New Lazarus crew had been venturing to for the last two days.
To say he was anxious was an understatement. His main priority remained unchanged – grab the weapons stored at the facility and return to the settlement as quickly as possible to begin preparations for their next encounter with the Monads. Aaron’s very life depended on what they accomplished here today.
Mace rode at the back of the pack and was the last to reach the top. He maneuvered in between Gareth and Emerson and stopped next to Bishop. Everyone’s eyes were fixed down the valley, toward a series of decrepit buildings that had seen better days. The desert had partially claimed the rusty metal structures, though they still stood strong. Largely they consisted of hangars and warehouses, while others resembled lodgings. The entire complex must have covered thousands of acres. A massive airfield extended out from the installation toward the sloping mountains surrounding the valley.
“Is that it?” Mace asked.
Bishop grinned as he nodded. “Right where I left it.”
“Well, we’re burning daylight. Let’s go.” Before Mace could command his leeback forward, Bishop put his arm against his chest.
“Hold up. There’s booby traps along the perimeter down there. Nearly blew myself up to bits last time I was here. Follow me.” Bishop slid down the slope on his leeback toward the valley.
Mace navigated his ride from his saddle and followed Bishop, while Gareth, Andre and Emerson rode in the back in a single file. The hooves of Bishop’s powerful leeback flung gray-black sand in the air and onto Mace’s clothes. The group moved slowly toward the stretched out, chain-link fence separating the buildings from them. Mace examined the ground his leeback was walking on. The valley had a flat landmass made of deposits of sediment. Approaching an abandoned guard tower, Mace noticed a sign still hanging from the fence. It was worn out, but he could still make out most of the letters, which read, Ellsworth Air Force Base. At one end of the sign was a faded symbol of what looked to be a set of wings with a small star at its center.
“Air force,” Mace murmured to himself. This was a U.S. military base. If there were indeed operable weapons still stored here, there could be an endless supply of them, judging by the sheer size of the facility only. Mace was surprised the Monads had never stumbled upon this place, though it was deep in the Outlands, far away from any of their mega-cities. The group passed through three separate, torn-down fences and crossed onto the premises with Bishop leading the way.
The only sound that could be heard for miles was the wind coming from the desert. Bishop came to a stop in the middle of the old compound. Mace and the others did the same. Off to one end was an antique air fighter sitting idle beneath blankets of sand. Most of the parts had rusted away long ago and it was likely no longer flyable, but the overall structure was for the most part intact. There were also ground vehicles with actual tires attached at the bottom spread throughout the grounds. Mace felt like he had stepped into the past. This place should be in a museum. But now wasn’t the time to bask in amazement, as Mace had more pressing matters at hand, and he needed to stay focused.
Bishop scanned the rows of hangars before him, appearing unsure of where to go next.
“Where to now?” Mace said.
Bishop pointed to a water tower in the distance. “There.”
They rode for another mile on a sandy paved road before stopping in front of single-story building. Bishop dismounted while Mace and the others did the same. Mace minced from the injury he sustained on his ribs as he climbed off his leeback.
“He’s inside,” Bishop stated. The excitement in his voice was obvious. “He can help us.”
Mace and Gareth exchanged looks. He?
Emerson and Andre didn’t seem too concerned; they were busy scoping the area with blank expressions.
“Are you telling us there’s actually somebody in there?” Gareth asked with a hint of doubt.
“Trust me,” Bishop said. He reached for his backpack. “Better break out the torches.” They each removed two-feet-long wooden branches from their packs and proceeded to light the tips wrapped with cotton wicks soaked in horalo fat.
“It’s your show,” Mace said. “Lead the way.”
Bishop didn’t need to be told twice; he pulled the main door open and was the first one inside, lighting the path ahead with an orange glow. The sounds of their boots making contact with shattered glass and other debris on the floor ricocheted off the thick, concrete walls as the group moved through a narrow hallway. The light from Mace’s torch cast a series of shadows up ahead. Particles of dust lingered throughout the hall, making it harder for Mace to breathe. He felt a pinch of fear in the pit of his stomach as he traveled deeper inside the battered building. Every creak caused his senses to go into overdrive. Between Bishop’s vagueness as to what they were getting into and being enclosed in such confined spaces, it all seemed to have triggered Mace’s fight-or-flight instincts. But he forced himself to soldier onward.
Bishop turned left at the next corner and entered a darkened room. Following two steps behind, Mace discovered to his astonishment that the room was filled with rows of primitive computer terminals. Judging by its layout, the room appeared to be some kind of command center. Bishop walked over to one of the terminals at the center of the room and scanned the surface of a console. “Hold this,” he said to Mace, handing him his torch.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Mace said as Bishop flipped a red switch on the console.
“Watch.” As he said this, the faint sound of small fans spinning came from somewhere behind the terminal. Bishop wiped a large smudge of dust off a monitor as a boot-up screen displayed various files loading. Suddenly, two red beans emanating from the top of the monitor began to scan Bishop’s retinas. A few seconds later, a graphical image of a human male face materialized across the screen. “Hello Bishop,” the man said. “It is good to see you again.”
“Hello Central,” Bishop replied.
Central, Mace thought.
“The hell,” Gareth said in astonishment.
The soft white glow emanating from Central lit up the area where the team stood.
Bishop turned to his confused teammates. “I’d like you to meet Central.”
“I am Central,” the man reiterated in his computerized, monotone voice.
Bishop added, “He’s an A.I. program the people that used to run this facility created. Our ancestors’ own version of the Archivist so to speak, though not nearly as advanced.”
Central then announced, “I am the most advanced military A.I. program ever built.”
Bishop snickered. “He’s a little sensitive too.”
Mace moved closer to the screen projecting Central’s face and waved his hand in front of his dead eyes as Central stared off in no particular direction. “How can this machine still be working?”
“It wasn’t easy, but I managed to jerry-rig one of the base’s backup power grids that runs on solar energy and got Central up and running again. Though he’s only running at half-capacity. My curiosity with old world tech when I was a kid in Empyreum paid off.” He turned his head to the side and said, “Central, tell them what it is you do around here.”
Without skipping a beat, Central responded, “I monitor any and all domestic threats within the continental United States. I am responsible for increasing the readiness of all aircraft and other military vehicles stationed at Ellsworth Air Force Base to accomplish missio
n objectives. I ensure all base operations are functioning at optimal levels.”
“Basically, he runs the place,” Bishop clarified.
Gareth stayed a few steps behind with Emerson and Andre, not daring to get any closer. “That thing is creepy looking.”
Central picked up on Gareth’s words. “I do not understand creepy. Please clarify.”
Bishop chuckled. “Ignore him, Central. My friend lacks manners.” Turning to Gareth, Bishop said, “Relax. He ain’t gonna bite ya. In fact, he’s very helpful. Showed me everything there is to know about this base.” He motioned to Mace. “Ask him anything you want and he’ll be happy to spill the beans.”
Mace carefully said to Central, “Are you aware of what century this is?”
“Of course,” Central said.
“So then you do know that the people that used to work here are all long-dead.”
“I understand. Bishop explained the situation to me after he reactivated me. For that, I am in his debt for as long as I am online.”
Mace shook his head in wonderment. “Not bad for human engineering.” He then asked the A.I. program what was on everyone else’s mind. “Can you tell us where the weapons are located?”
A few beats later, Central said, “There are four on-base weapons housings. Please specify.”
As if anticipating this, Bishop said to the A.I., “Central, show us Area 4.”
“Of course, Bishop.” On the screen, Central’s face was replaced with an aerial view of Ellsworth. On the map, a red marker hovered over a structure within the base. “The Area 4 ammunition storage is located four kilometers from our current position.”
Bishop turned to Mace. “Why don’t ya say we have ourselves a look?”
* * *
Up ahead, the group was coming up on a series of concrete bunkers with curved roofs.
The letters engraved above the steel door to one of the bunkers read, Area 4.
Climbing off his leeback, Mace joined the others already by the door. He helped Bishop pull the handle of the heavy door sideways until it opened all the way. Mace peered through the doorway and into the impenetrable darkness that lay ahead. The outside light only illuminated a few inches into the bunker. They relit their torches and made their way inside.
Squinting his eyes, Mace made out endless rows of shelves. The shelves were stacked against the concrete wall that enclosed the inside of the bunker. An ever-present mist of dust hung in the air. Mace’s torch lit the surface of the shelves which were covered with cobwebs and earth.
Bishop stopped in between two rows of shelves, waiting for Mace and the others to catch up. Positioned upright inside the shelves were rifles of some kind.
Mace handed the torch to Gareth and carefully pulled one of the rifles free, studying it closely.
“It’s called an M16,” Bishop stated.
Mace blew some dust off the weapon and adjusted it in his hands as he felt its weight. It was a good five or six pounds with an extended barrel. There was a part missing at the bottom of the weapon, near the trigger. Mace looked down the rows of shelves filled with other rifles of different variations. “There must be thousands of these lying around in here.”
Gareth picked up an M16, while Emerson opened a long green case that contained a small rocket.
“Do any of these still work?” Gareth asked.
Bishop smirked as he grabbed Mace’s M16 from his hands and went back to the shelf. He pulled out a small, detachable device and began loading it with dozens of smaller gold projectiles with sharp ends. He snapped the mechanism into the empty slot on the rifle and aimed it at the far wall of the bunker. Seconds later, a single projectile erupted from the barrel.
Mace jumped when the M16 fired. The explosive, thundering sound was unique compared to the electric buzz of a pulsar rifle.
Bishop gave the group a knowing smirk. “Still works.”
Gareth looked astonished. “How the hell do you know how to operate that so precise?”
“Spent a lot of time in here. I might have tinkered with one or two of these.” He handed the rifle to Mace. “You try it.”
Mace gulped as he reached out for the weapon. He felt clumsy holding onto the rifle as he steadied his aim at the same wall Bishop had shot at. A tiny hole where the projectile had penetrated was visible. Mace felt as though he was fifteen again, learning how to shoot a bow and arrow for the first time. His finger trembled as he squeezed the trigger all the way back. Another thunderous explosion came out of the barrel. The kickback forced Mace backward; the end-portion of the rifle had jerked against his shoulder. He examined the M16 again. “It’s got a kick.” He aimed the weapon again and fired off several more shots in rapid succession. There were now many holes plastered across the wall.
Gareth and Emerson watched Mace in amazement as he handled the rifle. “Holy shit,” Gareth said. He waved his M16 in the air. “We got everything we need here to take on the Nads.”
As Gareth, Andre and Emerson talked amongst themselves, giddy over their newest assets, Bishop tapped Mace on the shoulder. “There’s one more thing I wanna show ya.”
* * *
Making their way out of the bunker, Mace followed Bishop across the base’s open area. They were quickly approaching another bunker twice the size of the one they had come out of; its massive doors sealed shut.
“What’s in there?” Mace said. “More rifles? I think we got all we need.”
“You’ll see.”
Mace wondered what other surprises Bishop had up his sleeve when a loud, drawn-out grunt traveled throughout the silent installation. He felt his heart stop the instant he heard it. The noise had come from the bunker they were heading towards. Suddenly, a giant winged creature ripped through the bunker’s ceiling, and flapped its wings as it wavered in the air. Mace and Bishop stopped dead in their tracks; not brave enough to move an inch further. With a high-pitched shrill, the flying monstrosity from hell extended its wings outward and charged after the two settlers.
Chapter 25
Mace’s blood grew cold. He stared into the grisly, pale eyes of the creature flying low toward him.
Its features were that of an racoth, only twice its size, with a darker brown complexion and much bigger claws. The face was also that of a vulture’s.
Bishop yelled, “Run!”
Mace and Bishop dodged the creature’s attack as it swooped near them and grabbed only air. The creature disappeared behind a building as Mace and Bishop ran for their lives. Mace could hear the horrific cries of the flying monster behind him, and didn’t dare look back. Bishop was heading for a nearly demolished, two-story building that they were coming up on. Mace felt a gush of wind off to the side, and as he whipped his head around, Bishop was scooped up at the waist by the winged creature. Bishop’s legs flapped around in the creature’s grip as it attempted to take off with its prey.
Mace immediately sprang to action, reaching for his bow and placing an arrow in it. Taking aim at the creature’s neck, he pulled back on the bow and released it. The arrow shot out toward its target and bounced off the creature’s wing. Mace cursed under his breath as he readied another arrow. Bishop had his knife out and began to stab it repeatedly. The creature hovered several feet in the air with its wings thrashing rapidly as Mace shot several more arrows at it. The last shot penetrated the rough skin of the flying creature’s neck; letting out a blood-curdling howl. But all it seemed to do was make it madder.
Mace reached for another arrow from his quiver and realized he was out. He grimaced at the creature who had his second-in command and friend in its grip.
Bishop kept stabbing the monster until it finally released him. The creature stayed suspended in the air, letting out a series of cries at the injuries it had received.
Mace swooped in and grabbed Bishop off the ground, pulling him into the building. Inside one of the offices, they collapsed onto the floor and dragged their backs against the wall. All the windows inside were scattered, and the ceiling ab
ove was covered with giant holes where the outside light was beaming through. The building would not provide much protection from whatever it was that was stalking them.
Mace turned to Bishop, who had a cut above his eyebrow. His shirt was ripped in a few places, with blood oozing out by his abdomen. “You hurt?”
“It’s not as bad as it looks. The hell is that thing?”
“You tell me. You’ve been here before.”
“That wasn’t here last time.”
“Looks like it made this place its home now.”
“That thing almost looks like a racoth,” Bishop said. “I thought they were only indigenous to the Western Regions.”
In between shallow breaths, Mace said, “I think these are the racoth’s bigger and meaner cousin.”
Mace’s heart was jackhammering up to his ears as he edged himself toward the window while glued to the wall to catch a glimpse outside. The creature was nowhere in sight, but Mace could still hear its cries in the distance.
“Do you see it?” Bishop asked.
“No.”
“Maybe it lost interest in us.” As soon as Bishop finished those words, the ceiling above them collapsed. Between the pieces of wood and metal, the racoth’s distant relative dropped to the room right before Mace and Bishop, once again extending its expansive wings and letting out a raspy, drawn-out hiss.
Mace and Bishop were on their feet and on the move. They exited the office through an adjacent door and ran down a hallway. Mace could hear destruction from behind him. He twisted his head slightly to the side and caught a glimpse of the creature breaking through the walls as it struggled its way toward them in the cramped space. Chunks of concrete and steel fell from the ceiling as the building came apart from all around. Mace could see light at the end of the hall and pushed himself harder. His feet barely touched the ground as he ran at top speed, with his arms flapping everywhere. He didn’t dare look over his shoulder again to see how close the creature was, but could almost smell its ungodly breath across his nose.