Mahmet Adani’s bracelet had started bleeping with a proximity alert as soon as Dr Schrei had gone over the edge of the craft. Teams had to stay within a certain radius of one another at all times or they would be killed. When Schrei hit the ground, Mahmet’s kill switch let out a flatline wail. The man winced as needles dug into his flesh. He was a tall, black man in a turban, body armour and loose desert robes. Unsteady even on his knees on the wildly swaying ship, the man knelt over and pressed his forehead to the deck, starting to pray. In spite of the adrenaline and the drugs that must have been overloading his systems, Mahmet ignored Digger and the boy as they crossed the enormous deck behind him
“Come on, mate, I reckon we must be the last two off this bloody boat!” Digger shouted, “Let’s not take the express route like that last bloke!”
The two of them reached the crates and a scanner painted both of their faces with a grid of green lines before their lids opened. Digger grabbed one of the parachutes and yanked it over the boy’s arms. His partner was unresisting, looking younger than ever, like a child who couldn’t even dress himself without help. Emptiness yawned beyond the side of the enormous ship. Digger did up the straps on the boy’s chute and then retrieved his own, pulling it on quickly. They were just about ready to go when across the deck, Mahmet’s drugs overtook him. Ending his prayer, the man slumped flat across the ground and died. In the midst of so much smoke and chaos it seemed like a very small and peaceful moment. That was until the man disappeared into a thunderous, orange fireball.
“Jesus Christ!” Digger yelled.
The blast was tiny compared to the explosion that had just ripped apart one of the carrier’s remaining engines but the shockwave still rippled across the flight deck. Digger was so stunned he almost went staggering off the side of the ship. Mahmet had been completely disintegrated by the blast, leaving only a black scorch mark on the runway.
While Digger was wondering what the hell had happened, the screens on his and the boy’s wrist suddenly flickered to life. They showed a repeat of Mahmet dying and then exploding from another angle. Although Digger could hardly hear it over the whine of the last engine, the voice of the host they had heard before filtered through the sleeve’s tiny speaker.
“As part of our constant innovation to make Slayerz a more exciting and challenging game, our kill switches this season have been updated!” The host said, “As always, when a contestant dies their partner will receive a dose of adrenaline and chemicals designed to give them an edge on their opponents, so they can take revenge on the team that killed them before they expire. This season, however, when the second contestant dies their bracelet is rigged to explode with a small but powerful charge. That means all they have to do to take their vengeance is to stay close to their opponents until they are killed.”
“Well, thanks for the warning, bitch.” Digger said, “Come on kid, let’s blow this joint!”
The airship was tipping and spiralling through the sky, and the ground had gotten a lot closer than Digger had realised. If they didn’t jump now then there wouldn’t be enough time for their chutes to open, but if they judged it wrong they’d be creamed against the side of the spinning behemoth aircraft. The boy wobbled to keep his balance as the deck tilted.
Grabbing the boy by the pack, Digger suddenly hauled him forward and pitched him over the side of the aircraft carrier. Digger ran after him, leaping clear of the deck. The sheer side of the ship, studded with open airlocks and decommissioned weapon pods, swept over them as if to crush the pair like a couple of ants. Behind them, the fourth engine finally exploded, spewing gouts of flame and smoke across the deck. The huge ship, looking like something that never should have been airborne in the first place, started to turn over onto its back, plummeting.
There were no cords to trigger the chutes. Once they were far enough from the ship, Digger and Homo Superior No. 11’s packs erupted automatically. The chutes billowed and filled with air then carried them away from the giant, flaming wreck. Digger craned his head back so he could watch the explosions and mechanical carnage, a grin splitting his face. Both of their chutes flew side by side as they headed toward the arena.
With four of its engines blasted and gone the airborne aircraft carrier had just enough power in its fifth, underside engine to steer clear of the arena on an automatically plotted course. Its shadow traced across the blasted desert landscape of Sub-Saharan Africa. Turning and turning gracelessly, the used-up aircraft carrier plunged into the site of a ghost town, far from the Slayerz arena. Left behind by the African Bio-Wars, not a living soul inhabited the shanties and low-lying buildings.
As it hit the earth and crumpled, the ship’s fusion generators cracked open. The ensuing blast ripped through the aircraft carrier’s superstructure like wet tissue. Shockwaves blew apart the deserted town, wiping out empty houses and buildings and turning them to dust. It cracked the world open. A mushroom-shaped cloud billowed and blossomed, soaking into the sky.
Chapter Five
“Diamonds. For generations they’ve been the ultimate symbol of love and dedication. Advancements in nanotechnology, however, have reduced them to the status of just another building material. Nothing but shiny rocks. You wouldn’t get the love of your life a polished piece of concrete to wear on their finger or around their neck, would you? Even finding a genuine blood diamond is a tough proposition. So how can you still show them what they’re truly worth?”
“Soul Gems have been created via the ultimate sacrifice to ensure a truly unique diamond. The bodies of murdered poor and unfortunate people have been burned to ashes, and those ashes placed under enormous pressure to create glorious one-off pieces of pure carbon, cut and set to create an enduring symbol of your love. Some say the souls of those killed are trapped inside, to be yours forever.”
“Soul Gems, give them the gift of a lifetime, because they’re worth it.”
Digger saw the mushroom cloud erupting tens of kilometres away. The shockwave battered and buffeted them in midair. Swaying overhead, the parachutes corrected themselves and continued on course. The chutes were GPS-driven, taking Digger and the boy on an automatic course through the air to their destination in the arena below. Experimentally, Digger yanked at the cords over his head and threw his weight around but he couldn’t divert the chute. Both he and the kid flew side by side, Digger’s partner hanging limply in his straps.
Digger recognised the landscape below them as Sub-Saharan Africa. The desert outside the arena had been blasted and blighted by war. No doubt they were over one of those countries that had changed names and borders so many times during and in the aftermath of the Bio-Wars it was pointless to learn what it was called now. He shouldn’t have been surprised, Digger thought. On board the ship, introducing the other contestants, it was obvious that year’s season had something of a Bio-Wars theme. Too many mutants and soldiers who had been involved in one way or another. Digger hadn’t been back to Africa since his early mercenary days, after serving with the SAS and the incident that had forced him on the run. Bloody flashbacks gripped his mind, his hands clenching as his lips drew back in a snarl. He had never gotten his hands on the mutant that had forced him to do what he did. His mind fogged over, forgetting where he was and why, wanting a chance to go back and do it all over differently.
Digger fought back against the mental impulse, knowing he needed to stay in the moment to survive. Below them and coming up fast, the arena was in view. This year, the Slayerz battleground had taken on an unusual appearance. Instead of one dome-like circular wall there were five, all pressing up against one another but with border walls between them. All were roughly the same size although they hadn’t been arranged in an orderly fashion. Instead they’d been overlaid across the ruins of a once bustling and now abandoned city.
Each circular wall surrounded a different neighbourhood of the city. The two most central circles ringed around parts of the city’s centre, one filled with towers of the business district and the other filled
with lower lying, commercial buildings. Both the towers and the other section had been battered by war. The skyscrapers were pocked and cratered with artillery blasts and wreckage was strewn through their streets. Digger thought he could even spot a few rusted tanks occupying the intersections of the most central section. On the far side of the arena the border walls surrounded the rolling hills of an upper class suburb, filled with gated communities and a couple of strip malls. Branching off from that, separated by walls both new and old, was the poorer side of town. It was little more than a sprawling shantytown with few permanent buildings where thousands must have lived before the war. The fifth section of the enormous arena, however, where the parachutes were carrying Digger and Homo Superior No. 11, was a vast freeway interchange and industrial area. Hundreds upon hundreds of empty, rusted cars lined the concrete rings of ramps, overpasses and underpasses on the outskirts of the city, between the business district and the shantytown.
Most of the teams were down already, although Digger could see a few white chutes dotted across the city from a distance. They’d all been split up and sent to different corners of the different sections of the arena. Digger and his partner’s chutes dipped, arcing toward the freeway section.
“Whoa, whoa! Brace yourself, kid, we’re coming in hot!” Digger said.
Wind whipped their faces. The parachutes aimed at a deliberately cleared section of one of the upraised overpasses. The overpass was only two lanes wide with a twenty metre drop to either side. Digger would not have wanted to hit the mark himself if he had been steering but the GPS-guided chute seemed to know what to do. Trashed cars cluttered the sides of their landing area.
Bracing himself for a rough landing, Digger came down first. He hit with his feet, shocks traveling up his legs as he bounced and jogged to a stop. Digger ripped off his straps as the billowing chute continued to drag him forward. As soon as he was free, the parachute carried the empty pack over the side of the overpass. Its ropes twisted and the material sunk into the industrial area below.
The boy came down more gently, the parachute dropping him gingerly to the road’s surface. Digger ran to meet him. He tackled the boy before the chute could drag him too far. Both of them started to pull him clear of the pack. Still silent, Digger’s partner seemed clueless about what he was supposed to be doing. Digger yanked him free as the chute got twisted and also went whipping over the side of the overpass. Tangled, the dense material and the pack dropped heavily to the hard ground below. The boy watched it disappear, his face neutral.
“Bloody hell, kid, you’re really not all there, are you?” Digger said, “Buggered if I know why they stuck me with you, I’m not a bloody babysitter. But if we’re going to make it out of here you’d better smarten up a bit.”
A low but insistent beeping drew Digger’s attention. Off to one side of the overpass were a pair of pale grey crates, nestled amongst the wreckage of a few abandoned cars. Letting out a short cheer of happiness, Digger darted toward the weapon crates they’d been promised and the boy ambled after him. No visible ways of opening the crates showed on the outside. As they stood over them, however, a scanner illuminated both of their faces with green lines. Once their identities had been confirmed the lids of both crates hissed open, revealing dark interiors.
“Not too shabby.” Digger said.
The Australian pulled a slightly bulky submachine gun out of his case. A Heckler & Koch UMP45, nothing exotic but Digger had used one in the service and it was a versatile and hardy weapon. A polymer stock was folded down the side of the weapon. The gun was made slightly beefier by the addition of a weaponlight in front of the vertical foregrip and an infrared scope on top. Several long, straight magazines of heavy .45 slugs came in the case with the weapon. Digger loaded one and jammed the others into the combat webbing across the right side of his chest. Reaching into the crate again, a large grin broke across Digger’s face. In addition to the UMP45 was a large, black combat knife in the bottom of the case. Digger clipped its sheath so it hung upside down on the left side of his chest and then he displayed the serrated blade to the boy proudly.
“There we go, that’s a knife, ey?” Digger said, “Nevermind, kid, you’re probably too young to remember all them reboots. The gun is a bit of a relief actually. You see some of the shit a few contestants got in seasons lately? I’ll take the UMP and a good knife, thank you very much. What did you get, ey, kid? What did Santa bring you?”
The boy reached inside his own crate and came out with three white objects that looked almost like markers. They were syringes, Digger realised, like epipens for people who were allergic to peanuts and the like. All three were attached to a single strap so they could be clipped and holstered to the boy’s belt or body armour. Immediately, Digger worried he’d spoken too soon about the producers’ generosity and he snatched the syringes out of the boy’s hand. They were injectors of some kind all right, with a large button on one end and some needlelike prongs protected by a plastic cover on the other.
“What the fuck?” Digger said.
‘DIHOAXIAN’ read the blocky blue letters down the side of each tube, along with some kind of ingredients or instructions that might as well have been in Greek. Digger had no idea what the injectors were supposed to do but if they’d come in the crate they were clearly meant to be used as some kind of weapon. Maybe the kid was meant to get close enough to stick them in their enemy’s arse, to kill or paralyse them. Uncertainly, Digger glanced from the injectors to the innocent-looking boy. Or maybe the boy himself was the weapon. Back on the ship it was never exactly clear how Homo Superior No. 11 had burned down the hospital he’d escaped from, causing him to get locked up. Did the formula in Dihoaxian cause him to hulk out or something? Had the experiments to turn him into some kind of freak superhuman not been as unsuccessful as Digger had first assumed, they just needed a little chemical kick? All sorts of possibilities flew through Digger’s head as the animal inside him raised its hackles warily.
“Alright, I’ll leave it up to you, kid, you can figure that one out.” Digger said.
Digger tossed the injectors back to his partner. The boy clipped the strap to his belt, white tubes lined up across his right hip. He didn’t seem put out by being given the injectors, but of course he hadn’t seemed put out or given much of a reaction to anything yet. Digger racked the H&K UMP45. Hearing a strange whirring sound, Digger flinched and looked at the sky. Two camera drones dropped out of the air as if from nowhere and started to orbit the two contestants. They had grey, spherical bodies with spinning middles that kept them aloft, and multiple camera lens eyes that they fixed on Digger and the boy, filming. Bobbing up and down, they looked almost cute. Digger ignored them and turned back on his partner.
“Think it’s about time we were properly introduced, little mate.” Digger said, “My name is Digger Dundee, save the jokes I’ve already heard them. You heard the introduction but you don’t know my story. What I am is the baddest of all bad motherfuckers who ever fucked with anyone. You stick close to me, mate, and you’ll be right. I’m not so worried about those mutant freaks they’ve got running around in here, I can handle them easy. But we do have a few hard bastards that-, I mean one at a time would be fine but in pairs they might be a little bit tricky.”
The boy watched with polite interest, his eyes wide, not speaking. Digger chewed at his bottom lip, still thinking about the syringes and how they fit in with everything.
“Suppose I can’t just keep calling you ‘kid’, can I, kid? Should probably give you a name or something instead of that shit they were calling you, Homo Superior Number Eleven, what the fuck is that for a mouthful? Unless there are any objections?” Digger paused but the boy said nothing, “Alright, what can I call you? Eleven? I don’t know, bit of a girl’s name. Homo-, well I can’t get about calling you Homo, can I? Might as well call you Poofter. What about, Homo-, what about Homer, ey? You look like a bit of a Homer to me, what do you reckon?”
The boy started to smile u
ncertainly, white teeth splitting his face. It was a shy smile like that of a child who hadn’t seen much kindness in his life. ‘Homer’ it was then, Digger decided. He checked the screen on his forearm but it hadn’t updated fully. Peering across the freeway section of the arena, Digger wondered what their next move should be. From on top of the overpass he could almost see over the round walls of the arena, but he couldn’t spot any of the other teams. The camera drones orbited.
“Contestants, as most of you would have noticed from the air, this season’s Slayerz arena is different from previous years.” Their forearm screens started to say, “In fact, it’s more like five mini-arenas rolled into one! And every single one of them comes with its own unique threats for you to discover. Every half hour, when your map updates with the positions of the other contestants, different corridors will open and close between sections of the arena to allow you to travel through. Don’t get caught in the tunnels during the map update, and make sure to keep moving if you want to make the most of your opportunities on Slayerz!”
With that, their screens finally updated. Laid out in glowing green, the arena map looked like five overlapping rings. At the areas of overlap various tunnels were shown heading between different sections of the arena. The maps also gave different names to the five sections and showed the current positions of the contestants within them. The section Digger and Homer had landed in was labelled ‘Freeway Interchange’ and under the name was ‘Threat: ????’. The other sections were listed as City Center, Towers, Shantytown, and Suburbia, all with threats marked with question marks. Contestants had been evenly divided between the sections, three teams in each section, except the absence of Wilhelm Schrei and Mahmet Adani meant City Center only had two teams. Currently in the Freeway Interchange section with them were the teams of L.L. Bitters and Rick O’Shae, and Macbeth Madaki and Junior Du Preez. The list appeared on their screens again.
Kill Switch: Final Season Page 5