Kill Switch: Final Season

by Sean E. Britten

  Digger took hold of his UMP45 in both hands again and triggered a short, tearing burst. Heavy slugs ricocheted off the drone’s armour. One of the hologram-projecting spikes was torn off the side of the drone and Zachariah’s image lost some form and substance without disappearing completely. Another short burst blew through the engine of the drone, killing it and causing it to drop from the air. The hologram sparked and died.

  “Let’s go before he tries to make good on that threat.” Miller said.

  They were only half a block past the tunnel to the central section when they heard engines. Choking, older model biofuel motors mixed in with clattering metal feet. Digger and Miller sped up. Unfortunately, the others couldn’t move much quicker than they already were. Bolt was much faster than any of them but was labouring under DFN’s weight, even with Echo helping.

  “It’s not the scorptank, what is it?” Digger said.

  Three pickup trucks, brimming with black-suited security troopers, came clattering around the nearest intersection. Covered in homemade armour and rust, with reinforced windshields and windows covered in metal cages, the trucks looked like the kind that would have been left behind by local insurgents following the Bio-Wars. Besides the homemade armour, the trucks had been converted cheaply into all-terrain vehicles. Spidery, metal legs similar to those on the group’s single remaining pack mule extended from all three trucks’ wheel wells. Footpads crunched on the asphalt as the trucks moved as if to surround the contestants and Miller.

  “Didn’t we already kill these guys?” Digger said.

  “They’re clones, so they obviously had more to spare!” Miller said, “We had a lot more people with us then, and more guns!”

  Half a dozen guards occupied each truck, two in the cabins and four being carried around in the large trays on the back. There was also an enormous mounted weapon in the bed of each four-legged vehicle. Two of them looked like .50 cal machine guns, anti-aircraft weapons. The third was a beltfed MK-19 grenade launcher, snub-nosed grenades loaded into the side of the weapon which had a gaping 40mm muzzle. A cloud of camera drones moved through the air above the trucks and the small army of troopers, ones that had somehow escaped the earlier inferno. If it was going to be the final act, they wanted to make sure to get it on the broadcast.

  A trooper wheeled around with one of the giant machine guns. Gunfire split the air. Fifty calibre bullets tore through the facade of a nearby building, causing chunks of concrete and shards of glass to rain outward. Digger, Miller and the other contestants ran for cover. Homer tagged along behind the big Australian, grey helmet bobbing back and forth on his head.

  “Get back, don’t use that for cover!” Digger yelled.

  Miller dove behind an abandoned taxi. The trooper with the .50 cal machine gun fired directly into the vehicle, blasting straight through it. Miller rolled to avoid being hit as bullets cut the taxi in half and chewed apart the asphalt behind it.

  “Bloody hell!” Digger said.

  Digger straightened up and fired, his heavy .45 submachine gun hammering against his shoulder. Bullets clattered off the caged windshield of the nearest truck. Homer clung to the back of Digger’s body armour. The other contestants hung behind Digger, retreating around a concrete wall. The truck with the grenade launcher pumped out a couple of explosive rounds in their direction, slamming into the wall and one of the nearby buildings. The explosions reverberated through the street, deafeningly loud, and blew smoking holes through the surfaces they hit. The rounds seemed to be anti-armour rather than anti-personnel, less shrapnel than was typical hailed against the surrounding buildings.

  “Game over, contestants!” One of the troopers yelled.

  “Ain’t over until it’s over!” Digger said.

  Taking cover behind the corner of one building, Digger wrapped around it and squeezed off another short burst. Rounds rattled off the side of one truck, and off a couple of troopers’ armour. The men covered themselves and fired back with their assault rifles, sending a hail of bullets clattering off the building and the wall the other contestants had hidden behind. Miller was still sprinting across the other side of the street, over the sidewalk, looking for cover. Heavy bullets chased her, tearing through the air and surrounding storefronts. Finding a small alcove with an ATM, Miller crammed her body inside.

  The three trucks hung back, mechanical legs splayed. Troopers fired in overlapping bursts at the group’s positions and the trio of heavy weapons swiveled around being used in withering bursts as well. Blasts and explosions were deafening, smoke and shrapnel filling the air. Camera drones hovered in a ceiling overhead, following the action from every angle. Another grenade slammed against the wall where Digger and Homer were taking cover. Miller shielded herself as bullets raked across the space where she was hidden, huge chunks of concrete ripping free of the surrounding walls. One of them ricocheted, grazed Miller’s arm, and plowed into the ATM behind her. Old money exploded out of the machine and sprayed into the street, joining the chaos. The anti-aircraft bullet broke the shell of Miller’s armour and a red spray of blood arced out of the opening. Miller dropped her gun and it tumbled across the sidewalk outside her alcove, which thanks to the bullets flying all around her hiding place might as well have been a million miles away. Unable to help herself, Miller let out a short scream as concrete dust and plastic shrapnel hit her suit. Gripping her bleeding arm, she sunk down into a ball to make herself a smaller target. Although her suit was meant to be bulletproof to a certain extent, the .50 cal had ripped it open and if it hadn’t been a ricochet the round probably would have torn her whole arm off.

  “I’m getting low! Where’s that bloody robot at?” Digger said, “Need more forty-fives!”

  More bullets shredded the centre of the road. Pulverised asphalt filled the air. Fifty cal bullets punched through a couple of cars like they were made of soap bubbles. The troopers hadn’t moved from the beds of the trucks, letting off short bursts that kept their targets pinned down. Although the earlier team had also had a trio of security droids, the heavy weapons on the trucks were much more effective and the mercenaries had many more numbers on their side earlier. As it was, things looked hopeless for Digger, Homer, Miller and the others.

  “We need a miracle!” Miller shouted.

  Thumping, several loud blasts cut through the chaos from the far end of the block. Rocket-propelled grenades went sailing high into the air above the three trucks. A couple bounced off surrounding buildings, twisting in unpredictable trajectories, and exploded in midair. The trucks, troopers, and the camera drones hanging overhead were hailed by shrapnel. Drones were blown apart and spiralled out of the air, crashing. Guards shielded their heads, ducking into the beds of the walking trucks for cover. A couple of the vehicles stumbled as the drivers weren’t sure what was happening.

  “You rang?” Layla Jackson said.

  The one-armed, heavily muscled soldier strode forward, an M32 grenade launcher hanging from her right hand. The barrel of the drum-loaded weapon was smoking. Behind her, the pack mule that had disappeared followed like a loyal dog. Obeying its programming, as soon as the mule had spotted its leader the bot had taken off to meet her and Layla had raided its supplies for the M32 and another P90 personal defense weapon which was hanging off her left shoulder. The strap was wrapped around the neatly carved stump of her prosthesis. Tommy Nguyen was taking cover behind the mule, removing weapons from it as well.

  “Layla, you’re alive!” Miller said.

  “No time for reunions, hit them with everything you’ve got!” Layla said.

  Layla shouldered the M32 grenade launcher one-handed. The grenade launcher thundered a couple of times and two smoking projectiles sailed into the midst of the trucks and troopers. Blasts rocked one of the walking vehicles and sent it staggering sideways. Troopers in the back of the truck were thrown in all directions, one toppling onto the road, but the truck and the big gun in the rear were still in one piece. Digger joined in, raking the trucks with what was le
ft of his ammo while Miller scrambled to get her hands on her submachine gun again.

  “Get me over there, put me down! I can help.” DFN was saying.

  Leg not working, DFN had to find a decent sniping position somewhere on the ground. Bolt and Echo carried her to a pile of rubble. She lay against the slope, levering her rifle off her shoulder, and started to measure the distance between them and the trucks. Looking relieved to have the weight off his shoulder, Bolt stretched and bounced in place amongst the deafening gunfire.

  “Time to show off what I can do too!” Bolt said.

  In a blur of motion, the scrawny man shot forward. As the others stayed behind cover, Bolt streaked down the road through air thick with bullets and RPGs. Even Bolt couldn’t outrun them. He tracked where the big guns and soldiers were firing, however, with his enhanced reflexes.

  “Hey over here!” Bolt stopped for a moment.

  Bolt waved, his body vibrating with jittery energy. Troopers in the closest truck started to turn their heavy machine gun on him. Bolt disappeared in another hummingbird blur of motion. Bullets shredded the ground where he’d just been standing as troopers wheeled in different directions with their assault rifles.

  “I can’t hit him!” One trooper yelled.

  “Grenade!” Another said.

  The guard pulled a black cylinder off his chest, tearing away the pin and the spoon and revealing a red button. Hammering the button, the man pitched the grenade at Bolt as he saw the speedster circle the truck. The frag grenade had a kill radius of thirty feet. They couldn’t nail Bolt with bullets but enough shrapnel in his general vicinity might do the trick. The explosive let out a high-pitched beeping as it sailed through the air.

  Moving at incredible speed, avoiding their shots, Bolt clocked the beeping, black cylinder as it spiralled through the air. From his perspective, it was like the grenade was dropping through honey. Grinning, Bolt circled toward it with his hand outstretched and snatched it out of the air. The grenade beeping was growing in frequency and pitch, signalling the fact it was going to explode in seconds. Holding the live grenade, Bolt ran straight back at the truck with the trooper who had thrown into, zigzagging around the thundering guns.

  The troopers were stunned as Bolt charged them. Before they could react, Bolt vaulted the side of the walking truck. He shoved his way through the men stuffed into the truck’s bed and disappeared over the other side. It was all they could do not to shoot each other in the confusion.

  “What was that?” One of the men shouted.

  Even with ear protection, standing around the enormous anti-aircraft gun while it fired had almost deafened the four troopers. It took them a moment to notice the bleeping grenade. One of them shouted an alarm. The frag grenade had somehow found its way back onto the belt of the man who had thrown it in the first place. Its beeping reached a crescendo, the blinking light on top turning a solid red. Troopers threw themselves off the truck, while the one who’d wound up with the grenade clawed at his waist. The grenade exploded with an enormous hammer blow, like the back of the truck had been struck by a missile. The trooper was shredded, blood painting the back of the truck’s cabin as smoke billowed over the vehicle. The .50 cal machine gun next to him was smashed into uselessness.

  Bolt whirled around to admire his handiwork. The troopers in black armour had scattered to get away from the unlucky one Bolt had tagged with the grenade. Bits of gore rained out of the air. Another trooper hadn’t gotten far enough and was cut down by shrapnel. They flopped to the ground, head partially severed from their neck.

  “They say a bullet might have your name on it but a grenade is ‘To Whom it May Concern’.” Bolt said, “Guess that one was more like ‘Return to Sender’!”

  More gunfire drove the remaining two men from the truck back, running in confusion. Bolt was distracted, admiring the situation for a moment too long. A grenade from the truck with the belt-fed launcher streaked toward him. Realising, Bolt shot away but only as the grenade hit the ground and exploded. Bolt avoided the blast but the shockwave picked him up and pitched him forward, end over end, into another pile of wreckage.

  Even with the insurgents’ homemade armour covering the walking trucks, the vehicles had been further reinforced by Slayerz techs. They had been intended to give contestants a fighting chance against the Slayer mechs or the scorptank. One contestant could drive while the other manned the big gun was the intention, except now they worked to the more numerous security troopers’ advantage. Even with the grenade going off only a few feet behind them in the truck bed, the cabin and the two men inside the vehicle Bolt had almost blown up were intact.

  “The gun is wasted, but we can run them down!” The walking truck’s driver said.

  All-terrain footpads stomping at the asphalt, the driver of the damaged truck wheeled the vehicle around. Putting them on a direct course with the mercs and renegade contestants, the truck started jolting forward and picking up speed. Bullets clattered off its armour. The driver aimed to charge down their cover and stomp them into the ground while protected inside the reinforced shell.

  DFN sighted through the scope plugged into her artificial eye, rifle pressed against her shoulder. The driver of the walking truck had the facemask of his helmet flipped back to help him see where he was going, revealing identical features to the bodies Layla had studied before to confirm the troopers were clones. His face filled DFN’s view. Keeping her grip steady, DFN squeezed off a shot. It missed the grate covering the windshield and struck the windshield dead centre over the trooper’s face, creating a spiderweb crack. The driver’s head jerked back but it was only in surprise, the glass was tough enough that the shot hadn’t broken through.

  “Nice try, its reinforced too.” The driver said.

  DFN squeezed off another shot, rifle bucking. Her second shot hit the exact same spot as the first. The first bullet had cracked the glass but failed to penetrate. The second hit the spiderweb crack in its centre and got stuck in the glass, the flattened nose of the low calibre bullet just poking its way through, into the cabin. Without thinking, the driver reached forward and prodded the bullet in amazement. It broke free from the glass and rolled down the outside of the windshield, leaving a tiny hole.

  “Wait a second.” The man in the passenger seat said.

  DFN’s third shot tore through the tiny fracture left by the first two bullets. Without his mask, it ripped through the driver’s face, penetrating just under his eye and then shooting around his skull like an angry wasp. After jerking back in his seat, blood spilling down his face, the driver slumped across the truck’s controls, dead. The four-legged vehicle staggered drunkenly sideways, crashing into the corner of a nearby bank and crushing the passenger side of the cabin.

  “Take out that grenade launcher!” Layla yelled.

  Explosions thundered all around them as the MK-19 pumped out grenades. They corkscrewed into the street and surrounding buildings, blowing chunks of rubble out of every surface and hurling them in all directions. The troopers used the blasts to regather and start advancing again. The two remaining trucks stomped towards them. Protected by their black armour, helmets and opaque facemasks, the troopers pressed assault rifles to their shoulders and started firing short, overlapping bursts again.

  Digger had used all the bullets left in his UMP45 and swapped to Ellis’ lightweight assault rifle. He stayed close to cover, gun tucked against his side. Several bullets hit the wall by his head and concrete chips sprayed his face. Digger aimed and fired carefully. The man who’d almost hit him went down, wailing, as Digger’s shots hit him around the arm. One bullet burrowed into a weak spot in the armour around the trooper’s armpit. The big Australian’s trigger clicked on an empty chamber as he aimed to finish the man off. Homer hung behind him. Digger tossed the rifle aside in disgust.

  “I’m out! Oi, robot! Pack mule, over here, I need ammo!” Digger shouted.

  Amidst all the chaos, the pack mule robot heard Digger and started toward him in i
ts jerking fashion. Guns and ammo weighed down its back and sides. Before the mule could reach Digger, a grenade carved through the road between them. The blast sent bits of asphalt showering into the sky. The pack mule was bowled over, legs stabbing at the air. Fortunately, the explosion had only clipped it and the shockwave knocked it over but the mule and its weapons were intact. They were separated, however, and Digger needed that ammo.

  Troopers fanned out, moving to circle the concrete wall where Digger and Homer were hidden. Another grenade whistled into the building overhead, the blast showering them with debris. Setting his empty UMP45 aside, Digger drew his knife. Homer huddled next to him with helmet down over his ears, jumping at the gunfire and explosions. In spite of what Homer had done to Ellis earlier, Digger wasn’t sure if he could repeat the performance. Digger wasn’t sure he would want to see it even if he could, although it would certainly give the troopers something to think about.

  Two guards, working in unison, came around Digger and Homer’s cover with assault rifles raised. Digger lashed out in a ball of violence, head low. He kicked one of the men in the midsection and knocked them over backward. His knife slashed across the second man’s chest. With his free hand, Digger shoved the barrel of the man’s gun away so that when it fired it ricocheted off the building beside them. Cutting and stabbing, Digger’s flurry of attacks glanced off the trooper’s armour. Looking for a weak spot he could get at, Digger was forced to wrestle with the man. The trooper’s gun was wrenched between them.

  The other trooper, on the ground, fired and hit Digger in the back. His armour stopped the bullets from penetrating but the blows jolted his broken rib. Staggering backward, Digger was unprotected and the man he’d been wrestling with recovered. The trooper swung the butt of his assault rifle around and smashed it into the side of Digger’s face. Digger reeled and dropped to one knee, weakened already by the injuries Ellis had inflicted earlier.