“Lunacy,” whispered Speaker Ridge.
“Yes,” said Lecturer Russell with the smallest smile. “Now get him his guns.”
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DataLog Text-MemxJourn: Doyle, Sienna A. / 18-04-24
“Have you lost your mind!” screamed Sienna.
Sean ran a hand through his thick black hair. “Sienna, shut up. Not only did you save my dumbass life but, in case you forgot, you’re the only family I have left. Screw Sigma-8. I was getting bored anyhow.”
“Holy shit, you are insane,” grumbled Sienna.
Behind them, the lights of the encampment were still clearly visible in the night. Most of the surrounding area leading up to Sigma-8 had been cleared away and filled with various kinds of sensors. The ghost of a suburban housing sprawl sat hushed and still, a lifestyle cemetery. Once a center of commerce, a shopping mall, all the first floor windows of Sigma-8 had been bricked up save for one, all the useful goods plundered and redistributed by the Council. It was a life, but one that Sienna had been secretly tiring of as well.
“Where are we going to go, Sean?”
“Um, south?”
“God damn it.”
“Hey, we’ve got food, weapons, our Servants and each other,” he tried.
“Oh, a few ancient M&P’s, a Mossberg that may not work, and a FM6-9B that only has one clip. Yep, we’ve got weapons.”
“Unfortunately, I think we’ve also got company.”
Barreling down on them, straight from the encampment, was a Hummer. Before they could dive for cover, it swung and hit them with its headlights. The engine revered and it speeded closer.
“Seriously, they would waste resources on a hit?” Sienna asked, disbelief dripping from her voice.
“Yeah, I don’t think so…” replied Sean.
They both heard the thump of the irritating old techno music a split second before the Hummer swerved and pulled to a stop next to them. A massive hand came out of the dark interior, tossing something small to Sean. A cigar.
“You damn Doyle kids are gonna get my ass killed yet,” came a deep rumble from the Hummer.
“Jay Gemmel, what the fuck?”
Gemmel eased his six and a half feet, almost three hundred pound bulk of muscle out of the Hummer’s door. “Like I’m gonna stick around that shithole with you two gone.”
Sienna’s eyes narrowed on her brother. “You knew!”
“Well, they weren’t going to give us a jeep! Or a few MedAid Kits, or a whole case of vitals.”
“Or what Sienna has to share a seat with back there,” chuckled Gemmel.
Sean popped his head in the Hummer. “Is that… did you steal a TAC-50 sniper assault rifle? I love it so much!”
“Officially!” yelled Sienna, stomping around in a little circle. “Both officially insane!”
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DataLog Text-MemxJourn: Doyle, Sienna A. / 19-04-24
None of them had traveled this far from the encampment in years, not since the Feeders had become a regular way of life. It was barren this far south and had a sort of peacefulness. Eerie, but peaceful. After the Nova Insula movement gained broader appeal, large tracts of land had been retrofitted as agricultural centers. Of course, most of those man-made islands collapsed back into the oceans thanks to the Feeders and the later Mancer Wars. New Atlantis was first, followed quickly by Hy-Brasil, West Avalon, and Tsang. Rumor held that New R’lyeh still floated out there, controlled by one of the surviving Mancers. Possibly East Lemuria, too.
The Hummer sped past row after row of genetically modified corn that continued to grow every season, fall to rot on the stalk, and act as fertilizer for the next crop. Vast expanses of useless vegetation as far as the eye could see. Without proper treatments, the corn had become inedible and barely functional as a fuel source without advance processing. Here in the spring though, it was just a waist-high field of ochre that seemed to stretch on forever.
Sitting with her legs draped over the TAC-50, Sienna watched the clouds pass in the crossing direction overhead as they made their way down the battered four-lane. The nothingness here was peaceful. And she was trying to ignore the sideway glances Gemmel and Sean kept giving each over up front.
Finally annoyed enough, she said, “Okay, out with it.”
“What?”
“What?”
“What?”
“I’m confused,” said Sean.
“I’m going to punch you,” said Sienna.
“Why?” asked Sean.
“Feel free!” exclaimed Gemmel.
“You’ll be next.”
“Why?”
“Seriously,” said Sienna, “Punches for everyone. Now, what’s with you two?”
Sideways glances. Sienna growled.
“Not threatening,” said Sean.
“Kinda cute, actually,” added Gemmel.
“Hey!” both Sean and Sienna said in unison.
“Just sayin’.”
“So…” Sean began. “Are you, like, feeling okay? How do you feel?”
“I feel fine Sean, thank you for asking.”
Sideways glances. Sienna unsnapped her holster.
“No, it’s just… have you been leeching off your Servant?”
“No!”
“No, no… I didn’t think you had. Um…”
“What, Sean?”
Sienna’s brother looked at her in the rearview mirror. “You should be.”
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DataLog Text-MemxJourn: Doyle, Sienna A. / 19-04-24
“So you really aren’t feeling a need to leech?” asked Sean hours later as he tended to the fire.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
The sea of corn had finally given way to a forest starting to take back a rural community. The trio had decided to camp out under the shelter of what used to be a corner trade market. They had a solid two-room enclosure at their backs, a large polyment roof high above them, and visibility to three sides. Anything remotely of use in the town had been picked clean years ago, so Gemmel saw to the jeep and weapons, Sean their fire and food. Sienna had taken point, perched on the top of a giant piece of rusting farming equipment with the TAC-50.
“No, it’s not bad. It’s good! And a bit weird,” said Sean.
“I don’t know, doesn’t the addiction hit everyone different?”
“I guess.”
“Sienna,” said Gemmel from under the hood of the Hummer. “You weren’t with the Quartet yet when… when we used to see a lot of Leechers. They were fucked up. Whiney, angry junkies.”
Sienna didn’t say anything. She had seen Leechers; she knew what they were like. She really didn’t want to discuss her imminent downward spiral.
“Thing is, well… I know I never saw a Leecher takes its first hit, but…”
“But what, Gemmel?” asked Sienna, sharp as broken sheet metal.
“I ain’t never seen a Leecher do shit like you did.”
Silence. A long pause.
“Keep fixing the fucking Hummer, Gemmel,” Sienna said finally.
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DataLog Text-MemxJourn: Kepler-Madison, Margaret. / 17-04-24
/DataLog Text-SUPPLEMENTAL: Doyle, Sienna A.
Things were growing more barbaric. Rove had already been sent out twice this month to cull unease among the wretches, and now a third time. It was unacceptable. It was obvious that examples were going to have to be made. Radical examples.
Margaret Kepler-Madison did not like things to be “radical.”
Things were to be civilized and proper. Controlled and precise. She would see half her citizenry wiped away if it was what it took to quell the discord. No, she would not abide these squalling demands upon her position.
Stepping over to the window, Margaret looked down on her kingdom and wrinkled her nose. If these… peasants… wanted her protection, they were going to have to accept their places. Know their roles. She idly wondered if those horrid Q
uinn Sisters in the ruins of Los Angeles suffered from the same nonsense. She knew Gibbons did in the former United Kingdom.
The treaty among the Mancers was tenuous, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation. Everyone knew Li Ehr ranted in the frozen wastelands of Russia, but his delusions weren’t to be taken seriously. Carter, hidden away on New R’lyeh was far bigger a menace. She had not been from the best breeding, gone to the most acclaimed schools, risen above her mediocre colleagues and survived a bout of leeching just to be undone by some liberal fool on a fake island. She was the intellect behind the resurgence of Raleigh, Rove her muscle, and Dr. Harvey… well, he was whatever he was. Oh, and dirty little Lopez, her toy.
Speaking of, there was the elevator.
“Madam President,” said Dr. Harvey as he came in, “I believe you would wish to see this.”
He fidgeted with his Servant until the hard-light schematic appeared between them. It showed a map of the former state of Ohio with a blinking icon, an algorithm scrawl along the bottom, and an intuitive AI program running diagnostics on the incoming data along the side panel. Through the dull yellowish-green glow, he saw Margaret Kepler-Madison frown.
“What are you showing me, doctor?”
“Among her other, er… duties… Lopez scans for predetermined signature shifts in the T-Net. As you are well aware, we must stay, um, vigilant to any outside Mancer threat that might present itself. So…”
“So Lopez found a new Mancer?”
“No, madam,” replied Dr. Harvey. “Not yet. With her, er, alterations, she directly tapped into the zettahertz frequencies that saturate the atmosphere. She can predict which Leechers will become Mancers. Usually.”
“Bloody hell, Dr. Harvey! Do we have a new Mancer to send Rove after or not?”
“President Kepler-Madison, I don’t know what we have.”
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DataLog Text-MemxJourn: Doyle, Sienna A. / 22-04-24
“Alright, we need to make a decision.”
The Hummer had been parked for over twenty minutes, Gemmel’s thick forearm resting causally across the steering wheel. Sean and Sienna both glanced back to the map suspended in the air six inches above the Servant. Three choices. All equally stupid. Above them, the sun was out high and bright, but the wind remained far too chilly. Ominous? Probably.
“West is Nashville, east is Raleigh. We continue south and come to Atlanta. All pretty much equidistant at this point,” mumbled Sean.
“And what’s the info stream telling us again?” asked Sienna.
“Nashville seems to have a ton of Lechers, Atlanta’s a ghost town – probably Feeder central – and there’s a major firewall around Raleigh.”
“Which we’ve deduced means Mancers.”
“Yep.”
“Adorable,” Sienna cracked.
“Yep.”
She sighed. “Well personally, I think Atlanta’s right out.”
“Agreed” grumbled Gemmel.
Five days since she had been exiled from Sigma-8. Five days since she had leeched. Five days and not once had she even had the inclination to do it again.
“I vote Nashville,” Sienna said suddenly.
“Why?” asked her brother, as he twisted in his seat to face her.
“Because,” she said, “I want to know why I’m different. If I’m different.”
While Sean’s face was a mixture of emotions, Gemmel just grunted.
“Works for me,” he said as he threw the hummer into gear.
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DataLog Text-MemxJourn: Kepler-Madison, Margaret. / 22-04-24
/DataLog Text-SUPPLEMENTAL: Doyle, Sienna A.
“Mr. Rove.”
“Yes, Madam President?”
“Dr. Harvey has informed me the unconfirmed variable is heading west. You have successfully finished with the purge of the rebellious element in the city, correct?”
“Yes, Madam President.”
“Excellent. You may have to intercept them in Nashville. I can’t have some unknown entity or even fledgling Mancer setting up a base of operation so close to my city. I’ll keep you apprised.”
“Very good, Madam President.”
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DataLog Text-MemxJourn: Doyle, Sienna A. / 24-04-24
“Wow, and I thought Sigma-8 was a shithole,” grumbled Gemmel.
The outskirts of Nashville looked like they had been hit with a flood, tornado and earthquake all on the same day. Random fires raged in isolated pockets everywhere and there wasn’t a single building in site that remained whole. Streets were barely passable due to all the debris that littered the landscape, everything from broken walls of brick and bent steel girders to mangled bicycles and bizarre pyramids of decaying shoes. Graffiti covered large expanses of any available surface, some it even carved in. Here and there, the trio caught sight of animal motion, some possibly human, but none of it seemed furtive or suspicious.
“This might have been a bad idea,” Sienna mumbled from the passenger seat.
“What?” Sean called down, his head and shoulders through the roof with a XM8.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t think we’re going to find any vitals here,” said Sean.
“No, no vitals,” repeated Sienna weakly.
“But we might find some answers,” said Gemmel, don’t looking at her.
The huge man stiffened when Sienna laid her head on his shoulder. He was five years older than her, two older than Sean, and had always been just as much a big brother as her own flesh and blood. She knew his gruff exterior was just for show.
“Damn,” swore Sean from above.
“What?” she asked.
“I see it,” said Gemmel.
Up ahead, a sizable dump truck hauling tires had careened off and smashed into a T-Net tower kiosk. Its cargo had come spilling out the back, filling the road. A dozen of them were still smoldering, the acrid stench of burning rubber hitting Sienna in the face. Growing nauseated, she peered around for a detour. Gemmel slowed down.
“What, just go over them!” Sean yelled down.
“Nope. If one of them burning pieces get caught up in the undercarriage, we could be walking.”
Stopping and climbing out, they surveyed the situation while trying not to choke on the fumes. There weren’t terribly many, not even a hundred by Sienna’s estimate, but they were bigger sized for a truck or utility van. The bulk of them could be rolled off or pushed to the side in about ten minutes.
Sienna examined the area as she peeled off the stinking thermal sweater she had been wearing since they first left Sigma-8. Her utilitarian grey cargo pants still had a week’s worth of wear to them, but she rooted around for another shirt to put over her stained white tank top. She found a thin blue jacket and opted for it and the raggedy scarf she had owned since she could remember. Checking her clip, she felt that familiar pressure below her stomach and swore.
“Now what?” Sean called back, Gemmel staring at her.
“Just take point for a minute. I’ve got to pee.”
“Damn it, Sienna.”
Social niceties took a backseat when you rode with an encampment Quartet, and privacy was rarer still. Her brother didn’t care about her bodily function, only the dangers it might present. Anton had once remarked that it was convenient that so many plastic bottles had survived the apocalypse. Poor, dead Anton.
Slipping around the edge of what used to be a restaurant, Sienna could still clearly see the other two through the blasted outer shell of the building. Undoing her belt, she considered that it wasn’t the act of urinating that was a cause for concern, but those moments of vulnerability. She had heard of people who had attempted to bypass the physical necessity, only to find themselves stricken with advanced jaundice.
Finishing and re-buckling, she heard a cough behind her, almost polite in nature. She spun on her toe and brought up one of the M&P’s, its sights trained on a man leaning out of a doorway’s al
cove. Tall and thin, he was older with long dark hair that had gone mostly to grey. A smile played at the corner of his lips, shined even brighter in his blue eyes.
“Out of the shadows, move!” barked Sienna.
“I’m not sure if I can truly ever be ‘out’ of the shadows, my dear. Once one has gazed into the abyss and all that,” he replied amused.
“What? Get out here!”
“Sienna?” she heard Sean yell.
“No need for that, my dear,” he said, gesturing to her gun. “I’m not a threat, not to you I would theorize.”
Sean and Gemmel rounded the corner, her brother’s shotgun aimed directly at the stranger’s head. His left hand kept twitching, and she glanced over long enough to see he had burnt it on one of the tires. Sean, however, was currently far more concerned with the man strolling nonchalantly towards them.
“Stop, or I’ll take off your head,” he growled, Mossberg in hand.
“You’ve injured yourself. Best see to that.”
“Stop!”
He did. Almost as tall as Gemmel, he was only half as wide. With the hint of stubble on his chin, his greying locks brushed the collar of the ratty black blazer he wore over a faded red polo. Slightly mussed charcoal trousers and scuffed shoes completed the look of absent-minded professor. He even adjusted his small, wire-rim glasses before placing his hands behind his back.
“Who are you? Why were you watching us? Was this supposed to be a trap?”
“Such delightful questions!” he said. “Always, the human need to quantify and qualify their reality.”
“Answer me!” roared Sean. “Are there more of you?”
“How can it be properly deduced if there are ‘more of me’ if you have not fully extrapolated an answer for who ‘I am’ yet?”
“What?”
“Exactly!”
“He’s a looney,” murmured Gemmel.
“That, young man, is a valid possibility,” he concurred. “But for the sake of analytical description theory, you may refer to me as Jean-Baptiste Camus. You should really attend to your hand, young man. This area is particularly notorious for a variety of microbial infections.”
“What, don’t want your food pre-cooked, wacko?”
“If you are implying anthropophagy rites, I assure you that it is not the case. And while I would dearly love to stand here and discuss the issues of moral relativism, I’m afraid we may not have the time.”
4POCALYPSE - Four Tales Of A Dark Future Page 3