Rhodes swung his warclub with enough momentum to carry himself over to the other vehicle and smash through the gunner. The driver slammed on the breaks, and the tribesman jammed his warclub down into the hatch and held on. Swinging around the wedged weapon as the vehicle’s momentum continued to change, he maneuvered his body back around and down into the cab. In one swift movement, he ripped out the driver’s throat and used the dead man’s hand to take over the controls.
Lincoln’s driver slammed on the accelerator and made a dangerously sharp right turn. With the gorillion’s added weight, the carrier was getting close to tipping over, and he instinctively grabbed onto a large handle. Even if he had time to look, Lincoln would not have understood the words of warning printed there, Do Not Pull While In Motion. His momentum yanked the lever up and the rear segment of the vehicle detached and fell behind them. The container did one little bounce against the ground before exploding into a shower of debris. The larger pieces of metal continued to tumble and shatter into smaller shards, while blood and gore splashed out of what had been a cargo hold packed to the brim with animals.
Lincoln was unable to see any of that, because the cab he was desperately clinging onto had also entered a death roll. With impeccable timing, the gorillion leapt in the direction that slowed his fall the most. His first contact with the ground was a fairly acrobatic tumble that started feet before hands. That successfully redirected most of his downward momentum into a horizontal trajectory, where he managed to do two and a half more pushes before hitting the sand hard. His body went limp and continued to bounce and slide across the desert floor, its hot surface ripping off any hair and skin it touched as he skittered like a ragdoll through the dust cloud forming around him.
Only a few seconds after Lincoln’s tattered body came to a halt under a shower of pebbles and sand, Rhodes arrived at his brother’s side. Nearly half of the gorillion’s body was covered in thick swaths of exposed flesh—one particularly bloody stripe started just above his left eyebrow, went over his head, down the back of his neck, split with one branch going over his shoulder and down to his elbow, while the other ran down his back, wrapped around his hip and continued down to his knee—but not only was he alive, he didn’t seem to have any broken bones. Rhodes shook him and said, “You okay, monkey boy?”
“I’m pretty sure that was like three of my lives...” Lincoln mumbled before falling unconscious, although he would not remember doing so.
Rhodes sprinted back to the disabled carrier, having left the computer running with the dead man’s palm on the terminal. After chopping it off, he used the severed hand to browse through the computer’s menus. After disabling all the security protocols he could find, he shut down the rig completely. With a string from his bag, he tied the poacher’s limb into a necklace and ran to open the cargo container.
As soon as the door opened, hundreds of animals came flooding out. Most of them didn’t take the time to look at Rhodes, and out of shame, he tried not to look at them either. He went back into the cab to restart the computer and look for maps. He couldn’t find a central location that might be their base or where the convoy had departed from, but their destination appeared to be some kind of tunnel entrance on the side of a mountain just north of where they were now. He saw several similar indicators on the map and memorized over a dozen locations that he thought he could recognize from the ground.
Once he was done, Rhodes carefully shut the computer back down and headed back towards Lincoln. The animals he had freed were far in the distance already, but as he passed the carrier’s open cargo bay doors, he heard loud banging sounds. Peering into the container, Rhodes could make out two large cells in the darkness at the far end. Inside one was a pair of large bovine beasts, and in the other, a young human woman.
Rushing to a terminal inside, Rhodes used the poacher’s hand to open both cages. The terrified animals nearly trampled him as they ran for freedom, while the woman flung the gate open violently then stood there staring at his silhouette. Beckoning for her to come out of the container, a wide-eyed Rhodes asked, “Are you okay?”
“No,” she replied, walking forward. “Thanks for saving me though.”
After they were out of the container, Rhodes still couldn’t tell which tribe she was from. She was tall, beautiful, roughly the same age as him, and although it had been flattened during captivity, she wore her hair similarly to his—tied up in a bun with a leather band and fastened with a single feather. “I’m Rhodes. You’re Cheyenne?”
She nodded. “I’m Vivian.”
“I’m Onondaga. What happened? How’d you get in there?”
“I have no idea. I was hunting with my sister, and then the next thing I knew...” Looking back at the container, Vivian was obviously shaken, but her voice stayed clear and strong. “It was pitch-black in there.”
Taking the severed hand from around his neck, Rhodes handed it to her and asked, “Do you know how to use a computer?”
“Yes,” Vivian said hesitantly. “But I don’t know why you’re handing me that.”
“Poachers boobytrap their computers,” Rhodes explained awkwardly. “I think I disarmed them all but better safe than sorry. You should drive to the Modoc. They’re the closest. Have them help spread the word about what happened to you and then go back to the Cheyenne. C’mon, I’ll show you the map.”
He turned towards the vehicle’s cab but Vivian didn’t move. “First of all, I don’t want to ride in that thing again, but why would I go alone?”
With a sigh, Rhodes glanced back at Lincoln.
Seeing the bloodied gorillion laying in the distance, Vivian asked, “Should we bury it?”
Fighting back tears, Rhodes said, “He’s not dead.”
Still confused, she replied, “Okay... Let’s put it in the container and go to the Modoc together... I don’t unders–”
“He’s my brother,” Rhodes said, trying hard to conceal the emotions swirling inside him.
Vivian understood well enough to regret calling Lincoln ‘it’, but she was even more confused than before. “Your brother is a gorilla?”
“Half,” Rhodes said, still staring at his brother’s bloody body. “Half gorilla, half lion. They’re called gorillions.”
Even though she had never heard of gorillions before, or human-animal siblings for that matter, Vivian’s confusion was suddenly replaced by concerned frustration. “Are you kidding me?! If he’s your brother, why are we still standing over here?” Without waiting for Rhodes to answer, she started running towards the injured gorillion.
Although Lincoln had been out cold, Vivian’s voice prompted a danger response from his subconscious will to survive. A massive amount of adrenaline suddenly pumped into his bloodstream, engorging his veins until they looked ready to burst from his skin.
As the gorillion sprung to his feet, Rhodes was sure he grew another half-meter, and both of the Dakota froze in place. Filled with fury and heartbreak, Lincoln let out a bellowing cry that sent a jolt of primal fear down the humans’ spines.
For the first time ever, Rhodes was legitimately afraid of his little brother. Thrashing around, blinded by the same storm of chemical emotion that had reanimated him, it hardly seemed like the Lincoln he had grown up with. The ape-cat’s eyes seemed to pass right over them as he stomped his way through the sand to where what remained of the carrier was strewn about. Whether or not he could see the blood-soaked sand beneath his feet or chunks of bone and flesh amidst the debris was unclear, but from the pained emotions pouring out of him, it was obvious that Lincoln understood what had happened.
From the carnage beneath him, Vivian incorrectly assumed that Lincoln had family members trapped inside the destroyed container. Eventually, she managed to whisper to Rhodes, “Is he okay?”
“No,” Rhodes mumbled, and they continued to stand and stare for an uncomfortable amount of time. He had not expected Lincoln to revive like that when he told Vivian to go to the Modoc, but he decided to repeat the advic
e. “You should just go. Even once he calms down, he’s not going to want to ride in that deathwagon any more than you do. The tribes need to know as soon as possible.”
“What are you going to do?” Vivian asked, knowing he was right but giving a look to let him know she was not happy about it.
“Let me show you the map.” Rhodes walked the Cheyenne back to the carrier, showed her how to safely use the computer and explained his plan to explore the tunnels.
“Is there anything you want me to tell your Chief?” Vivian asked, sitting in the driver’s seat, ready to go.
“No,” Rhodes lied—his head was reeling with thoughts of home. He thought of his parents and what they must now think of him for having been gone for so long without even saying goodbye. He wondered if Jeffery was fed up with Dante. He remembered climbing Grand Mesa with Pathos and the Chieftain, and listening to the Matron’s lectures. Even though the Starrletts had done well enough fighting off poachers, he hoped the Onondaga never had to experience war in the same way. The prospect of humans poaching other humans changed everything. “Just as long as they know what happened to you.”
Vivian nodded, and with a farewell too brief to be awkward, she drove off towards Modoc territory.
Nearly an hour later, Lincoln continued to thrash and stomp through the bloody sand, while Rhodes sat cross-legged a safe distance away. Painful empathy rolled through the tribesman, and he felt worse every time he got distracted by thoughts of Vivian. It was hard to imagine what his gorillion brother was feeling, but he couldn’t help compare it to his experience with Pathos, and he felt guilty about that too.
Still seeing nothing but red, Lincoln managed to pick up one of the larger scraps of metal from the wreckage and hurled it directly at his human brother, who rolled aside to dodge it. After letting out one last blood-curdling scream, the gorillion visibly deflated before collapsing to the ground. Walking towards him unafraid, Rhodes pushed the unconscious ape onto his side and lay down to sleep beside him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
In Transit
The entrance to the subterranean tunnel system was seamlessly concealed in the side of a mountain. It acknowledged the Marshal’s Longcoat at roughly two hundred meters but didn’t open until it was much closer. Inside was an enormous loading bay with a few doors along one wall and a tunnel running through either side of the far end. The Logo had accessed the computer system wirelessly as soon as they entered, but they dismounted and went to check a terminal on the wall anyway. Just as they should have, the logs indicated that no one had used that particular entrance in hundreds of years. From what limited access they had at that station, the rest of the system seemed dormant as well.
Driving slowly to the closest hub, the Marshal scanned for irregularities and found nothing. The tunnels had been designed for automated trains to carry heavy loads with minimal energy expense, and on their way to the next station, they drove with the shield up and accelerator maxed. Careening through the long cylindrical tubes with little regard for gravity’s orientation, allowing their momentum to pull them around endless bends, the Marshal felt a constant rush of adrenaline; yet their thoughts were calm, cool, and collected. Compared to the inordinate amount of time they had spent riding across the desert under the hot sun, where their minds had been filled with conspiratorial rage, this was exceedingly pleasant.
Unfettered by unnecessary emotions, the Marshal decided to take a slight detour to check out tunnels that did not connect directly to the planet’s surface. The deeper they went, the more peaceful they felt. Y’know, they said to themselves, we have to go to Mechanicsburg first, and I’m more excited about getting to New York than ever, but going there also opens a huge can of worms. Once we get there, the odds of us leaving get pretty slim. They nodded in agreement and continued to cruise through the tunnels.
There’s so much room to hide down here, and as much as surveillance of the planet’s surface is limited by the embargo, things this far down are even less visible. If I were smuggling goods offworld, you’d better believe this is where I’d have my secret base. Weeks passed and no two tunnels were the same, but the Marshal hadn’t found anything out of the ordinary either. They talked a lot about what they hoped to find in New York. All we have to do is prove that one Earthside party has influenced a board member’s vote and we’re golden.
That’s a best case scenario for sure, but we might get lucky in Mechanicsburg and find out who’s pulling Morton’s strings. Wrap things up right then and there.
That would definitely sweeten the pot, but getting a hit with Morton in no way prohibits us from continuing to NY. We can do both.
They thought about Brennan often too, and how things might be progressing down south. You’ve really gotta get your mind off of him. It’s not doing us any good.
How is that my fault? You’re the one who keeps bringing up poaching statistics.
Even if we went by the Matron’s figures, which are surely low, you’d think we’d have seen more evidence of the animal trade by now. Even when we were on the surface, there hardly seemed like there was a war going on.
Agreed. I would have bet my bottom dollar that they were using the tunnels for transportation. There were multiple facilities underground that, in a roundabout way, could lead offworld, but all the ones that the Marshal had checked had been disabled. Nothing they had seen indicated anything inappropriate at all. They had only explored a small percentage of the subterranean system, but after spending months without tasting fresh air, they finally decided to resurface. Vibrant sunlight filled them with energy, yet the Marshal managed to sustain some of the calm they had found underground. Should we stop in Buena Vista to check up on Harvey?
It’s been a while, but we’ve been putting off our visit to Mechanicsburg for too long already. The sprawling city had much better architectural bones than the Marshal expected. There were a few impressive towers in the downtown area, but mostly it was sprawling streets full of short, stubby buildings that were littered with loading bay doors. Minor cities didn’t have dedicated hardlines offworld, but the Marshal was still required to make a formal report, so their first stop was the USi municipal center. It was their first data-dump in a while, but the summary of their time in the tunnels read simply, “No evidence found.”
Their next stop was the giant clock tower that had ‘MORTON’ written in red neon above an antique clock on all four sides. Supposedly it had been his headquarters, but now it seemed like a normal office building or hotel. People stopped and stared when the Marshal entered, but the receptionist was very accommodating. He even gave them a guided tour of a few floors. They asked to see between the clocks, and he obliged. He confirmed that Morton had been the original proprietor and lived in the penthouse, but having only started a few months ago, claimed never to have worked for him. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so next they went to the bar where Morton was supposed to have fought the first Marshal.
The whole room went silent as soon as they walked in, far worse than it had been at Morton’s tower or in Buena Vista. Every single patron was staring at the Marshal with inappropriate intensity. Many of them had pained looks in their eyes, as if they wanted to run but couldn’t. It was like a room full of sedated zombies. Having scanned for traps with the Logo, the Marshal assumed these were the kind of folk Harvey had referred to as bad-bad guys.
Walking up to the bar, the Marshal noticed structural damage that corresponded with Harvey’s description of their predecessor throwing Morton’s man Frank through the balcony and into the ceiling. Chuckling out loud, they said to the bartender, “Guess we’re in the right place...”
Without acknowledging the comment, he asked placidly, “Can I get you a drink?”
Incensed by the man’s dry flippancy, the Marshal ignored him. Turning towards the crowd, they nearly shouted, “Were any of you lot in here the last time we came ‘round?” Silence. Mind your pronouns, they said to themselves. “Has anyone ever seen me before?... Here or anywhere el
se?” Their audience kept gawking and suddenly the Marshal felt ornery. “Oh! That’s interesting! Because from the way you all are staring, I thought maybe you recognized me or somethin’... Y’know?”
Turning to the bartender, they commanded him gruffly, “Get me a drink.” He did. They sipped it and felt a little relieved. “But certainly, y’all can tell I’m a cop, right?”
The crowd looked vaguely more terrified than before but still didn’t answer.
Inwardly, the Marshal was livid, but they managed to chuckle coolly. “Okay... That’s interesting too, I guess... Let’s try this. Anyone who did not realize I was a cop, raise your hand.” No one moved. Without a trace of sarcasm they continued to question them. “Nobody? Okay, good. At least we’re communicating. Who’s heard of me? Anyone hear what happened in Buena Vista?” The room somehow felt quieter, as if all the energy had been sucked out of its occupants. Reminded of the oath of stoicism that she had made back in the hospital, before she was they, the Marshal chuckled again. Finishing their drink in one long draught, they slammed the empty glass down on the countertop.
The Marshal walked out into a more central position in the room and the sea of heads turned to track their movement. Squaring up with the densest part of the captive audience, they laughed boisterously, “Alright, well I’m sure you’re all familiar with the Marshal program...” Still, the crowd showed no reaction. “The universe’s most extreme killing machines? No? Well let me put it to you straight, I’m here to bring about Natural Order by any means necessary.”
Pushing back their duster as if to reveal holstered guns, the Marshal put their hands on their hips and said menacingly, “CBis are illegal, and each and every one of you is equipped with one. I don’t like how you’re ignoring me and I am choosing to take that as a sign of aggression.” The silence grew even more uncomfortable but still no one moved or spoke. “And even though you’re probably just a bunch of low-lives following orders, since you seem to be in this together, I’m going to bump those charges up to conspiracy against the government.”
Under the Shadow of the Plateau: Frontier Forever Page 22