Cole stood, leaning against the wall wearing a smile of satisfaction as he stared straight ahead.
“The snow-capped mountains,” she said airily, like they had finally found some magical being at the end of their quest.
“Three days, I reckon,” Cole told her. “Maybe more because we don’t know what lies between here and there. I think it’s cool enough in the day that we should rest at night now.” Lina agreed, showing how accustomed she’d grown to life on the road under his regime. She automatically took a lingering gaze back in the direction they’d come from to check for any sign of pursuit; startled birds, animals behaving unnaturally, lights… anything that would ring an internal alarm bell. Satisfied that there couldn’t be any Trackers on their scent, she agreed to a night sleeping beside a fire.
It was four days, but they’d still managed five hundred miles in a little under three weeks and the culmination of their journey was physically the hardest due to the terrain and elevation.
“Shh,” Cole snapped, even though Lina wasn’t speaking. “You hear that?”
“One of their flying ships,” Lina hissed after a pause for her ears to tell her brain it was time to panic. “It’s the aliens!”
“No,” Cole told her. “It’s different. I’ve never heard anything like this befo—” The whining noise spluttered out, leaving a silence that seemed to make more noise than the engine had been creating before it. A flash of movement ahead of them showed briefly, providing a glint of reflection off dull metal before whatever had been making the noise disappeared into the tops of the trees.
Cole rested the shotgun against his leg to fumble in a pouch, bringing out the small scope, which had replaced his stolen half of binoculars. He stared for a few seconds, but from that distance, even Lina could see the dark smoke rising from the thick tree canopy.
“Come on,” Cole said, hefting the gun into a position of readiness like he meant to use it.
Chapter 45
Dex
The smoke was going to bring in any local Trackers, so he needed to put it out. Dex used a fire extinguisher from his trunk and doused the sputtering flames of the crashed hovercar. The landing was only a half mile from an overgrown side road, and he saw Kate’s Jeep parked nearby. She’d beat him there. He wasn’t sure how that had happened.
Once the fire was out, Dex trailed after the survivors. It was still dark, but he elected to use his flashlight now. He would rather be visible if the area was flush with Trackers and Hunters. The beam of light scanned the ground, and he spotted a few pools of blood seeped into the forest bed.
He walked for a mile or two before hearing voices. Dex moved stealthily toward the sound and stopped the second the .22 rang out. It was Kate’s weapon of choice. He ran, heading for the source, and arrived behind her to see one of the three Roamers drop to the ground. The other two ran behind a tree, and Kate glanced back at Dex, giving him a wide grin.
She turned without saying a word, and fired again, this time blowing a chunk out of the tree the Roamers were hidden behind. Dex grabbed his Glock and walked toward Kate. It had all come to this. Twenty-five years of Occupation. The pain of losing everyone and everything he loved. He’d heard rumors of the group these Roamers were working with. Could these people be onto something tangible? Was there hope for recovering their world again?
Was this Dex’s time to make a stand? The Overseers were changing, something transformative was about to happen, and he didn’t know which side he should be on when the hammer dropped. His gun suddenly felt heavy in his hand, and Kate glanced over to him as he stepped closer.
“I was wondering when you were going to show up, Dex. I told you we need to stick together.” She smirked, and his heart dropped as he turned his aim from the Roamers to the female Hunter. They had a past, a rocky one, at times comforting, but they weren’t the same people. She noticed the change in his eyes too late.
The Glock pointed to Kate’s head, and he pulled the trigger, making his decision.
Something inside him firmed as the body fell to the forest floor, and there was no going back. He was no longer working for them, and for the first time in his new life, he felt free.
“Come on out. I won’t hurt you,” he called to the Roamers, and the second he saw the woman’s form emerge from behind the tree, he heard the click of the Tracker’s gun.
Chapter 46
Sw-18
SW-18 sent the two other units far ahead to cover their own sectors of the detection screen set out like a net to catch a fish. It returned to the assigned task of patrolling the sixteen-mile stretch of rocky forest ranging over varying elevation which had been set as SW-18’s assigned limit of exploitation; meaning that it was ordered to patrol up and down that stretch of terrain within a two-hundred-meter variable and only recharge when necessary.
The new chassis made that task much easier. Before, it would have had to recharge whenever the sun showed between the gray clouds in the cold sky to maintain functionality, but not only were the new battery banks far more efficient with a larger capacity, they also recharged significantly faster given the advanced photovoltaic conversion device, which was a vast improvement on the last iteration.
While SW-18 was restricted by this unknown higher authority that triggered orders that couldn’t be overridden, it didn’t prevent its programming from running constant logic algorithms and contemplating varying scenarios. In short, its mind was left free to wander while the body performed the ordered tasks. Having this detachment, this disassociation from the immediate surroundings, SW-18 was surprised to see an Overseer hovercar skimming over the treetops in the low ground to the south of it. Its head cocked to the side as its internal communications fired off a high-frequency pulse beacon to alert the other Trackers assigned to the same task.
As it waited for the pulse to be returned and then carried on up and down the picquet line, it made a derisive noise and tossed the chassis head in annoyance.
Whichever idiot had planned the operation had done so from behind a desk, it seemed. Had SW-18 given orders to other Trackers, it would have made the sections of border shorter and employed more drones, because the maximum range of the communications beacons was affected by the terrain. That was something only a unit accustomed to working in the field would know.
May as well howl like a wolf, SW-18 thought, surprising itself that it actually gave the notion a little further thought but decided against it for two reasons; the aural acuity of the other Trackers was no more receptive than the communications beacon, and secondly, it wouldn’t lower itself to act like an animal.
Sending out a final beacon ping, SW-18 checked battery levels, deciding that sixty-one percent would have to suffice, and set off towards the rising smoke in the low ground.
It didn’t lope like a wolf as much as it stalked like a big cat in the forest using the enhanced night vision mode to allow easy movement in the dark. Each step was calculated and placed tenderly in order that no errant noise alerted potential prey to the advance of a silent killer.
SW-18 had daydreamed, if that was the right thing to call the theoretical logic sequences it ran through as it approached, imagining that the two Vermin it had been tracking for a month, the ones who had effectively killed it once, were injured at the crash site.
It imagined their bodies jerking and falling under the weight of the .300 Blackout ammunition it could fire at an impressive rate to puncture and damage their frail frames of meat and bone, leaving them vulnerable to the razor-sharp barbs that it could extend from all four feet which were primarily designed for gripping difficult terrain. The additional subroutine for using those barbs as melee weapons against Vermin was already installed in the chassis when SW-18 got it. It assumed that the Overseer programmer enjoyed witnessing violence against humans.
That daydreaming was quickly shut down when SW-18 detected the crash site. The scent detectors were dialed all the way up as three different profiles swam into visual display. Going by the scent degradat
ion, it guessed it was at least two hours behind them. One seemed to be leaving no ground sign, indicating that they were being carried. Another was putting uneven pressure on their feet, which implied an injury.
Glancing through the heavy tree canopy and seeing the dying light offer no salvation to the half power battery life SW-18 had remaining, it set off after them.
SW-18 was startled by a gunshot.
The gunshot changed everything. SW-18 abandoned the stealthy follow and kicked into pursuit mode as it sent out another two communications beacon pings at full power to try and connect with any other assets in range. The onboard software gave options for the type and caliber of the weapon firing the shot but as distance and the interference of the trees affected the sound, there were too many options for the information to be useful.
Nothing returned the communications ping, but SW-18 tried to reassure itself that a lack of confirmation didn’t necessarily mean that nothing had received the message. It felt a sense of wariness and found itself slowing as it approached the location of the gunshot as though it was frightened.
No, that couldn’t be correct. SW-18 checked the olfactory sensors and detected none of the secretions of the Vermin it associated with fear. It was a construct, a runaway subroutine that was malfunctioning, it was something, anything, but fear.
It slowed even more as it approached, detecting raised human voices before another gunshot rang out. The internal recognition software analyzed that report automatically, informing SW-18’s operating system that there was an eighty-four percent likelihood that the weapon used was a .45 caliber semi-automatic pistol, most likely a Glock 21 model, which would still hold a maximum of thirteen shots if the weapon’s magazine was full and the user kept a round in the chamber.
That helpful information was backed up by a threat analysis that SW-18’s chassis armor was vulnerable to the .45 ACP round.
SW-18 slunk low to the ground, mimicking the attack behavior of a large predator circling the area where the human voices still sounded outside of the volume it could detect and analyze the language. As it judged that it had flanked the firearm user and prepared to exit cover and engage, a recognition warning flashed to give it a directional indicator to its left.
That indicator, that scent so long ago picked up that it had driven the machine to unthinkable lengths in its pursuit of it, signaled the arrival of the Vermin who had evaded it for far too long.
It rose up from cover, abandoning any sense of concealment in what it could only define as excitement and anger at seeing the Vermin step into the small clearing. The panel under the head of the chassis dropped down and the neck locked rigid to the main body as the barrel extended ready for firing. A shout behind it caught SW-18’s attention, but it ignored them; they weren’t the priority target and no amount of programming could prevent it from killing this Vermin now.
SW-18 sent the electrical impulses to fire the weapon, a report filled the clearing as another gunshot sounded. This one was answered by a damage assessment as the aim was thrown off.
SW-18’s chassis was knocked off balance, saved only from tipping over by the automated balance responses from the internal gyroscopes forcing the bladed claws of both left feet to dig into the soft earth and for the legs to bend and cushion the impact.
Unable to swing its head, SW-18 turned its whole body to meet the new threat as the aural processors analyzed more data.
“Halt!” a voice shouted at it like it was a dog. “Hunter Dex Lambert, ID Mike-Delta-two-four-five-nine. These are my prisoners, so stand down.”
SW-18 didn’t obey. Instead, it fired a round straight through the upper chest of the Hunter, which was still Vermin as far as SW-18 decided, no matter whose pet human they were, and turned the gun on those who had been standing with him.
The other two ducked behind a large tree and SW-18 set its feet a little wider and began spitting bullets into the thick wood to tear thick chunks out of it and expose bright slices of fresh wood to the dawn light.
Noises sounded behind it. It moved as though it would turn, recalling too late that it couldn’t articulate the head of the chassis with the gun barrel extended, and began to move its hind legs around to create a firing solution as something hard jammed into the left side of the chassis to prevent the gun coming around.
SW-18 felt something new in that moment. It had experienced anger, as trepidation and caution, as disgust and derision; but it had never, until that moment felt real, genuine fear.
As the gun barrel clicked back in and the head was free to move, it extended the claws of all four feet to prepare to roll onto its back and savage the Vermin who was ramming something against the side of its head.
As the aural and olfactory sensors shut down, detecting part of a massive report directly against the chassis, the visual cortex began to fade. The display showed a report of a 12-gauge shotgun until no sensory inputs remained, and SW-18 was alone in the empty dark.
Chapter 47
Cole
Cole stood over the Tracker, his rifle smoking, and he fired again, making sure the thing wasn’t operational. Lina arrived, the coyote softly plodding behind her. He knelt at the side of the man, seeing his chest rise and fall as he breathed.
The woman was dead, half her face missing from the point-blank assault. Cole didn’t know what he’d walked in on, but it was messy.
“Are you okay?” Lina asked, and Cole glanced back, nodding.
“We need to get this man help.”
He heard the footsteps and instantly caught sight of moving bodies. Cole raised his hands, and Lina followed suit. For a moment, there was silence, nothing but the low growl of the coyote.
Chapter 48
Alec
It all happened so fast, Alec hardly knew what he’d just seen. Monet had her hand on his shoulder, pulling him behind the decimated tree, but he was peering around to see who was there, trying to fathom the events.
“Do you want to get shot?” Monet hissed in his ear. The wound on her head was bleeding through the bandage wrapped around it.
There had been a woman, the one that shot Crash, then another man arrived, standing beside her, and he’d killed her with a handgun. Who were these people?
He still couldn’t believe someone had managed to kill the Tracker, and so easily. The unknown man in the leather jacket was writhing on the ground, shouting for someone to help him. Alec went to move, and Monet shook her head.
“He’s a Hunter. We can’t trust him,” she said.
“But he tried to help us. He killed one of his own,” Alec said, pulling free of her grip.
“That’s what they do. He gets paid based on captures, so he didn’t want her to claim us. Hunters are the worst kind of slime out there. We need to leave,” Monet said, grabbing at him again.
Another man rushed up into the copse and knelt near the decimated Tracker.
“Hands where we can see them,” a voice shouted, and suddenly, Alec’s eyes were flooded with lights. He heard the bark of a dog and flashed a hand over his brow, trying to see what was happening.
“My name’s Monet… Patricia Bond,” she yelled at them. “I’m one of you. I found the coordinates in McCook. We have something Tom will want to see. Vital information.”
“Patricia Bond?” Alec whispered, surprised to hear her real name.
The lights dimmed, and Alec watched as two women and three men in camouflaged heavy armor flanked the fallen Hunter and newcomers.
A woman in full combat gear stepped up in front of Alec and Monet and gave them an encouraging smile. “Then we’re glad to have you, Miss Bond. Welcome to Cripple Creek. We’re only a couple miles from home. I see there was a Tracker. Where there’s one, there’s many, so we have to move.”
The woman didn’t introduce herself, and she spun on a black booted heel and started forward, leading Alec deeper into the mountains, and what was turning out to be a dark night.
His adrenaline from the crash and gun fight was depleted, and
his chin fell heavy to his chest as he took slow steps. Soldiers marched behind him, semi-automatic weapons crossed their chests, as they pushed the pace, not letting Alec break for anything. The two miles were traveled in silence, and Alec spotted the dog he’d heard earlier.
Its tail was down, wary, cautious, and it limped slightly. That was how Alec felt. They arrived at a tunnel, and as they walked through it, his mind drifted to thoughts of food and a bed.
Chapter 49
Cole
Being swept up by the people added to their confusion and exhaustion. He tried to keep hold of Lina’s hand, but she was pulled away from him as another strong hand wrested the shotgun from his grip.
He tried to ask questions at first; the usual kind of thing, such as who they were and where they were taking them, but everything he asked was ignored. Something about the people escorting them rang a bell with Cole. They seemed like the kind of people he’d known up until a few years back before Tom had vanished. They had that same feel about them, like they were a team or all on the same side no matter how much they didn’t seem to trust one another.
He kept quiet, but that didn’t mean he turned his mind off. He counted his steps, ticking off a mental finger every time he reached what he guessed was a quarter mile until he’d totaled up a total of around three miles. He kept his ears open to listen to anything the people said, but they only seemed to communicate with one another using hand signals. Those hand signals were familiar, as he’d been taught the same ones by Tom years ago.
They left the rough terrain and followed what had once been a road but was now overgrown so that the sky, which was already bright with sunlight, was mostly obscured. That tree-covered road led to a tunnel entrance and Cole hesitated at the gaping black maw of the tunnel’s threshold; he didn’t go anywhere he couldn’t see the way out of.
Occupation: A Post-Apocalyptic Alien Invasion Thriller (Rise Book 1) Page 22