by Matt Hart
“Agent Walker,” said the man.
“You're my new head of communications. Work with the Admiral to get long range and short range comms working.” He turned to a huge fat man in a green uniform with general's stripes. “General? Make this man a Colonel, full bird, or higher if you think he needs it. Put him in charge of communications.” He turned back to Agent Walker. “You're still Secret Service son,” he told him, “but you're also a commissioned officer now.”
Agent walker saluted smartly, a clear sign he'd served before. “Yes, sir, Mr. President!” he said.
The Admiral motioned to Colonel Walker and a Navy adjutant sitting in a chair in the back of the room.
“Get going on it, Hanson. And Walker?”
“Yes sir?”
“Don't let the American People down!”
The new Colonel Walker saluted again. He could hear the Capital Letters when the Admiral spoke. “Aye, aye!” he said.
The Admiral nodded. “Good, a former Navy man.” Walker smiled and nodded. “Well, hop to it, dammit, don't stand there like a damn pollywog!” Colonel Walker and Hanson exited the room, talking in hushed tones.
“Well, that's a decent start,” said the President. The group nodded in agreement, then looked slightly alarmed as the lanterns they were using flickered, dimmed, then went out, plunging the room into darkness.
“Dammit!!” yelled the President.
Chapter 16
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Interlude: Boreling Empire: Team Zeke
Trewlip laughed as he watched the so-called “leader of the world” flap his hands over his head like a frightened bridling. He added a caption above his head that said, “Leader of Earth”.
“Hey, check it out!” he said over Zeke-net—the private chat channel reserved by Team Zeke and a few of their groupies. They’d become very popular after winning the Pay to Play first round, and there were hangers-on of all ages wanting to become friends with them.
And grab some of their winnings.
One particularly ambitious sales-creep had discovered that Trewlip was a member, and his printer had started popping out samples of crap so often that he had to spend his share on a top-of-the-line auto-recycler plus printer.
“The Plus is for the Blocking Features!”
“Hey Trew!” said Haugfer over Zeke-net, “You just edged out that crazy war zone in China!” Haugfer pronounced it more like “Crynar” than “China”, his mouth unable to make the proper sounds. Trewlip checked the stats.
“Over five hundred million,” he said. “We still need to top a billion to get another prize, though,” he added.
“We have fifty zombies left,” said Haugfer, referring to the allocation of bio-infesters given to Team Zeke after their first win. “We should use those for something.”
“There's no big concentrations of humans right now that I can find,” said Trewlip. “Did anyone think to buy an auto-surfer?”
“Nope,” said Haugfer. “We have to search the channels the old fashioned way.”
“Hey I got it!” said Trewlip. “Let's task these blasted groupies with finding a good place to use them.”
“Yeah, might as well use 'em up while we got 'em,” agreed Haugfer.
Trewlip put out a call on the Zeke-Fans channel and set a reminder to check back.
“Hey doglards, check this out!” The voice was another team member, Caredvich Swapjwa. The picture wasn't her though; it was a first-person view of a room with small humans.
“How did you afford a drone?” asked Haugfer.
“Not everyone spent their winnings on stim sticks and fancy printers,” said Caredvich. “I bought a timeshare on a drone controller.”
“Aww man! I would love to afford a drone,” said Haugfer.
“Look at the counter, Haug,” said Trewlip.
“That can't be right,” he said. “Seven hundred twenty-two?”
“Now seven hundred twenty-four,” said Caredvich. “I found the perfect spot for a rampage.”
Trewlip and Haugfer watched the impressive view as Caredvich slaughtered the humans.
Chapter 17
—————
Interlude: Boreling Empire: Plannel 6
A green flash alert appeared on the monitor that Grodge the Merciful was using to work on the bio-creature problem. He almost hit the button that would send it down the line to Corbig, but decided instead to take a look. It was a drone kill that was very high. Grodge scratched his scalp with both thumbs. He called up the records list on another view and scrolled down the list.
“Whoever invented this list should have made it easier to sort. Who cares about chronology?” he muttered as he spun through the list, looking for a particular incident.
“Ah yes, here it is,” he said to himself. “Season four, cycle two hundred sixteen.” Grodge read the listing. It was the record for kills by a single drone controller in a single session. Eight hundred sixteen kills. The next closest was only three hundred seventy. This new one had already shattered the second place standing and was well on its way to breaking the record.
He added the feed, then hesitated. Should he send an upper alert? If he did, and whoever was manning the alerts thought it worthy, he'd gain instant credibility and even points of forgiveness if he missed one in the future. He'd never done it except in simulations at the Boreling School of Apocalyptic Journalism.
Grodge pushed the button. He called over his sleeping doglard and picked it up. Stroking it across the scalp, he waited and watched the monitor, nervous.
The green alert changed to green and yellow, blocks chasing each other in a circle. The feed was temporarily locked as someone up the chain looked at it. He figured Pactain the Virulent was already asleep, so who was looking at the feed? Was it his block or did someone else manage to flag it before him?
A tiny version of the blocking notice appeared on his main monitor right in the middle, on top of everything.
“It's my block!” he thought, now more nervous than before. He watched the block like a doglard watches a food bowl being unwrapped.
The swirling block stopped, blinked, then turned green.
Grodge let out a breath and held his doglard in front of his face.
“Yahoo!” he yelled. “My first block went through!”
It probably meant a bonus! It certainly meant that his name would actually appear in the credits of today's showings, not that anyone ever viewed the Credits Channel.
Grodge set down his doglard and looked at the monitors on the right. Sure enough, the view in the lower right changed to the drone, with a tally of kills and a countdown added to the record. He looked back at the viewership. It fell a couple, was steady for a minute, then began to rise as more kills were registered. Usually the count fell this late at night, but it was going up and up.
Anxiously, Grodge looked at who might be up for a Megammercial. They never played at night, but if the viewership got high enough, he might be able to slip one in. He skimmed through the sponsor lists. Chewy Drinks and Stim Sticks were probably out, but there were always a few wannabes that would like a cheaper Megammercial if they could swing it.
“Here's one,” said Grodge. “The Newline Get-It-Now Credit Company with that really annoying actor from the Blazing Guns Adventure Team Show. They're on the Megammercial Lottery and Auction List.” Grodge set the parameters for the Megammercial—eight hundred kills, and sent the auto-auction price to Newline.
If this worked, it would definitely get him noticed by upper management, and if luck would have it, noticed by someone other than Pactain the Doglard.
Pactain the Doglard.
He laughed loudly as his own joke.
“Hilarious!”
Grodge watched his four-screen monitor feed, willing the Megammercial to appear, his assigned task to reduce bio-creature deaths forgotten.
Chapter 18
—————
Joe
There were two bodies in the yard when I went in aft
er Erin. That accounts for the two shots I'd heard.
One of them was just a little kid.
I wanted to say something to her, let her know it was okay. But then I might just be bringing up something she'd rather forget. I know I would rather forget it. When my damn vest got caught on the fence, she cheered up, but I was pretty frightened. I could see zombies coming into the yard, and it would be just a matter of time before a nice tall one got itself a man-kabob unless I could get down.
But it worked out okay.
Erin headed out, opening the gate cautiously. I nodded to myself.
Smart girl.
But I should be on point. I went out the gate and moved ahead of her. We really should be moving from cover to cover, but with zombies—you never know. One of them might be sitting in a convertible, just waiting for you to sneak past. So I stuck to the street. I turned left, back to the street we were going down before detouring into that back yard.
“Joe!” called Erin in a low voice. I looked back. “Not that way! Probably zombies still going into that backyard,” she said. “They might see you and change direction.”
“Right,” I agreed.
She's the zombie expert.
I turned right and moved down the street, feeling terribly exposed. I really didn't like this “walking in the street” stuff. I motioned for Erin to move up beside me. “How about we cut through backyards? I don't like being so exposed in the street like this.”
“Okay,” said Erin, looking at the houses. “How about that one?” she said, pointing at a little house with a big palm tree in the front and a short white picket fence. “You probably won't get stuck on that one.” I turned my head and glared at her with my fiercest look, but her eyes were dancing with remembered laughter. I smiled and turned back, angling for the house she’d been pointing at.
I stepped over the fence and continued on into the backyard, looking quickly around corners, my gun leading the way. The next backyard had a tall stucco fence, so I looked around for something to stand on. There was a picnic table that looked sturdy enough, so I went to one end and grabbed it, then looked expectantly at Erin. She didn't say anything, just walked over and grabbed the other end. We carried it to the fence and she started to step up, but I held up my hand.
“Point man first,” I said. I looked over the fence and didn't see any immediate danger. I looked at Erin and gave a thumbs-up. She returned the gesture and I hopped on top of the fence while she climbed onto the table.
I felt a hammer slam into my chest, barely noticing the boom of a gunshot as I fell backward.
Chapter 19
—————
Erin
Joe toppled down onto the table, and this time the ammo bag really did hit me, knocking me off the table and onto the ground. I lay there for a second, willing my brain to catch up with the events.
A shot had rung out. Joe had fallen from the stucco fence.
He's been shot?
“Joe!” I called in a low voice. “Joe! Please! You can't die!” My mind filled with rage at the thought of someone shooting this kind man. “Joe!”
He was lying on his side on the table. The ammo bag was on the ground. He coughed and put a hand on his chest. He pulled it away and looked at it. I looked too, dreading what I might see. “I think I'm okay,” he said, “Just bruised, or maybe a broken rib or two.” He dropped off the table and took off his pack, then crawled under the table. “Come on under here, Erin.” He sounded out of breath.
“You got shot?” I asked as I squeezed in next to him, removing my backpack.
“Yeah,” he said, “But look at this.” He reached into a vest pocket and pulled out one of the magazines for his rifle. It had a huge dent in it. “Hit my magazine,” he said. He turned the magazine around, looking at it. “AR round, .223,” he said. “AK or hunting rifle probably would have killed me.”
I reached over and hugged him. “I'm glad you're okay,” I said, my voice barely kept in check. I hadn't been this angry since my parents were killed. I pulled two shells from my bandolier and reloaded my shotgun. I'd forgotten to top it off after I killed the creatures in the yard with the pool.
I had to think of them as creatures.
I slung the shotgun behind me and took the assault rifle from around Joe's neck. I reached into his vest pockets and pulled out three magazines. Joe helped me, wincing as he took out another magazine from a side pocket and held it out.
I think he knew what I was going to do. I looked into his eyes as he handed me the magazine and nodded. “I'll draw their attention,” he said. He pulled over the bag and removed another rifle. He took another magazine from his vest—how many could that thing hold? He loaded the rifle, pulled the handle to chamber a round, and then flipped the switch to single fire.
“Where did the shot come from?” I asked.
“Must have been the house to the right of the one behind this one,” he said, wincing as he pointed over his left shoulder. “From the angle it hit me, and how fast I got shot, I figure it came from there. If it had been the house where we were about to jump, I'd have been hit on the side. The house to the left, a shot in the back. If it were more houses over, the shooter probably wouldn't have a good angle.”
“Okay then, I'll sneak along the fence over there and go out that way, then down the street and cross a yard further back,” I told him. I put the extra magazine in a cargo pocket, then hefted the unfamiliar rifle. I pressed the release button and caught the magazine as it dropped, put it back in and gave it a good hard slap with my palm. I looked at Joe and nodded, then crawled out from the table and snuck over to the side. There was a wooden fence next door, but it was kind of low, so I walked bent over.
Just before I passed the side of the house, I looked back at Joe. He was just watching me, clearly worried.
I gave him a thumbs up and walked past the house.
Chapter 20
—————
Joe
I watched as Erin disappeared around the corner of the house. My chest hurt like hell and a deep breath felt like needles in my flesh. I reloaded my vest with magazines from the bag and crawled out from the table.
I wasn't going to let Erin get herself in danger with some gun nut on account of me.
At least not without my help.
I pulled my pistol and stuck my hand above the fence and fired in the general direction of the house. My ears rung from the heavy caliber shell. A shot rang out from the house and probably thudded into the thick fence. I walked fast to my left, shoving the table over as I moved past it. I lifted the rifle and fired a single shot over the fence, ran to the middle and set the selector on triple fire, and let it rip over the fence again.
Three shots returned, one after the other. One hit the fence, and the other two struck a chair and the house behind me. The three shots were paced, and they sounded exactly the same. So, one person, semi-automatic, who now knows that I have two, maybe three weapons of my own, and an unknown number of people.
Unless he happened to see Erin and me moving that table.
Likely.
…
Crap.
I lifted the gun to my eye and backed slowly away from the fence. As soon as the first window came into view, I put a triple shot right into it. I backed up more and put a triple through the next window, then a triple back to the first one. That's almost half my magazine. I continued backing up and sending rounds at the two windows I could see.
Rat tat tat. Aim. Rat tat tat. Aim. Rat tat tat. Five sets as fast as I could until I passed the house.
I don't know if the other guy shot at me at all, but I heard some shots now, and it had to be more than one person.
One of the guns sounded a lot like a big game gun or a large caliber pistol, like a .45 maybe, or an AK.
Gotta be an AK. Nothing else sounds like that.
I dropped the magazine from the gun and reloaded. I ran to the front and tried the door—it opened.
There was an old woman
sitting in a chair with eyes as wide as saucers. “Sorry ma'am, but there's some people shooting at me in your backyard.”
She looked at me in fright and stammered, “Pa-pa-police,” in a quiet voice.
“Just stay here in this room and you'll be okay,” I said. I looked for the stairs to the second floor, finding them near the kitchen.
What a dumb way to layout a house.
I hiked up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Each step felt like it was tearing a hole in my chest. When I reached the top, I was facing a wall with a hallway to the left and right, doors at both ends and another door in the hall on the right. I turned to the door on the left and crawled through on my elbows and toes, just like in boot camp.