by Jake Bible
“Huh,” Thorne replied. “That’s actually…perceptive.”
“You so smart, Sterling,” Max said from his seat. He had his head leaned back against a strut and his eyes were closed. “Except you didn’t take your own advice.”
“Oh, and how is that?” Sterling asked.
“Don’t help the man do his job, Max,” Thorne said.
“I’m not helping him at all,” Max said. “Simple professional courtesy from one operator to another.”
“Professional courtesy,” Shane mumbled from his seat.
“Damn right, bro,” Max said. “Here’s the thing, Sterling Hill. You left Darby alone on that ship. You separated her from us. If your theory about unlocking our motivation is true, then you handed the keys to the deadliest one on our team.”
“I disagree,” Sterling said. “You may think that Darby is part of your team, but she isn’t. Not with the misfires in that brain. She’s been Team Ballantine from the start and will remain that way to the end. If she tries to break out, which is impossible, she will hunt for Ballantine first before she comes looking for her teammates. That I know for a fact.”
“That so?” Max smirked.
“That is so,” Sterling replied.
“Then you don’t know jack shit about who Darby is,” Max said.
“I might say the same for you,” Sterling said. Max started to reply, but Sterling held up a hand and looked out the back of the truck. “Neither of us will convince the other that they are right. What I can convince you of is your absolute zero chance of escaping this island. How about taking a look out the back? Check out who has come to visit the fence line.”
Max kept his eyes closed and shook his head. “Nah. I’ll get the report later.”
“Thorne?” Sterling said. “Care to have a peek at our security system?”
Thorne eyed Sterling for a moment then turned and looked out the back. His eyes narrowed then opened wide then narrowed again.
“What are they?” Thorne asked.
“They are our sentries. Our dead sentries,” Sterling said. “Don’t ask from where or why; finding dead bodies is easy in this world we live in. And if dead bodies can’t be found, then they can be made. I’m very good at doing that.”
“I’m sure you are,” Thorne said.
Between the dust clouds kicked up by the truck, Thorne could see people standing at the fences on both sides of the road. Most of them barely had clothes on and the ones that were dressed, the clothing was in tatters and hung loosely from their swaying forms.
Dead eyes followed the progress of the trucks, mouths wide open to show broken teeth and black, shriveled tongues. Corpse tongues.
“Explain,” Thorne said in his best commander voice.
Sterling laughed. “Yes, sir, right away, sir.”
Sterling pointed at the fences.
“Tech is everything,” Sterling explained. “From my enhanced limbs to basically all of Wire’s body. This island runs on tech that the vast majority of the covert community can’t even comprehend. Those moving corpses out there are the result of a happy accident. Wire needs a very specific item in order to complete her objective in life.”
“Which is?” Thorne asked.
“Being whole again,” Sterling said. “Something I think all of us would like. This job tends to tear you apart, right?”
Thorne didn’t answer.
“Doesn’t matter,” Sterling continued. “In her quest to recreate the item, our people created something else. A way to control and reanimate dead flesh. I won’t bore you with details on the exact mechanism—”
“Too late,” Max said.
“—but I will say that all of those people out there are being directed by some very talented handlers,” Sterling pressed on. “If we want all ten thousand of them to turn left, they turn left. Walk a straight line, they walk a straight line. Otherwise, we let them autonomously roam the island as a deterrent to anyone that might think of taking an unauthorized stroll. Trust me, Thorne, you do not want to be out amongst those former people. They will tear you apart, limb by limb, and keep you alive just long enough so you are forced to watch them eat those limbs. No one has ever escaped this island. No one. And you will not be the first.”
“Darby,” Max said. “You keep forgetting about Darby.”
“No, I don’t,” Sterling said. “Darby is handled.”
“There’s always Ballantine,” Darren muttered from his seat. His lips were still so swollen that the words came out as lisping gasps. But his eye looked better and no longer in danger of popping out of his skull. “You separated him from us. You’re ignoring your own theory.”
“Ballantine? You think that man will risk his life to rescue any of you?” Sterling laughed so hard that he started coughing. He pounded his chest a couple of times and winced. “Oh, wow, Chambers. That head of yours got hit too hard. You’re crazy if you think we consider Ballantine to be part of any of you. Ballantine is a lone wolf and always will be. Don’t bet on that guy lifting a finger to set you free.”
Sterling nodded out the back of the truck.
“Not that there is anywhere to go, if he did decide to become a human being all of a sudden.”
***
“You have really put a lot of work into this island, Wire,” Ballantine said, strapped to a single chair set in the middle of the truck leading the caravan from the dock to the BOP. He was facing backwards and his eyes studied the landscape as it whizzed by. “I have to assume there is a control mechanism in each of those poor souls’ brains? Where is it located? Parietal lobe? Or are you hijacking the cerebellum? My guess is the latter since those folks do not look like they are going to be playing chess anytime soon.”
Ballantine tried to turn his head, but the restraints kept him from swiveling his neck more than a couple inches.
“Must we treat me like a rabid dog?” Ballantine asked. “I’m all Hannibal Lectored up here, Wire. A bit of the overkill, if you ask me. You weren’t that concerned when we were on the dock.”
“I had thirty snipers locked onto you then,” Wire responded from her seat outside Ballantine’s field of vision. “In here, it’s only you and me. I think I made the right call.”
“I’d be flattered, but the straps chafe, so I’m more annoyed, really,” Ballantine said. “Now, about these people at the fences… They are dead, obvious from their appearance, yet they are animated.”
“Reanimated,” Wire said.
“How very Lovecraftian of you,” Ballantine said. “Or would it be Romeroesque? Are they flesh eaters?”
“No more so than a rabid junkyard dog would be,” Wire said. “Do they rip intruders and escapees apart? Yes. Do they try to eat the flesh of those they catch? Yes. But only because that is their programming. I thought I’d give them a theme and what better theme than the walking dead? No need to reinvent the wheel when there is a template already made.”
“Is this a business venture?” Ballantine asked. “Do you plan on recreating this…whatever you call it, for others? What do you charge for such a nightmare?”
“Ballantine, Ballantine, Ballantine,” Wire said. “Not everything in life is about profit.”
“Oh, I don’t think that either,” Ballantine said. “But everything is about leverage. I can think of close to two dozen dictators across this globe that would pay in the millions to have this tech at their disposal. The savings in mass grave digging labor alone would pay for it right there. Use the bodies, not lose the bodies.”
Ballantine laughed and tried to snap his fingers, but his hand was held too close to the arm of the chair he was strapped to.
“That could be your tagline! Use the bodies, not lose the bodies. Or something like that. Needs work, but we can come up with the right phrasing.”
“We? My God, you never quit,” Wire said. “How can you even say the word we?”
“Well, you haven’t killed me and you haven’t killed Team Grendel, so there has to be a reason we’re alive,�
�� Ballantine said. “Other than you wanting the item. I mean, I get the obsession, but you really should know that exploring other life goals might be in your best interest.”
“That item is my life,” Wire said. “Without it, I’m an empty shell of the person I am supposed to be. When we find it, I promise you that…”
Ballantine waited, but she didn’t continue.
“Someone whispering in your ear?” Ballantine asked. “From the dead silence, I have to assume it is bad news. Otherwise, you’d be shouting orders and proving how tough you are. That’s what you like to do, isn’t it? Prove just how tough you are by yelling and killing?”
“Fuck you,” Wire snarled.
“Oh, it’s very bad news,” Ballantine said. “It isn’t Team Grendel, they’re in that truck back behind us a ways. Don’t get me wrong, they will become a problem soon, but for now, they are contained. Let’s see, who isn’t contained?”
“Shut your mouth, Ballantine,” Wire shouted.
“Oh, there’s the volume we were missing,” Ballantine said. “Any way you could put your com on speaker? I would love to hear the carnage that’s happening on that ship right now.”
He didn’t see the hit coming. Probably a good thing. A horrible burst of pain then blackness consumed Ballantine.
***
“She’s there!” a sniper shouted as he switched his target to a shadow that streaked across the upper catwalk. “Keep firing!”
He sent six shots in that direction. Not one connected as far as he could tell. At least, not with his intended target.
“Shit!” he yelled as one of his own tumbled over the catwalk’s railing. “Fuck!”
Before the last word was out of his mouth, he was flying backwards onto his ass. His chest felt tight and he looked down to see a smoking hole in his shirt. His lungs hurt like hell and he slapped at his chest, feeling the slug that impacted with his body armor.
Before he could look up to find the source of the shot, half his head was obliterated. Solid then mist.
There were screams coming from every corner of the ship’s hold. Men and women were scrambling to find cover or hit a target that none of them could lock onto. Gunfire went from professional bursts to panicked strafing. Half the casualties were from friendly fire.
The rest of the casualties were from Darby.
The woman strode long the upper catwalk, a .338 to her shoulder like it was a kid’s .22 small game hunting rifle. She picked off targets one by one, oblivious to the bullets that whizzed by her head and body. Perhaps not quite oblivious. She made very minute adjustments to her stride and posture with every crack of a rifle, avoiding being hit by only microns.
Darby stopped and took a knee as she watched the grenade land a few meters in front of her. She should have taken some kind of cover; grenades and metal catwalks tended to wreak havoc on human beings. But she waited for the detonation, closing her eyes at the last second to avoid flash blindness, then stood up and continued on her killing spree.
She leapt the newly formed gap in the catwalk and landed on the other side without even a hint of instability. That couldn’t be said for the catwalk itself. As she walked on, her borrowed sniper rifle taking down man after man, woman after woman, the end portion of the catwalk behind her bent then plummeted to the level below, crushing half a dozen guards that were trying to lock onto Darby and take her out from below.
“Fucking bitch!” a woman screamed from the corner of the huge space, her back wedged into the tiny area where the walls met. “You can’t dodge bullets forever!”
Darby put a round in the woman’s forehead and didn’t think anything else of the woman as she continued along her path. A bullet winged off the wall and came close to contact with her cheek. Darby paused, swiveled, took aim, and put down the shooter. Then on she went once more, headed for a small hatch that was about five meters away.
When she reached the hatch, she pivoted, studied the hold, and opened fire. Her finger didn’t stop squeezing the trigger until the rifle clicked empty. She ejected the spent magazine, grabbed another from the waistband of her underwear, slapped it home, made sure it was seated, racked the slide, and got back to work. For the next five minutes, she kept firing. A spot on the rifle’s barrel began to glow red. Then the last magazine was empty and Darby took her eye away from the sight to survey her work.
No one was left alive. Dozens of guards and snipers. Every one of them highly armed and more than sufficiently trained to do their jobs, yet not one made it. Darby did a mental twenty count before she stood up, tossed the rifle aside, and grabbed the wheel on the hatch.
It wouldn’t budge. Darby sighed.
She backtracked until she came to the closest body. A quick pat down and she had six grenades in hand. She also obtained a Sig Sauer 9mm pistol, which she put in the waistband of her underwear. It was heavier than the sniper rifle’s magazine had been and began to tug at her underwear. Darby sighed again.
She stripped the corpse of the bloody uniform it wore and slipped that on. The pants were big, the shirt was big, and the body armor would have made her into a matte black Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. She cinched the belt as tight as it would go and tugged on the pants pockets. They’d stay. The shirt was useless, so she ignored it and stayed in her bra only. The armor was a joke and she hadn’t needed it before so why deal with the bulk and weight.
Newly pantsed, Darby filled the cargo pockets with extra magazines for the pistol and strapped a combat knife to her belt then returned to her cache of grenades. She studied the hatch for a moment then returned to the corpse. She dug in the body’s ear and removed a com unit. Bloody and coated in earwax, Darby slid the piece into place and smiled as the entire ship’s panic over her escape filled her ear.
She pressed the unit and said, “She’s down! I repeat, she is down! We need immediate medical attention in here. Jesus fucking Christ, she killed almost everyone. Send the whole medical team! Now!”
Conflicting voices tried to ask her for her guard number while others began ordering that the hatch be opened immediately. Someone in charge made the call finally and Darby waited as she watched the hatch’s wheel begin to spin.
She hefted the pistol then thought better of it and placed it in its holster. She withdrew the combat knife and stepped to the left side of the hatch.
Chapter Thirteen: The Armor Makes The Woman
Kinsey walked among the rows and rows of tables that had replaced the cots in the Fallback’s hold. Men and women were working feverishly to assemble pieces of armor as Ingrid moved around them, giving them instructions and critiquing already completed pieces. Kinsey caught up to Ingrid and frowned.
“Where’s Moshi?” Kinsey asked. “Shouldn’t she be here helping with this?”
“She stayed in the Toyshop,” Ingrid said. “You know Moshi. She can freeze up around one stranger, let alone an entire ship’s worth.”
“And Carlos?” Kinsey asked.
‘The fucker chickened out and stayed in the Toyshop too,” Lucy said as she joined them, tugging at her own armor as she tried to adjust the fit. “Jesus, Ingrid, help a bitch out here, will you?”
“Did it go out of adjustment again?” Ingrid exclaimed. “Take it off, Lucy. Just take it off. We need to find a better fit for you. That prototype’s not going to work.”
Ingrid turned and surveyed the tables. “There. Use that set.”
“Hey!” a woman snapped as Ingrid hurried over and snatched the armor off the table. “What the fuck, lady?”
“Here,” Lucy said as she stripped out of the ill-fitting armor and tossed it to the angry woman. “Try this.”
“Gee, thanks a fucking lot,” the woman said as she caught the armor and glared at it. “We’re about the same size, so why do you think this will fit me when it didn’t fit you?”
“She doesn’t,” Kinsey said to the woman. “But we’re Grendel and take priority. This is our fight.”
“This is everyone’s fight,” Delana Paz said as she
stomped up to Lucy and yanked the purloined armor out of her grip. She whirled on Kinsey. “The Teams end now. No more Grendel versus everyone else. If we are going to survive against Wire, we need to be united as one army.”
Lucy looked from Kinsey to Delana and back.
“Sorry,” Kinsey said. “Lucy Durning, this is Delana Paz. She’s the me on the Fallback.”
Delana laughed. “You wish. If I’m anyone, I’m the Darby of the Fallback.”
It was Kinsey’s turn to laugh. Lucy and Ingrid both joined, but shut up quickly as Delana’s glare was turned on them. Kinsey let her laugh peter out then pointed at Delana.
“Delana, I have to assume you’re good, but you are not that good. No one is that good,” Kinsey said. “I’m not that good. So be happy I consider you on par with me. Take the win and move on.”
“We have a problem?” Aubrey asked from a catwalk above everyone. “I’m sensing some friction down there.”
“Always friction when alpha operators face off,” Delana said. “But we’ve got it handled, Captain.”
“I hope so because we are almost within scanning range of Wire’s island,” Aubrey said. “I need all of you up on the bridge now. Time to get the last phase put together. Five minutes.”
“Yes, Captain,” Delana said.
“You want Ingrid too? Or only operators?” Kinsey asked.
“You and Durning,” Aubrey said. “Ingrid stays here and keeps the assembly line marching. We need everyone suited up by the time we reach the island. Otherwise, there’s no point to any of this.”
“What, uh, timeframe are we looking at?” Ingrid asked.
“Two hours,” Aubrey said. Ingrid started to respond, but Aubrey shook her head. “Unless you are going to say that’s not a problem, keep your mouth shut. You have ninety minutes to be finished. And I mean completely finished. Operators go into the water in ninety-five minutes.”
“Uh…okay?” Ingrid replied.
“You got this,” Kinsey said to her.
“You’re the best at this shit,” Lucy added.