Crash Landing: Survival in a Dystopian World (BONES BOOK ONE 1)

by Jim Rudnick

  “Put the remains into one of the drums—along with more wood,” he said, and the two tried to do that as best they could. Once, a piece of wood wouldn’t fit so well, so the zombie put it back and got another piece.

  “Ahh …” Roger said to himself, “some kind of brain power does exist,” and he chuckled.

  He waved them away, went over to the drums, and took out some accelerant from his backpack. He stood well back and squirted a healthy dose into all three of the oil drums that held a body, and the fires within surged up, smoke billowing.

  He nodded. Good. That’ll clean out this pit.

  He went back to lay out the awning cover remnant as the cover to the pit’s entrance, having to move one of the oil drums on top to hold down an edge too.

  Pit is reset. Don’t know why as all we ever catch is zombies, but that’s what we do.

  With his twosome of dumb-now-smarter zombies as company, they retired down the street to return to their industrial park headquarters.

  #####

  He woke with a start. Bixby was the culprit.

  He sat staring at Javor, whining a bit, and Javor knew why—outside for a pee, he believed.

  He checked his Colt—still there. He put on his boots and slowly stood and stretched. The ceiling here was at least fifteen feet above his head, so he crouched down a bit, and using his right leg only, he suddenly jumped and touched the rough popcorn texture of same. Fifteen’s about average, he thought, knowing he could touch almost twenty feet too. Alien tissue is a wonderful thing. He grimaced as he really would have liked to have stayed one hundred percent human, but the doctors had done what doctors do.

  He went to the door, unlocked it, noted the loud noise it made, and went down the mezzanine floor to the set of eating tables. Judging by the shadows, he’d been asleep almost five hours. It was now late afternoon and he smelled the freshly brewing coffee and went down the stairs to the foyer below. Bixby came along too, and he went through the doors now, ignoring the AI bot behind him, and let the dog out onto the front portico.

  Must have been some kind of headquarters for something long ago. Right now, Bixby was out there treating the grounds like his own personal toilet. My how things change.

  He whistled and Bixby’s ears came up. He looked like what a police dog he had seen fifty years ago, he thought. But Bixby didn’t turn his head. His attention was out on the street.

  Nothing there. Could see not a soul, no noise, nothing.

  Of course, a dog had a much better sense of hearing and smell than a human did. So Bixby could hear something he couldn’t.

  He whistled once more and the dog turned and came right to him. He smiled as he rubbed Bixby’s head and murmured, “Good boy, good boy” a couple of times.

  Back inside, the green scanning beam lanced out at him, then the dog, and then turned off.

  Guess we’re family, he thought, and he moved back up the stairs to that coffee. He stopped to go through his backpack for a couple of those jerky bars and fed Bixby first.

  Moments later, Sue came out of another room well down the floor and across the mezzanine. She nodded as she got coffee and sat with him. She said nothing, sipped her coffee, and looked out the windows across the mezzanine at the leaves on the trees just outside the building.

  “Was the Maxwell Courthouse a long time ago, and I like the fact that we took it over,” she said as if to answer his unasked question about the building.

  “Been here, I think, what, four years now, and with the AI bot, we’re pretty protected. Long as we’ve got power and ammo, that is,” she added with a half-smile to him.

  He nodded and said, “Time to talk?”

  Sue nodded.

  He explained. He didn’t go into much history but did say that with the Empire’s advances in tech over the past decade, they were slowly winning the war with the Boathi. He told her a half-dozen Explorer ships like the Drake had been outfitted with the latest tech and manned with an odd-ball selection of marines and scientists—and him too for some reason he didn’t know. They had been ambushed about twenty lights outward by a Boathi sphere ship and had jumped to FTL under full AI as the crew died.

  “I was already tucked into the robo-doc, so I missed it all, but all nine of my crew mates were killed. Came out of the robo-doc just two days ago and had one hell of a mess to clean up,” he said and took a big sip of the coffee.

  Would love some cream. But all they had was some kind of white powder—artificial milk, maybe—and so he’d taken it black with three sugars.

  She grinned at him and said, “And as I think I know, the robos are always tucked away somewhere off the main flow of any ship—probably saved your life!”

  He nodded. “Right—most likely—but here’s the thing. I am no pilot—FTL-wise, I mean, but if I can get the Drake up and into the atmosphere here on Bones, I can get around the planet if needed. Diagnostics are going on right now, and I’ve my doubts as the Boathi used those screw bearing bullets to pierce the hull hundreds of times—no way to know what else they cut into or destroyed. But if the Drake has to sit above Maxwell, then so be it. She’s got more’n fifty years of power left, full AI, full defensive measures … if I was a hermit, I’d just close the airlock and not even bother to look out the view-screens.”

  He noted that Bixby was looking for more food and pointed to him. “Know things here are tight, food-wise at least, but is there something I can trade or buy from you for the dog?” he asked.

  She turned to look at Bixby, grinned, and then nodded. Getting up, she went off the mezzanine, and he heard her steps down to the ground floor and then a minute later coming back up.

  In her arms, she held a big box—maybe thirty kilos—but she was a strong woman, and she dropped it on the floor beside him.

  “We got this, what, a year ago or so? Anyways, it’s dog food. We did try to bake some with some of it, and William says he likes it in his yogurt—not that we get much yogurt anymore. But sure—it’s yours—for a price. I’d very much like to see the Drake—inside, I mean, and look at what’s the latest tech too. Deal?” she asked and held out her hand.

  He shook it quickly and then went over to the long side table to find a plate and some kind of scoop. No scoops and human plates only. He took an orange one—the only orange one—and went back to sit down beside her again.

  “Orange plate is mine then,” he said, and he quickly drew a knife from a hidden scabbard alongside his left calf and cut a hand-sized hole in the top of the bag. He added four big handfuls to the orange plate, picked up the plate, and laid it off to one side.

  Bixby did not follow with anything but his eyes—until Javor whistled and said, “Eat boy.” In seconds, Bixby was halfway through the pile of kibble. A minute was all it took, and by then, Javor had found an old bowl that he filled with clean potable water and placed it beside the now empty dish so Bixby could have a drink.

  He returned to sit beside Sue and smiled. “Thanks … the dog is important to me,” he said as a way of trying to get her to understand.

  She nodded but tilted her head to one side. “Course, something that’s important to someone can be used against them too—just saying,” she said, and he filed that away for later thought.

  “So, Bones. Sounds like I’m going to need to talk to someone—whomever runs the planet—about the Drake. Would that, in your opinion, be this Regime you’re a part of,” he asked, but he already knew her answer.

  She grinned. “Absolutely correct—that’s who you need to see. And if the Drake ain’t gonna fly, it’s like 250 or so miles as a hike. Through some treacherous country, through some bad sects, through a power city, and then a whole set of worse areas we just call the Badlands. All that way to Arlington, where the Regime is.”

  He thought about that for a moment or two as Bixby came over to lie beside him.

  “Any way to talk to them—the Regime, I mean—before I take such a hike? Or maybe they’d like to come here instead?”

  She sho
ok her head. “Not a chance of them coming here—the seat of their government is the town of Arlington, so you’d need to go there to see them. But yes, we do have a working ham radio setup, and yes, I can connect you with someone there so that you can make up your own mind on taking that trip. Hell of a trip too, eh!” she said as she shook her head negatively.

  He thought on that for a moment as his hand dropped onto the top of Bixby’s head and he scratched. The dog tilted his head for more pressure on a certain spot, Javor smiled.

  “Okay, here’s what I need to do. Go back to the Drake—yes, you’re invited for a look-see tour and see what the diagnostics have shown as her space-worthiness. Or just flying ability maybe. Once I know that, I can then speak to this Regime with more intel and be able to come to some kind of an answer for my future here—and theirs too,” he said, and that made the best sense.

  She looked at him and said quietly, “Are you at all concerned that these Boathi—the ones that attacked you—might be following your trail?”

  It was a question that he’d pondered a few times in the past few days and one that he had no answer for yet.

  He shook his head though as he was sure he shouldn’t be quite so open with her about this.

  “Not really. We jumped twenty lights as I said and here in the old Empire worlds, taken over or bombed by the Boathi that could be like dozens of various systems. I don’t think that they’re that interested in us specifically. Not enough to try to find us like a needle in a haystack type of scenario,” he said.

  His voice sounded sure about that and all he wanted was to be right. There was no real way of knowing though and he shrugged at her.

  “So we go on, like Bones is the only world we gotta worry about, right?” he said.

  She smiled and rose at the same time. “I’ve got rounds—wanna come for a quick tour of the courthouse grounds and all? Once I mark it as okay, AI takes over ‘til breakfast tomorrow—fresh eggs I hear too,” she said with a grin on her face.

  He nodded and went to fetch his shotgun. He put on his armor vest first and then the gun into the shoulder belt clip for safety and he was ready. Javor and Bixby joined her down in the foyer for a walk around the large old mansion as dusk fell slowly on Maxwell.

  #####

  Javor moved slowly along the final street that led to the bridge over to the ridge line where the Drake still sat alone. He looked left and then right and then watched Bixby who was ahead of the three of them. The dog didn’t vary in his path at all. He went straight up the final few yards of the street and then to the bridge that went off to his left.

  Bixby turned around, sat, and looked at Javor as if to say that everything up to here was fine.

  And it was, Javor noted, and he, Sue, and Jimmy all moved with a bit more purpose to the bridge.

  “River is low it looks like,” Javor said.

  “Normal run-off in the spring gets her up, yeah,” Jimmy said, “but now as the summer gets started, she drops. Will go down at least a couple more feet by fall too.” He pointed out to the close shoreline.

  Javor stared at the rocks and the muddy banks. He wondered if there were fish in the river or some kind of weasel or marten or mink that might live there. There was no way to tell, but he knew a great recipe for weasel that he’d tried often before.

  What, a hundred years ago, he thought and smiled.

  “Okay, let’s move out,” he said.

  Sue let him take control as they had moved through Maxwell so far under her watch. He took point—or rather, he followed Bixby who took point—and then went across the bridge, skirting the burned cars and the bus that was on its side. Not too close, he thought but then he realized that if Bixby walked a foot away from something, there was nothing on the other side to worry about. Good to have a dog, he thought and thanked the zombies for the pit that had brought them together.

  Ahead, Bixby waited at the edge of the bridge as the road stretched out in both directions and followed the meandering ridge line above. Javor tossed his head to the left, and Bixby got up out of his sitting pose and trotted down the street toward the Drake which lay above.

  In less than two hundred yards, they were directly below the Drake, and Javor whistled as he came to a stop. Bixby trotted back to him to sit at his side. He looked up at the underside of his ship and waited until the other two were with him.

  “There she is—the Drake. Almost two hundred feet long, mostly labs and cargo holds and living space too. Robo-doc in case it’s needed. More than, I think, like fifty years of reserve power, great leading edge AI too. Could call it home happily, but in this case, we gotta see if she can fly. Let’s go up,”

  He moved to stand below the front airlock door. “AI—Javor here, acknowledge,” he said, and the AI chimed three times.

  “Open front airlock door and drop ladder,” he said next.

  The airlock door slid open, and a collapsible ladder suddenly dropped down out of same.

  He looked at Bixby.

  “You’ll come up later, boy,” he said as he climbed the ladder first and was followed by Sue and Jimmy.

  Moments later, another airlock port opened up beside the open door, and a small lift slid out of the horizontal opening. Javor took the step over to same, and then he aligned it with the airlock itself and said, “Down.”

  And down it went. Bixby was cautious but eventually moved onto the lift deck. Javor said “Up,” and up they went.

  Once they were all inside, Javor said, “AI, button her up, please,” and there was some noise as the lift and ladder were retracted and the doors sealed up.

  “Nice AI,” Sue said.

  Javor nodded and went over to the co-pilot’s seat to sit, and his guests found the bench against the close wall to their liking. Bixby wanted to explore, so Javor said, “AI, my dog is named Bixby—please allow him full access to all the ship—but do not allow any auto-doors to equipment or storage to open for him. Got it?” he asked, and the three chimes that answered meant yes in AI speak.

  He looked at the dashboard, specifically at the monitor, and said, “AI, diagnostics to date, please, up on the view-screen.”

  As he said that, a whole series of icons and flashing lights appeared—most he noted in red and only a couple in green.

  “Shit,” he said, and he meant it.

  AI had run most of the diagnostics, and so far, all had shown that the Drake—while habitable—would never fly in space again. Too many of the Boathi screw-bullet bearings had pierced too many of the systems that were needed to go to space.

  FTL was gone.

  Inertial drive was iffy—AI couldn’t tell until she was up and in the air, which was bad because if she couldn’t fly, she’d crash.

  Life support was at a minimum; some lines had been cut and had bled off both oxygen and other gasses too.

  Lights, both interior and exterior, were okay—as most were on sub-systems on an area by area basis.

  Food stores were fine. Freezers fine too.

  Cargo holds A, B, and D were fine. C had been severely compromised during the Boathi attack and now carried a poisonous atmosphere that was being held with heavy security by the AI systems.

  Robo-doc was fine—but he knew that.

  Exterior ports all fine except for the lower cargo port, which just kept reporting that it couldn’t report to AI. No surprise there since Javor knew that it was jammed. Due to her missing landing gear that had been lost too in the attack, the Drake had fallen and that portion had taken the most damage.

  “We’re not so good,” he said.

  Sue cocked her head to one side and didn’t ask her questions out loud.

  “Drake will never get back up into space—too many systems are gone. But AI thinks—doesn’t know for a fact—that she might fly. But if we take her up—and there’s any kind of problem, AI will shut her down and we crash once more. Don’t like that at all, as it means that the Drake is now just my house on Bones,” he said, and his voice was truly perturbed.


  Sue nodded lost in thought it looked like to Javor.

  Jimmy picked something out of his teeth, and then he looked at Javor.

  “So, we’re walking to Arlington, I’d guess? If they want us to, that is,” he said, referring to the conversation that would have to come next now that the Drake’s role had just been finalized.

  That sat with them all for a minute or two.

  If the Drake would never fly again, then yes, if he wanted to find out more about Bones, then he’d have to go to the seat of the planetary government—the Regime who were in Arlington.

  Of course, he could simply say the hell with it and as he was now a castaway on Bones, he could live out his years on the planet and stay in the Drake.

  True though, he thought, that if the Boathi ever appeared here again, the Drake with its big electrical profile would be found. Which might put me—well, me and Bixby—in jeopardy.

  That’s not so good, he thought. Not so good at all.

  What were the odds that they were even looking for the Drake?

  Or perhaps in a few years, with us humans winning the war, the Boathi might be driven from this whole quadrant of space and the Empire would land here instead.

  Or … oh hell, Javor thought, there was just too much to think on.

  Best to just go one step at a time.

  Drake won’t fly, so next item is to talk to this Regime group …

  #####

  Back at the courthouse after what Javor could claim was the best fried fish he’d ever tasted, the whole Maxwell cadre sat and talked. Cooked this time by Bruce, who said he was the fish guy, there had been large fillets of fish with white flaky flesh, and Javor noted that the others had poured the pink sauce right over top, so he did too.

  Delicious.

  If nothing else about Bones was good, the few meals he’d had here had been outstanding.

  “And this pink sauce stuff is …” he asked no one special at the table.

  Jimmy nodded. “We do have our own small herb garden out back. The pinkness of that sauce comes from something we call the krow plant—pink flowers that if picked at the right time add a kind of lemony hint with a type of anise flavor to anything you pour it on. The fish was simple river trout—we caught them a few weeks back and froze the fillets, but fried up in fat, they are great,” he said as he eyed the remaining stack of fillets still in the center of the table.