Free World Apocalypse - Prequel: Free World Apocalypse Series - Book Zero

by T. K. Malone

  “You should try ‘em,” she said, holding his gaze, a grin teasing out the corners of her mouth.

  Boz shook his head. “I’m good. You got any ideas on today?”

  “Another raid.” It seemed like her go-to answer lately. Everyday a different raid, every day another smuggling route shut down. Everyday more carnies dead or on their way to the Pen.

  “Where?”

  “The old Bay View hotel.”

  “Should have leveled that place years ago.”

  “Still folk living in it,” Teah replied.

  “You asked yourself why?”

  Boz was a straight shooter. He was a stiff, and as a stiff he believed everything he was supposed to. Teah loved him for it, it made him easy to work with, easy to understand, but it made for a lot of lip biting too.

  “The Grid still isn’t self-sufficient.”

  “What do we need?”

  Teah scoffed. “We still pull some power from outside.”

  “Soon to be cured.”

  “I see lumber coming in, seen limestone, sand—if Charm’s gonna make The Grid bigger—make The Black City the biggest, then he’ll need the carnies to do all the shit work the gridders don’t want to.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know as well as I do, they think some shit’s beneath them.”

  Boz pushed his plate away, a sure sign he’d given up on the argument. He pulled his coffee closer. “What I don’t understand is this, if we’re short on manual workers, why not just birth a few? Hell, we’re all born for a reason.”

  “You really think that? I like to believe it’s a bit random—you know, seed and egg, at least a bit of room for chance.”

  He looked straight at her, a glint in his eye. “Do you realize, there’s a one in four and a half million chance we’ve got a kid?” Boz smiled at that, as if he was willing it.

  Teah shrugged, weren’t that a sad fact, she thought. Men were drained of seed at sixteen, women had their eggs stored a year or so earlier. It was more efficient, saved families getting in the way of busy lives. Teah doubted his math, but it was a possibility.

  “That’d be a nice kid,” she said, wistfully, and knew she meant it.

  They’d stopped a block shy of the hotel. Jeb was positioned a way back—he’d be of limited use today. Teah looked at her impromptu squad. Becca was still laid up, so instead of just her and Boz, they had three additions.

  “You’re Zero-three,” Teah said, pointing at a young woman about her age, maybe a couple of years older—twenty-six max.

  “Zero-three,” she repeated.

  “I’m Zero-four, Boz is five, you six and you seven.”

  Six and seven were both men, both square-jaw types, and both looked like they had a healthy disdain for her, not that she cared. Becca would be back soon and Teah could go back to having just Boz in her team. The less people you relied on in life the better, as far as Teah was concerned.

  “Which one of you two is munitions?”

  Zero-seven stuck his arm up.

  “You go in last. How long?” She knew the answer to the question. How long was long enough to plant them and run. The trick nowadays was hiding them so they weren’t disposed of before they blew up whatever they were targeting at. This time it was a tunnel which led from the hotel right under the wastelands and came out somewhere near the freeway. It was probably one of many, but it was a start.

  “Depends what I find.”

  Teah fixed him a glare. “You’ll have sixty, find them a home quick.”

  Zero-seven shrugged.

  Teah sighed inwardly, flipped her visor down and rested the barrel of her gun on her shoulder. It was gonna be one of those days. She pressed her other shoulder with her free hand. Not two days had passed since she’d been shot and the bruise had already gone. Man, she healed fast, but she felt good too, apart from the nausea, but that had been a near constant the last few days—or had it been weeks?

  “Jeb?”

  “You’re good to go. No info on hostiles, the place is lit up like The Free World Park on Prime Day. Gotta be at least a hundred carnies in there.”

  “Like I said,” Boz’s voice sounded, “shoulda just sent the drones in and leveled the place.”

  Boz didn’t care for carnies.

  Teah took a breath and started walking down the street. They could have rolled up in armored cars, could have, but she never liked to do it that way. The carnies knew they were coming the minute they stepped off of The Grid, and they’d no doubt been watching them ever since. Now, they were just lurking and waiting to see what route would be taken out. It wasn’t to say they wouldn’t fight back, they almost certainly would, but they wouldn’t risk it out in the open, not with the drones overhead. It probably wasn’t the ones they could see that would worry them. It was the ones out of sight that just dropped a guided missile on your head without warning. Those were the drones that worried them—she knew that. Those drones killed without thought for the surrounding casualties.

  “Jeb?” Teah asked.

  “Zero-four.”

  “Any activity?”

  “Few leaving by the hotel’s rear entrance.”

  “Packing?”

  “Just civvies clearing out.”

  “Okay everyone, let’s get running.” Teah picked up her speed to a trot, her gun making constant sweeps. The Bay View was down one block and over another. She stopped at the intersection, the towering hotel now diagonally across.

  It had weathered fairly well. Its pointed roof was still intact, as were the four cylindrical elevator shafts on each corner. It had the look of an old space rocket, the tubes like booster rockets, the roof, its nose cone. A few windows were out, and the roadway fascia hadn’t survived, but compared to a lot around, it was in good condition. No doubt why so many folk stayed there.

  Teah crouched down and scuttled across the street.

  “Zero-three flank right, Zero-five with me, Zero-six flank left, zero-seven stay in my shadow.”

  Zero-seven grunted, clearly not happy. Teah closed on the building, kicking the remnants of the front doors in and bursting into a disheveled lobby. She crouched low, Boz by her side. Zero-three took up a position by a battered old reception counter, Zero-six on the opposite side. It was quiet—too quiet.

  “Anything?” she whispered over her mic. Just the sound of nervous breaths returned. She waved her flanks forward and crept on herself.

  The old marble floor was a mess of cracked stone, fallen ceiling tiles and years of neglect. A clear pathway through it led to a set of double doors and signaled a well-used route to the central stairwells. Teah led them through, turning back to check behind, sweeping around to look for movement, picking her footfalls carefully. A single click broke the silence.

  “Shit,” Zero-six muttered.

  “What is it—?” Teah muttered but looked at him and knew in an instant. Zero-six was frozen on his spot, one leg in front of the other. “Have you triggered it?” Teah asked, knowing the answer, looking down at her own feet. Sure enough, the tripwire was a foot in front of her. “Shit indeed,” she said. “Boz?”

  Boz ran away from Zero-six to the reception counter, then retraced his steps all the way to the stricken man. “Stay steady.”

  “Sir.”

  “Steady.” Boz knelt by the soldier’s foot. He lifted his visor up. “Were gonna have to keep the tension before we do anything.”

  “Like what?” Zero-six’s voice was shaky. Boz didn’t reply.

  “Teah, clear everyone out.”

  “Copy—”

  “—You got company,” Jeb’s voice sounded out.

  “Shit Jeb—we already gotta problem in here. Can’t you take ‘em out?” Teah asked.

  “I know and no. They’re grouping in the center—stairwell I’m guessing.”

  “Drop a smart bomb down the shaft—I’ll take my chances knowing they’re fucked,” Boz muttered, he looked up. “What’s your name, lad?”

  “Paul.” />
  “Well Paul, keep yerself calm.” Boz looked around at Teah. “You gotta plan?”

  Teah scanned the lobby area. Assuming Boz could work some magic… “Zero-three, get behind the reception counter—near as dammit in a straight line with those doors.” She pointed at the stairwell. “And mind the wire.”

  “Copy,” Zero-three’s voice clipped, nervous. She moved toward her position anyway.

  “Zero-seven, you’re with me. Those charges—shortest fuse?”

  “Can knock the fuse down to ten seconds or so.”

  Teah made a mental calculation. “Boz, you got a couple of minutes then it's haul ass and hope for the best.”

  She stepped over the wire, creeping down the clear path toward the doors. As she closed in on them, she signaled Zero-seven to split off to one side of the large doorway. “I’m guessing these walls are made of some heavy shit—old fire regs and that. Jeb?”

  “Zero-four?”

  “Any movement?”

  “Just one mess of heat to me.”

  “Shit,” Teah muttered. “Hold still everyone. Be vigilante. Zero-seven, get ready to toss that charge in—if we can’t stealth it, we’re gonna have to come back another day.”

  “Toss it?”

  “Keep ‘em occupied ‘till we can work out another plan—”

  Teah took a step away from the wall and leveled her machine gun. “Light it up!” she shouted over the mic. Zero-three fired at the doors, shredding them, splinters flying everywhere. Teah knelt, machine gun steady.

  “Get that charge set.” She was breathing heavily now, sweat trickling down the back of her neck. This was a clusterfuck, no two ways about it. Five against a few hundred? But then the carnies weren’t supposed to fight hard, were supposed to run. She guessed things had changed, and on her watch too. “Shit,” she muttered, and held her hand up. “Hold, Zero-three.”

  The door was peppered with holes and scars, nothing could have survived on the other side, but then, who would stand on the other side anyway? She switched her mic to ‘hail’.

  “Come out now—hands in the air, toss the weapons.”

  No answer.

  “You’ve got ten,” she added, and snuck a glance at Boz. Her partner was piling rubble up against the tripwire, trying to soak up the tension. It was a long shot, but gave the kid a small chance—gave them all a small chance, the place was probably rigged all around. Nothing too heavy, they wouldn’t want to bring the building down, but packed with something unpleasant, no doubt. Boz had his immediate problems, but so did she. She turned back to the door.

  “Last chance,” she hailed.

  The door opened a touch and then shut, almost like some brave soul had taken a peek out and thought better of it. It moved again, slowly, stuttering open. Teah edged against the wall, looking along it and into the gap. She saw it was being pushed open by a pole wedged in one of the many gashes.

  “Stay steady out there, soldier,” a man’s voice sounded out. “Just coming out…now.”

  Teah braced, switching her mic back. “Steady everyone.” Glancing at Boz, she saw he was about to edge Zero-six away from the wire. Damn he was cool under pressure. Looking back at the gap in the door, she saw a hand, palm up, a grenade resting on it.

  “Ten!” the voice from beyond the door shouted and tossed it. The door swung shut.

  She watched, almost mesmerized as the grenade arced out, bouncing once, twice, before nestling in a pile of old ceiling tiles in the midst of the lobby.

  “Grenade,” she cried and jumped backward, catching sight of Zero-seven. He was rooted to the spot, visor pointed straight at the grenade as though hypnotized by it. She heard Boz bark: “No,” and thought she saw Zero-six lurching away from the tripwire. Teah’s body spun in the air, she urged every last inch out of her jump. Crashing in a heap among the rubble, her hands instinctively coming up to protect her head, she waited.

  Silence then…

  The explosion picked Teah up and flung her against the stairwell wall, a second explosion came from the front of the lobby, tossing her toward its rear, her body crashing through the debris, scattering it like a ship scatters its wash. She tried to shout, tried to scream, but nothing came out. She tried to move, but her legs, her arms were trapped. She tried to stay conscious, but her mind wouldn’t comply.

  She thought of Zac, the man she loved, but her final thought was of Connor, somehow they had a deeper bond, an unbreakable link.

  “Zero-four, do you copy?” Jeb’s voice repeated, over and over.

  Teah woke, but didn’t open her eyes. She winced at the pain a simple breath caused her. It smelled damp. Her ears were ringing, though not exactly. It was like she was in an endless tube. A vast black pipe—yes, she thought, it was like that time.

  She tried to move her arms, but they were restrained—her legs too. Something bound her head. Pushing her shoulders back, she felt no give, it was like her skull was being compressed. Opening her eyes, she looked up at a flat, concrete ceiling. Parallel lines ran its length, evenly spaced. Underground? she wondered. The walls were plain, olive-gray blocks, devoid of any character baring a few scratches and etchings and a single, iron door stood in the middle of the wall at the end of the bed. Bed, yes, she was sure she was lying on a bed, a bed in a cell.

  “Shit,” she muttered to herself, attempting to recall something, anything. Boz? Had he survived? And the team? All gone? Clicking her jaw, she scrunched her eyes shut and tried to focus. Why am I alive? she asked herself.

  Memories trickled back. The grenade, Boz—the bomb—Zero-six, disaster, the whole thing was a complete disaster. They had to be dead. It wasn’t inconceivable she was in The Black City Correctional. Gross misconduct, mission failure, a brief look at her personal life; that would surely be enough to earn her a small collection of court-martials. If she’d been arrested, then there would be half a chance some of her team had been dragged out alive. Slim, but some hope Jeb had gotten rescue troops in.

  She took another deep breath, taking the pain, letting the stale air fill her lungs—coughing her guts up was her reward, the pain from her ribs blistering every single nerve end in her chest. Her outward breath stuttered as she tried to control her agony, but soon the need to breath in again made her gasp and start the cycle all over. Tears popped from the corners of her closed eyes.

  “You must try and stay calm.”

  At first, she was in two minds if she’d said the words or if they were inside her mind. Her gasps now as shallow as she dared make them, her chest heaved slightly less each time. “Control,” she whispered to herself. Slow breaths in, slow exhalations, tranquility masking her pain.

  “Now that—that right there is truly amazing.” A woman’s voice, not hers, Teah opened her eyes.

  “Where am I?” she asked.

  “Where you need to be.”

  Teah heard a click by her ear, and the tension that was crushing her forehead vanished.

  “There,” the voice soothed. “That should ease some of your discomfort. Though, you may well have pulled your neck, damaged your spine, that sort of thing. Trouble is, we’ve no way of knowing.”

  “No way?” Teah said, easing her head over, looking at the woman for the first time.

  The woman was dressed in a khaki jumpsuit; she looked old military, like in Connor’s films. Her long black hair was braided in plats, and cascaded over the suit’s upturned collar. She had a dark, rounded face, friendly, not stern, but Teah knew faces had a habit of masking a myriad of intentions.

  “It’s the easiest dress for navigating the tunnels and ruins,” the woman said, noticing her interest. She shrugged. “It’s got some kinda magic fabric threaded through it which confuses the drones—muddles the heat signatures, makes us look like you. Wouldn’t be my choice of clothing, but then I don’t get many choices.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Weathered skin? That should tell you I dwell outside of The Grid, outside of the city. So, I suppose I’m a carnie—thoug
h that name is not so accurate as you may think, and we rarely eat rats. I’m what you might call, ‘A traveler’, in that I sometimes live on the outskirts of The Grid, and other times up in the forest. I like to flit between the two.”

  Teah studied her; she’d seen carnies close-up, in Zac’s case, very close-up, and he was nothing like this woman. She looked strangely comfortable with herself, as if this was exactly what she did every day of the week. Most carnies were shifty, wary of Teah, but then again she was a stiff, government, as far as they were concerned.

  “I meant, what’s your name?”

  The woman raised her thin, black eyebrows, her forehead creasing and her head inclining slightly. “My name? What does that matter to a gridder? Especially one sent to murder all my friends.”

  “We were—”

  The woman smiled a teeth-filled, gleaming white smile. “Oh, I know what you were doing. Are you really that dim? Or do you just follow orders?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I suppose I should forgive you—what with having been blown halfway across a building. Quite a feat surviving that, but I’ll come back to that in a while. What I really want to know is why you insisted on coming to the place—just five of you—did you want to die?”

  Teah tried to figure out what the woman wanted her to say. Her brain felt fogged, confused. “I don’t know,” she muttered.

  The woman leaned forward, reached out, and laid her palm on Teah’s forehead. “No fever, remarkable. What were you trying to achieve? It’s a simple question.”

  “Blow up a smuggling tunnel.”

  “But why? There are tens of them, maybe even hundreds. There are the old sewers, the old pipelines. Why? Think… Did I get your name? Commander…”

  “Just Teah.”

  “Nice name,” she said, folding her arms and slouching to one side. “Tell me, Teah, wouldn’t it have been far easier to find the end of the tunnel and destroy that? To blow the wastelands and destroy everything under it? Wouldn’t that make more sense?”

  Teah let out a long breath. It had just been another mission—not her place to question, but on balance, it did seem a strange strategy. “Yes,” the word dribbled out of her mouth.