Vermin crawled up beside them, looking a little bit like a human-shaped spider. “When are ya gonna stop worrying, big guy?”
Jo socked him in the back of the head with a closed fist. “I don’t know, Beau, how ’bout when you get a lady Woody will stop worrying about his only kid?”
“That ain’t called for,” Vermin pouted. “I was sayin’ what everyone knows.”
“Y’all right, though. We got things to do.”
Readjusting on the hill, Appetite watched the Bluecoats below and took another bite of his protein bar, chewing slowly. He let his mind slow down. There hadn’t been contact yet. Oddly, the family listened to him, even referred to his guidance. He hadn’t expected the older men to listen to him; they hadn’t before when it came to the whole family. But they did as they were told - they stayed outta sight and almost outta mind. Not a single family member had taken upon themselves to take charge. They trusted him and for that, he was gonna give them the time of their lives.
He straightened his back, taking in the positions of his family, the Coats, and the shadows of the wild mutants in the area. Three factions: military, scoundrels, and scavengers. A good ol’ fashioned punch up. Appetite checked his watch - a little past noon. It wouldn’t be long before the wild ones got a bit restless.
Appetite had a good idea where something as important as a Terracore would be. He had done his research on the Old City in his spare time. Though information was thin, if you knew what you were looking for it wasn’t a problem. Deep within the Old City was a spiraling skyscraper, a building meant for the Members of the Board of the First Civilization. Whatever caused the collapse cut their plan short; people tended to forget important things when their lives were at risk. By the time the conflict finished, no one would’ve remembered to come back - leaving a priceless technology untouched. Given this new information and Drifter’s insatiable greed, a fella might think they would’ve gotten it sooner. But there was places where even the Caldwells wouldn’t go - not out of not wanting, but not having enough resources.
Today they were gonna make that step with the help of the Bluecoats.
When the sun glittered over the horizon, he saw the droves of wild mutants as well squads of Bluecoats. Unlike the Caldwells, the wild mutants had lost all sense of human thought. They roamed C’dar like human-shaped animals, sharing odd mutations here and there: discolored skins; open pores that leaked liquid; eyes too big for their heads; bent and twisted arms and legs; razor sharp teeth. In a way, it was like looking into a twisted mirror of themselves. One flawed gene away and they would’ve been like any of these monsters. Appetite groaned as the numbers swelled bigger and bigger, the monsters crawling outta every space like roaches congregating in the dark. A cold feeling of dread soaked his thoughts. Doubt came at the stupidest times.
Appetite took another breath. Too late now, we’re in it for the long haul. He checked his watch again; 12:03. Two more minutes -
A explosion rippled through the air, tearing through one of the tall abandoned buildings and raining debris on the ground. Appetite pinched his nose. Two minutes early. At the very least, he respected his uncle’s restraint until this point. The building choked up black smoke as it fell to the ground, red bursts of fire sputtering out from the weak foundation below. The wild mutants gawked in amazement for a long time, gathering like animals seeing fire for the first time. The amazement soon creeped into wild confusion as another explosion from what appeared to be an RPG opened up the belly of another building to their right. Pandemonium took the city within seconds.
Appetite nodded. This was a good start. A little messy, but good. “Time to get down there,” he said after one deep breath.
Appetite sprang into action, rushing to the tank as best as his big body would allow. He climbed up and into Vermin’s massive beast, a personal project of his known as the Stag Beetle. Modified with scraps found all over the planet and parts stolen from the Coats over the years, Stag Beetle was Vermin’s pride and joy. The inventors of the family always had somethin’ up their sleeve. He wondered if they ever finished the mech too.
He held onto the ring of the manhole, Ham Bone slung over his shoulder. Vermin started the engines while everyone else piled up front. With everyone secure, they rode down the long sandy hill they were perched on and sped through the forests of glass and concrete obelisks.
“Beau,” Appetite shouted over crunching debris and thick sand. “Put somethin’ good on the radio and pass me somethin’ to snack on. ’Member that we’re here to have fun.”
From the lower hatch, someone tossed up a few protein bars, vitamin-infused drinks, and a packet energy tablets. Altogether, this “snack” of rations was enough to feed two men well for two weeks. He guzzled everything down like a snake devouring a mouse, washing it all down in one unending gulp of what tasted only of water and fake orange flavor. A maddening amount of raw energy flooded him. The red fur sprouted on his chest, down his arms in thick patches. The slow, rational thoughts sped up in his head. He felt everything more in this intoxicating high of energy and power. The wind against his skin, the sand coming up his nose and down his throat, the sounds of gunshots ringing his ear, everything felt stronger. He enjoyed it.
“Where’s my jams at?” Appetite shouted, hammering the top of the tank. He knew that he was getting a bit wild; it was okay. They needed a little wild.
“Hold ya horses, I’m gettin’ it.”
Then came the music - a good song, too, from the Old World. Appetite howled his excitement, knowing all too well that he sounded a fool or a madman. Were they all mad? He couldn’t tell at this point. Only the itch of the battle remained. He let out another roar as they come upon the battle, tank rolling down the hill at full speed. Wild mutants and Coats alike turned, attention ripped away from their fight and onto the metal beast charging at them. Some moved too slow. Satisfying crunches and splatters hit the side in a spray of meat and bone. The rancid smell would’ve sickened him any other time; in this berserk-like haze, it only caused his stomach to grumble.
Appetite leveled Ham Bone on his shoulder. “Gonna make a hole, give Pops some time.”
“We gotcha back!”
Appetite leapt out of the manhole of the tank. He sailed through the air and landed on a man’s shoulder blades, crushing bone underfoot with his weight. Somethin’ satisfying ’bout that. The other men gawked for a second, confused; not many men could process watching their friend get crushed by a man the size of an industrial fridge. But the surprise was gonna wear out eventually. Better milk that for all it was worth.
He let his body act without thought. Men fell to Ham Bone’s blasts one by one. Every buck from the shotgun, every satisfying flash from the barrel sent chills down his back. Shells punched through men, mutants, and ’roids alike. He was an axeman in a forest of saplings, the wolf in pasture of grazing sheep. Only a few minutes passed and the bodies stacked around him. He reloaded his gun. The thirst, the hunger, didn’t subside. He wanted more.
He searched the battlefield. The chaos spread, thicker than fog. The Coats’ structured formation had fallen apart among the chaos, relying now on their training. The wild mutants whooped and hollered, attacking anything in sight including their own little clans within.
Then there was the Caldwells, the middle ground. Not quite feral, not quite structured. Madness following a logic that only they understood. They weren’t here to wipe the Coats out, but if it happened it happened - spilled milk and all that.
Appetite charged through the battlefield, shouldering through men, blasting left and right, pushing up the main street. BAM. BAM. Another few slimy green-skinned mutants fell in a crumpled mess at his feet.
One had the sense enough to view him as a danger now. It sprinted at him, leaping through the air onto his back, digging at his flesh for the taste of his spine.
There wasn’t any pain. Sticky blood clung to the scraps of his shirt, open wounds felt raw against the air; still
no pain. The berserk in him exploded. With all the power in his arm, he ripped the mutant from his back and slammed it into the ground by its head. The asphalt of the already broken road exploded against the creature’s crushed skull. Appetite pulled his blood slicked fingers from the ruined bone and gristle.
What bothered him most wasn’t his raw strength or the twitching remains of the mutant. No; what bothered him most was that he wanted to taste it all. He pushed down the urge.
More Coats and ferals swarmed every inch of his sight as he gathered his breath. Those who didn’t notice him fought each other tooth and nail. Lasers and bullets tore through one side; claw, acid, teeth on the other.
He needed to find him. That was his goal before this high wore off - somewhere in the madness was Captain Xan. He needed to be held up or whacked, either was fine; at least until they could get to the prize. Once they get what they want...we’re done. Simple as that. He had to keep going. He had to find him and hope that his pops could handle the Major. He searched again, heart pounding in his chest. And -
He squinted.
There.
Deep in the fray was a flag of blue, white, and red with a horse in the center. A sizable white carrier ship floated near the ground swarmed by the the feral mutants. An elite squadron of Bluecoats, helmed and covered from head to toe in blue armor, surrounded the ship. They fired into the crowd, blue and red lasers shooting from their impressive-looking rifles.
Captain Xan stood among his men, shouting orders and mowing down swarms of me with his gatling arm - a mutant killer in a sea of targets. Again, Appetite knew on some level that he was terrifying. A fully functional ’roid - more than likely with an AI harvested from a dead soldier - wasn’t anything to mess around with. He had to be careful. This high might protect him for a while, but if it ran out, he was done too.
He had no choice. Go at him or die.
“I see him,” Appetite belted through the crowd to his folks. “Back me up! We need to keep him away from the building.”
Appetite became a wrecking ball smashing through the crowds. He saw a few of his family holding their own; Tiger and Jo’s clean shooting, Vermin’s well-landed shots from his tank taking on the mechs from afar, Eleen and Loner’s drones tearing through the crowd. Madness, he thought, madness. No time to think.
He pivoted, avoiding laser fire. He was a large target, strong and durable - but that didn’t mean he had to take damage like an idiot. He swerved from cover to cover, alley to alley, closing the gap between the Captain and himself. Maybe I’m crazy too. It had to be a family thing.
Towards the middle of the cesspool of war, the soldier and the wild mutants grew more difficult. Only strongest among the men remained. The Blue Guard, the rarely seen elite among the Bluecoats, fought toe to toe with the twisted and towering abominations in the city square. Appetite moved in, slipping through the battle and saving his ammo, relying on his pure raw strength to keep him safe. One of the ten-foot beasts crashed into an already broken window of the building beside him; the creature moaned and died with hundreds of smoldering, blackened burns littering its body.
Appetite saw a little of everyone in that dying body; his dad, his daughter, everyone he had ever loved. His anger boiled over at the rim into a cold calculation. He needed an opening. Find a weak link. Exploit it. Take everything. It was how they worked - don’t go for the healthy animal bearing its teeth. Go for the one already bloodied.
He found that wounded target in the crowd. One of the Blue Guard stepped a bit too forward and got caught out of position. The man - a grizzled vet from his appearance and stars on his jacket - leaned heavily on what looked like an injured or mechanically busted leg. The shaded visor of his helmet was cracked, revealing a little of his war-hardened eyes. He was holding off a mass of mutants on his own in every classic story, he would’ve been the hero.
Appetite gave that no further thought when he blindsided him with two clean shots back to back shots from Ham Bone.
The visor shattered, leaving ruined red mess in the bowl of the helmet. A grisly scene; but ham bones are meant for soups. He rushed over, reloading and then shooting a few surrounding stranglers before letting Ham Bone drop to its holster to pick up his prize - a Civilization Rifle, a 402-CV.
The 402-CV was a fully developed laser rifle with very little need to recharge, meant for the best of the best of the Civilization’s defenders. For it to be in some backwater bumpkin’s hands must’ve been mighty disrespectful - but neither respect nor disrespect mattered much on the battlefield. They couldn’t be used long outside of the Bluecoat’s themselves due to security measures. Didn’t matter. A few seconds was all he needed.
Appetite unloaded on the fools around him, blue lasers tearing into their ranks. A sick satisfaction rose in his chest as they croaked their surprise. Captain Xan, though a little late, reacted to save the rest of platoon, flinging a wide hexagonal hard-light shield up from his arm, its surface absorbing the blows. His expressive face and gritted teeth were betrayed by his cold, distant eyes.
“That doesn’t belong to you,”the Captain said from behind his shield. “Smart using the environment against us, but time’s running out.”
He was right. The Bluecoats were the one on the clock. They could run it down.
Captain Xan widened the shield, stepping forward. The glint of red in his pupils spread to the rest of his eyes, removing all human from them. “You all are mistakes. The only reason you’re alive goes down to one simple reason: you have something that we want.” The Captain’s voice lost all emotion now as well, leaving a hollow, reverberating robotic shell. “You have a key on your chain to a lock you didn’t know you had. That’s why your worthless family hasn’t been wiped off the map. And you’re the perfect person to bring that key out.”
Kindle.
It was the only way.
The Flame was connected to the planet, and so was the Terracore. He hadn’t made the connection before and felt all the dumber for it. Only through pure luck had they sent Kindle away to her grandfather’s.
Or was it? Were they all playing some sort of game? Piece after piece fell perfectly in his head, and with it an anger beyond anything he ever felt.
Anger drove him to dig deeper than he had ever before. They wanted Kindle for something. He didn’t know what, he didn’t care. The very thought of his baby girl in their hands brought out a new kinda crazy in him. No one messes with my kid.
Against better judgment, against all logic, he charged at them, dropping his new weapon to the ground.
Whether it was the rage, the high, or the madness so common in his family, he punched at the blue hard-light shield. Lightning sputtered in all directions, forking around him. He felt his skin fry with every thunderous punch. Raw and bloodied fists slammed into the shield, each louder the next. Pain shot up his knuckles until he didn’t feel the surface or the electricity anymore.
Crack. One crack on the shield. Crack. The shield splinters grew, like a pebble flung into a windshield. Crack. The shock on the men’s face on the other side of the shield told the story. Crack. Crack. Crack.
SMASH.
The whole thing came tumbling down in a cascade of light.
The forked lightning erupted into storm of discharge, striking dangerously close to Captain Xan and finding its home in a Coat’s chest. Appetite, at least subconsciously, knew that he was lucky as a mug; he wasted no time charging at the platoon in disarray.
The near-human android’s reaction time served him well when Appetite lurched at him. He fired a few lasers that slammed into Appetite’s chest. The pain registered for a brief moment and didn’t slow him down in the slightest - none of that meant anything to the rage, greed, and gluttony incarnate, the very thing Uncle Monty talked about in his sermons. He slammed his blackened fist into Captain Xan’s face, sending him flying into the concrete. Bad thing ’bout trying to kill a ’roid: the sight of oil ain’t quite the same as blood. Sh
ame, that.
“Go aid the Major,” Captain Xan said, picking himself off the ground. “I’ll handle this one.”
His men gawked for a second, and then took the orders like good little boys and girls. There were plenty of other soldiers to help the Captain, or so they thought; no need wasting more of his elites’ lives on this beast. Appetite chuckled low at their scurrying.
He only chuckled more when the Captain turned to him. Half of his sharp, angled face was a ruin of metal and wires. Torn fake flesh hung limp on nose and around his odd metallic red eyes. Captain Owen Xan grabbed another weapon from his side.
“You’re tough,” he huffed. Odd for a machine. “One of the zero types from Daedel. I expected the new blood to dilute your abilities in the second generation, but it seems it only made your DNA stronger. Don’t matter though. If guns don’t work...” He plucked two small cylinders from his side. “I’m growing tired of this. Major wanted you alive. I don’t have the patience for that anymore. Time to put you down.”
There were two twins flashes of blue. Appetite felt blood on his throat, on his chest, on his shoulder; the numbness was wearing off. Sluggishness clung to his every movement as he tried to dodge.
The Captain proved too fast. Appetite’s eyes couldn’t follow the dancing blue blades he felt cutting into him. He tried to fight, tried to scramble backwards - nothing.
Captain Xan swerved in with a clean cut towards the belly. Appetite went to knock it away, but to his dismay, Xan feinted with his left, stepped in, and sliced at the tendon on the back of his leg.
He collapsed to one knee. More pain, this time sharper and clearer than before. A small pang of fear followed. Appetite gritted his teeth, reaching for Ham Bone at his side. His fingers never made it to the trigger. Appetite looked down, seeing the bloody stumps of a once full hand. Looking down, he could still see the disconnected fingers twitching on the concrete. The pain hadn’t come yet...but it would.
Dusk Mountain Blues Page 20