Gunship - The Series

by John Davis

  “Yes sir, of course.” his adviser replied.

  Moments later, Ortega found himself inside the sanctity of his personal quarters. Deafening silence leading him into even deeper thought.

  He wondered of Adam Michaels' progress, though he also wondered if their exodus flight was the solution to the plague of man, or a prolonging of their own deaths. Knowing such large numbers could easily lead to a lack of fuel, starvation or struggle for power.

  Survivors? He thought, feeling pity for them as well. Survivors for what?

  Ronica

  As Adam walked slowly into the Hunters' castle, leather boots striking easily against the stone flooring, his eyes skimmed the immediate surroundings.

  Call it a smuggler's intuition.

  A large room, vaulted ceiling of multicolored glass, though most of it seemed to refract shades of dark red; surrounded by dozens of vampires.

  Each of them wore attire of seemingly the utmost of importance. Most draped in a hooded coat of black, while a handful stood in the decorated armor of a warrior. Among them, Vladris.

  He was the Hunters' champion; having survived hundreds of years while slaying hero after hero, as well as anyone else who opposed the rule of vampires.

  A great-sword laced to his back with leather straps, its trunk as wide as a small tree, though its bite was far more deadly. A sword in which only the mightiest could wield; Vladris did so with a single hand, at times swinging it as though it were the weight of a feather. A testament to his brute strength.

  “Speak clearly and choose your words wisely, as our elders have granted you the gift of an audience; one they do not normally grant.” Vladris said with authority.

  He was right. It was rare for a human to enter the chamber of elders, and unheard of while wearing the Benzan uniform. The mark of a clan of warriors which had waged slaughter against the vampires for centuries, and the vampires likewise slaughtered the Benzans.

  Nevertheless, Adam Michaels was a Benzan, and having found the lost tribe of Benzans had given him something he was never in short supply of. Confidence.

  Most importantly, he understood his job. He was there by the personal request of Commander Ortega. Ronica was the ideal planet to stage their exodus fleet, in fact, it was the only planet. Anything else was too close to the plague of man and would have been too quickly overrun.

  As Adam entered the large chamber, reminding him of a very Gothic-styled judge's chamber, five vampires sat atop their own thrones, each one made of stone and trimmed in the sparkle of jewels.

  He could tell from the look of them that each was hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years old, though he dared not question it.

  Bowing low to the floor, a sight never before seen by someone bearing the mark of a Benzan, Adam stood slowly, preparing himself for such important negotiations.

  “I thank you all for the opportunity to speak,” Adam said, pausing for a moment. “And I have come before you to ask for help. To build a bridge between our people.”

  “Build a bridge? Your PEOPLE burned that bridge when they began genocide against our race!” Vladris yelled in response.

  “You said I had been given the gift of an audience with elders, did you not?” Adam asked with confidence. “Then let me speak.”

  Though no reply followed, Vladris cut eyes onto the Benzan smuggler that would have intimidated most among mortals.

  “The Benzan family in which I am allied; we have no quarrel with you. With any of you. Just as you do, these Benzans have lived on their own in peace.” Adam said.

  “Why is it that you would come here during one of our most ceremonious days, as an intruder, and expect help?” one of the elders asked.

  “I had no idea I was arriving during such a time,” Adam replied, turning to return a stare of dare onto Vladris. “For that I apologize,” he added. “But I do so out of desperation. We face a new menace now. One that is much greater than any before this day.”

  “Let them wipe you out! What business is it of ours?” Vladris demanded to know.

  “Vladris – let him speak!” one of the elders warned.

  The Hunters' champion warrior simply bowed with obedience.

  “The human race is only the beginning. Our new threat, the Priests, are after the entire system. Everything we know, everything we love. Including the precious rock we currently stand on; no matter how hidden you believe it to be.” Adam said.

  “We do not believe it hidden, because we do not hide. We do not cower from an enemy. Any enemy.” one of the elders proudly stated.

  “And I commend you for that. It is admirable. And though your hatred for the Benzans runs deep, we can all agree that they are a formidable opponent,” Adam replied, watching the reactions of those in the room. One that spoke of the Benzans being a formidable adversary indeed. “I saw with my own eyes, hundreds of our best warriors fall within an hour to the Priests,” Adam stated, doing his best to chide his tears. “Among them my wife.”

  It was an admission that struck home with Vladris, having lost the love of his life as well, though the wars were of a different manner. Loss of love feels one in the same.

  “Now I'm asking you,” Adam said, taking a moment to clear the emotional-cobwebs from his speech. “I'm begging you,” he added, kneeling to the elders; something that had never been heard of prior to Adam's gesture, at least by a Benzan. “You have long been the mightiest warriors of the Skyla System; now I'm asking that you defend those who cannot defend themselves.”

  “I must admit Benzan, your gesture and statement seem true enough. How are we to know that you indeed speak the truth?” one of the elders asked, this time an elder of military background.

  “He speaks the truth,” Sarah Blaine replied, walking into the chamber, her mere presence instilling faith into everyone who lay witness. “I have known this man for a long time,” she added, her voice turning to a softer tone. “Even loved him. He speaks from the heart. I can personally validate that.”

  It was a statement that struck Vladris by surprise – though it made sense. He had picked up on Adam and Sarah's uneasiness around him.

  “Very well. Speak to us of your plans Benzan.” one of the elders insisted.

  “Have you all gone mad? Can you not see that this is a colonial trap?” Vladris yelled.

  “Silence champion!” Sarah demanded, showing her status as queen for all to see. “Your caution as a warrior is welcome but your insubordination to your elders is not!”

  “Apologies my queen.” Vladris replied, kneeling a bit though he did so reluctantly.

  “The colonials plan an exodus voyage into the stars. This star system is lost,” Adam said, thinking of a war they had no chance of winning. “Of the few remaining planets that are uninfected, Ronica is the only one large enough to use as a staging ground for our journey. We will need time to prep such massive ships and pull resources together.”

  “You are running away?” one of the elders asked, the entire chamber taken by surprise.

  “We are beaten. Though it may be honorable to fight to the death, many of those who survive are simply women and children. There is no honor in that.” Adam replied.

  “Has it really come to this Adam?” Sarah asked, a concern for those in the Skyla System deeply embedded into her.

  “Yes, it has,” Adam replied. “We are overrun by a species that acts as though it is a virus. One for which we do not have the cure.”

  “And tell me Benzan. What would be the benefit of an alliance between us? What would my people have to gain?” an elder asked, impatiently waiting for an answer.

  As he thought the coming moments through carefully, Adam reached around his neck slowly, removing his Benzan amulet and throwing it to the floor.

  “The benefit of becoming a single people – rather than nations divided by race.” the Benzan replied.

  A gesture that sent even the eldest of vampires into deep thought for a moment.

  “Please, I am asking you,” Adam pleaded. �
��I'm asking you to view me as a person in need, not a Benzan. Not anymore. We are all simply people who have been overwhelmed with grief and loss for loved ones,” he added. “It is my understanding that you protect the humans of Ronica because they could not protect themselves from war.”

  “We protect the humans on this planet because they fought us with courage. Our champion was once theirs. His courage earned their freedom.” one of the elders stated.

  “Our soldiers have died by the thousands, each of them with courage. Though I'm no champion, I am willing to risk my life against your own champion, if need be. My own race at stake.” Adam replied.

  “It would be a foolish move human. For your own sake.” Vladris commented with a grin.

  “I know,” Adam admitted, turning to the large vampire. “But I'm willing to sacrifice my own life to save those who cannot fight. Women...children. Are you? Are your warriors?” Adam asked.

  “Silence,” one of the elders demanded. “There is no need for our champion to prove himself. Vladris has done so before, countless times. Though we do respect your courage. Tell us of your intentions?”

  “Our fleet will be comprised of as many ships as possible, but every world in our system will be represented by a capital ship. That ship will receive a vote in whatever our future holds, and if you extend help to us, I can promise your people a vote to call your own.”

  “Permission to speak?” Vladris asked, though he did so with great displeasure.

  “Granted champion.” and elder replied.

  “We have seen threats like this before. When they arrive, we will cut them down, just as we always have.” Vladris said.

  “I guarantee you – you've seen no threats like this before.” Adam stated.

  “Speak to us of this threat.” an elder insisted.

  “The ability to infect a body, living or dead, by attaching to the spinal cord. Once they have infected, they can use the body just as the warrior was always of their race, bringing with it the battle-prowess of the warrior.” Adam stated.

  “In other words...” one of the elders began.

  “In other words, every time a vampire falls, he will join the fight against you. Your own abilities in battle will be your undoing.” Adam quickly replied.

  “Can the enemy be killed?” Vladris asked.

  “Yes,” Adam replied. “But we've found that the only sure way is by burning the small creature. Or by finding enough luck to strike it in half with bullet or blade.”

  “Then the trunk of my blade will feast indeed.” the Hunters' champion said with a smile.

  “Any final words before we begin our own deliberations Benzan?” an elder asked.

  “Yes,” Adam replied. “I would ask that you not consider the history of our two races, but the future. For every warrior here that is willing to die with the honor of battle, there must be a group of people that love him. A family worth saving. I ask that you consider preserving the proud history of your race by becoming part of a larger society. One that is prepared to accept you with open arms. Thank you.” Adam added, bowing a final time as he began to exit the chamber slowly.

  “Benzan,” one of the elders announced. “Your amulet.”

  “I've no further need for it,” Adam replied, though his back remained turned. “I'm just a survivor now.”

  As his body began to hit the light of day, which draped down from the peaceful Ronican skies above, a group of nearly twenty soldiers awaited him.

  “Did it go well?” a colonial soldier asked.

  “I don't know,” Adam replied. “I don't know.”

  Drift Planet – Sandila

  “What do you make of it?” Cambria asked, easing herself down beside Dalton as his concentrated stare into the distant continued.

  “I think if I would have bluffed a bit more I'd have won every hand.” he replied, using the quick wit of a smuggler.

  “I mean the lottery you meathead!” she said with a grin, slapping him across the arm playfully.

  “Honestly, hell, I don't know what to think,” Dalton said as he took a pause for the cause; the swig of whiskey burning its way to his stomach. “Guess they are gonna do whatever they want to anyway. It's the political way. No sense in getting torn up over something you have no control over. I've never trusted the jack-jawed sumbitches and ain't about to start now.”

  “Dalton, I don't want you to hate me. I don't want that kind of awkwardness between us.” Cambria said, her words falling as soft as drizzle.

  “Hate you?” he asked. “We live in a world where the dead stalk the living and the living still can't be honest about their feelings. That's what I hate. Not you.”

  “I know there's something there. Something between us. I just don't know what, I guess I need time. That's all.” she replied, her statement very candid and honest. “There, I said it. Aren't you proud?” she added with a soft smile.

  “Oh. Good. I thought you were about to tell me I wasn't going to get paid or something.” he remarked as they both began to laugh without hesitation.

  “Well about that, it may be a little late. The whole zombie thing and all.” Cambria added, causing them to laugh a bit louder.

  “Darling, I hadn't been paid in so damn long that it doesn't even concern me anymore. I figure if I'm alive, got a pillow to lay my head on at night, a bottle of hootch in my hand and people around me that I care about,” he said, pausing on that statement to glance to Cambria with strong intent. “I got everything I need.”

  A candid statement as well. One that led to Cambria leaning to the smuggler for a kiss.

  She had thought he'd be completely happy with it, their lips finally having a chance to meet on good terms. However, as she leaned in, feeling a bit awkward, Cambria quickly pulled away and wondered what his hangup was.

  “Dalton, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have.” Cambria admitted as the smuggler sat there, eyes focused on a small window that was caked with the residue of cigar smoke aplenty.

  “Dalton? Are you OK?”

  “Zombies! Get outside, quick, otherwise they'll swarm us and trap us in this fucking rat shack!” he yelled, quickly turning to usher his love interest to the safest possible spot.

  Robbing me of my kiss – 'ya undead fucks!

  Gunshots began to snap out, dozens of survivors firing into a small group that sprinted toward their location.

  They had banded together with others, nearly fifty total, and taken up residence in a very small village on the remote planet. It had been long-abandoned, which served the group just fine.

  Each of them knew that eventually their hideaway would be found by the horde they feared, but each had secretly hoped that somehow, by some grand miracle, they would be left alone once and for all.

  “Dalton, what are you doing?” Cambria yelled, slowing her run to watch the smuggler do a complete turnaround as he began heading into the direction of the vacated bar.

  “Son of a bitches done took everything else from me,” he responded with a yell of his own. “I'll be damned if they are getting my whiskey too!” he added, snatching up a half-empty bottle of rock whiskey before turning to sprint from the door once more.

  Are you kidding me! She thought, ready to shoot him herself if he didn't realize the urgency of zombies approaching.

  “He's got balls.” one of the taunting bar patrons yelled, each of them slowing their sprint of desperation long enough to watch the slightly-tipsy smuggler risk his own neck for a bottle of bargain bin man-drink.

  “Bunch of nasty bastards!” he yelled, sending two rounds from his magnum-style pistol before turning and beginning the quickest sprint of his life.

  The survivors had dug into the small group of dwellings which was built within a thick nestle of countryside, though they knew that eventually it would come to this. Still, it had been their home for weeks. Each of them growing to appreciate it for what it was. Quiet.

  Iron Grove – at least the name of it prior to the plague of man. Most of its citizens had long aband
oned the sad excuse for a village, heading out on any available transport they could.

  Some stayed. Choosing instead to defend their homes to the death, which looked to be beating down their door like an unwelcome salesman. One that peddled agonizing mortality.

  What they didn't expect, however, was literally hundreds of Priest-controlled zombies that began filling the nearby hillside, as if it were certified death pouring into a tub of survivors.

  Oh shit. Dalton thought, his mouth hanging down a bit as even he couldn't fathom an escape from such an ill-fate.

  As quickly as his alcoholic buzz seemed to fade, Dalton realized that the survivors were backed into a corner. A bad thing considering their opponents. He understood the vile tendencies of a zombie, priest, or as he called them, nasty fucks.

  Dalton understood the survivors were outnumbered ten to one, and had no strategic advantage. His military wisdom finally coming into play.

  They had weapons, sure, but they were about to be swarmed and had the low ground. A snowball's chance in hell. Or, even worse, a rock whiskey bottle's chance in a Glimmerian bar. Zero.

  “Keep running,” Dalton yelled to Cambria. “Past our outpost. Get our boy and tell him to elbow to asshole up into the hillside as fast as he can!”

  “But we would be safer indoors? Nightfall is coming. We don't even have supplies ready?” she replied.

  “Cambria,” he shouted, grabbing the woman firmly by both of her arms as gunshots rang throughout the encampment. “These people are already dead. In a couple of minutes, that horde will be here. A couple of minutes later, everything in this settlement will be dead. Just ain't no way these sad-ass wooden walls are going to hold them back. Get Skulls and head to that brushy part of the hill. Trust me.”