Gunship - The Series

by John Davis

  “OK...I do.” she replied with shock.

  “Go.” he added, the blue-haired bombshell turning to relay the message to their friend.

  There are things in a man's life that he can never shake. Events that plague his dreams, night after night, for the remainder of his life – and this was one such moment.

  As Dalton readied himself for the forced run ahead, his eyes were witness to survivors, many of them women and children, heading inside to escape the coming horde. He knew they would not last inside of a handful of minutes, and though he wanted to help them escape, it simply wasn't possible.

  It was the first time in many years that Dalton James began to cry aloud. His tough image being overcome by his heartfelt sadness for those who would soon fall victim to the plague of man. The Priests.

  “Dalton,” Cambria yelled loudly, pausing her wording as she began to watch him, tears falling steady. “Dalton, we need to go. You said so yourself.”

  Skulls had joined her, the sniper also understanding the need for a quick escape. The settlement was beginning to flood with zombies and would soon be nothing but.

  “Dalton please.” Cambria said, grabbing his arm and captivating his thoughts for a single moment. Long enough to break him from sadness and throw him back into the military frame of mind.

  “Yea,” he admitted, quickly drying up his tears. “Haul ass, I'm right behind you.”

  The small group of three quickly slipped out through the side of Iron Grove which had not been slammed by zombies yet. Using the cover of a casting nightfall to mask their escape, though they would need to find cover only a few hundred yards from the deafening sound of painful murder.

  “Are you alright?” Cambria whispered.

  “Yea, I,” Dalton began to reply, all three survivors nestled snugly into the thick of brush near enough by to witness the genocide unfold. “I'm sorry you had to see me like that. I don't know what came over me.”

  “I do.” Cambria replied, easing her hand onto his, their fingers clasping together as she tried to comfort him.

  “It's one thing when my own ass is on the line, or even soldiers around me,” he admitted, trying to block the last remaining screams from his mind. “This is something different altogether. These people ain't equipped for this...they ain't soldiers.” he added, thinking of the women and children he'd witnessed only minutes before. Each of them butchered by such a vile species.

  “No,” Cambria replied. “They don't deserve a fate like this.”

  “We just have to make sure they did not die in vain. Avenge each of them by the smooth grain of a bullet.” Skulls added, his right eye pressed firm to the large scope which mounted onto his bolt-action rifle.

  “You can bet your ass on that,” Dalton responded, nodding his head with purpose. “Each one of these rank sumbitches are gonna pay.”

  For nearly an hour, Dalton, Cambria and Skulls had to remain patient. Hiding from plain sight as the walking dead scavenged over those freshly-slain. Eventually raising them from the dead and increasing their army's numbers.

  Dalton had heard rumors of it, but never seen the turning with his own eyes. The Priests were a small creature, hard shell around it as though it were a sea crab, though it also had eight stringy legs and a rather long tail.

  For the first time, the three survivors watched with horror – the way of the Priests.

  They slowly attached to the back of a skull of the dead, wrapping clingy legs around to the victim's mouth. Then, as the creature gripped the mouth of the dead, it drove the long tail into the upper spine of the lifeless body, snaking the tale down. Finally covering the entire length of the spine from its inner most spot.

  Then, seconds later, the fallen host began to stand. Becoming a soldier for their cause, completely under the control of the Priest which embedded into it.

  The perfect army. The Priests would lose soldiers in battle, but as they fell the small creature would simply detach and then assume control of another body. The entire process taking less than sixty-seconds, depending on how close the body of a fallen host was.

  From the perspective of a man who put in countless years of military experience, Dalton quickly understood why the populated worlds had fallen so swiftly. Why the colonials were getting their asses kicked. You could kill the Priests, but they would continue to come, using your own fallen soldiers against you.

  “I've never seen anything like it.” Cambria admitted, though she did so in a whisper as they watched.

  “No,” Dalton replied, pausing to swig deeply from his bottle of whiskey. “I've seen a lot of shit before, but I ain't never seen anything like that.”

  Ronica

  “He looks just like you.” Sarah admitted.

  A true statement – the small child looking just as Adam did at the age. The queen of vampires even began to, for a moment, imagine the infant with a duster to its back and a revolver on his hip. A smuggler in training.

  “Thank you,” Adam replied warmly. “Many nights, Avery has pushed me forward when I didn't think it was possible. My son has been a godsend when dealing with emotions.”

  “The loss of your lover?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes, among other things.” he admitted.

  “Other things?” the queen asked.

  “Guilt,” Adam said, his tone of voice changing to one of true sorrow. “My group first discovered the Priests. They came back to the Skyla System by way of our ship.”

  “The Benzans?” she asked.

  “Yes. Though we didn't realize it at the time.”

  “Does anyone else know this?”

  “No,” he replied. “And I would really appreciate if you kept it that way. I'm sure the blame of the lost lives would be thrown into my lap.”

  “Your secret is safe with me Adam.”

  “I've come to the point where I feel I should let them know. Let them throw the blame for all of this on me. I already harbor the guilt for it.” Adam responded.

  “Yes, but you did not mean to bring the Priests back? Correct?” Sarah asked.

  “Of course not,” he replied. “We set out in search of a Benzan colony. One that was logged into their history – its location secret to all but the highest-ranking.”

  “And you found them?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Yes we did. It explains the ships and the weapons. The robe even. As we pleaded for their help, finally getting them to agree, we began stocking resources for the return trip.”

  “Their help in what?” she asked.

  “Destroying the Hunters.”

  “You meant to destroy us?” Sarah asked, taken back a bit by the Benzan's confessions.

  “Well to be fair, I had no idea you were here. When I last saw you Sarah, you were the pinnacle of hope for the colonials,” he pleaded. “We were coming back to destroy a race that had taken so much from the Benzans. A race that has taken so much from you.” he added.

  “They've taken my father, this much is true,” Sarah countered. “But they've given me so much more.”

  “What? What could they possibly have given you that could replace the loss of your father?”

  “A true understanding of things around me. A true understanding of life.” she replied.

  “I'm not going to pretend to understand that. I'm just going to say that you seemed to have a good understanding of life before all of this. You had a big heart and a love for your people.” Adam responded, patting his small son on the back a bit.

  “I'm not the woman I once was Adam.” she replied.

  “Yea, I'm getting that,” he responded, looking to her with a great deal of emotion. “And I harbor the blame for that as well.”

  “This is not your doing Adam, and it's certainly not a bad thing.” the queen said with a smile.

  “Yes it is. It is directly my fault. Had I just forgiven you, we would have walked away together and been married. I know that to the very pit of my soul.” Adam replied.

  “I can still remember you flying aw
ay. I remember watching your ship hit full-burn through the glass window of my colonial shuttle.”

  “Sarah, I'm sorry.”

  “Don't be. Vladris was too strong and remains so. Had you stayed behind he would have killed you and I would still be here as I am now.” Sarah remarked.

  “Perhaps. I guess we'll see,” Adam replied. “Sarah, I will save you from all of this.”

  “Adam, it's alright. I'm content with my life now.”

  Cutting his eyes to her to reaffirm his statement, the Benzan smuggler told her once more.

  “Sarah, I WILL save you.”

  Aboard Colonial Star Triumph

  Commander Ortega remained standing, hands behind his back and clasped together while his eyes soaked in the view. The Drift planets seemed so peaceful from above. So relatively unscathed by the zombie plague, though only on the surface.

  As his ship orbited the heavens above, coasting through the stars with a manner of technological beauty, the commander knew that the calm of dusty brown and pale red below was anything but unscathed.

  He'd gotten reports for the past few months of zombies overrunning the planets. The local armies immediately falling to the mercy of such a threat while its citizens were no doubt in hiding and praying for a ship such as the colonial vessel Ortega stood aboard.

  He had never quite understood their desire for such a primitive lifestyle. Blatantly shunning readily-available technology at every opportunity.

  The Drifts had earned a reputation for being primitive, yet beautiful. Spaceships replaced with airships of glass and steel, crafted in a Victorian-style that had long been the signature of the planets below.

  A vacation spot, if nothing else, for the people of the system that wished to escape the harsh work schedules which seemed to drag most down. Busy flight schedules by cramped shuttles, flying them to the surface of mundane planets and even worse, to unexciting routine jobs behind desks.

  The Drift planets were of a different sort. They allowed only the essential technology, which meant two things. If you didn't work hard, you didn't eat. Their food came by way of farms across the lands of each planet, trading among themselves and priding themselves on being self-sufficient. The other, of course, is that it was the place to be rowdy. If you had it in you.

  Throughout the Skyla System, fighting was heavily frowned upon and usually punishable with jail time. The more advanced society became, the more restrictions governments seemed to place on 'free' people.

  The Drifts settled their arguments in the same manner. Fist to cuff. If a disagreement was had, fighting tended to ensue. Of course when the parties involved were done, they'd usually patch things up over a cold pitcher of beer.

  Their shunning of technology, however, had placed them at a huge disadvantage when it came to the zombie outbreak. They received no warning, nor could they radio for help. Not that they would have regardless.

  Commander Ortega knew the rules. He was forced under colonial code, even under such trying times, to make every attempt possible to contact their governments first.

  The Drifts fell under colonial rule, but did not adhere to the same rules. That had been agreed upon many years before Ortega came to power, and though he did not agree with their primitive way of thinking, the commander did respect it.

  “Ready and awaiting your orders sir.” a high-ranking soldier said, firmly standing in the doorway of command center aboard the Colonial Star Triumph.

  “You've attempted to hail the governments?” Commander Ortega asked.

  “Yes sir,” the soldier replied. “We've made several efforts to reach each of them. Our grid shows no airborne traffic and we cannot reach them through our com systems,” the soldier added. “However, we have picked up droves of heat signatures on the surface. All of them consistent with what we've seen across the Skyla System. The Priests are indeed here.”

  “Very well. Begin taking the fight to them, and advise our soldiers to fire only if they can confirm their targets. These people may live simple lives, but they are still people. Our people. Let's protect the innocent and exterminate the guilty.” Ortega said.

  “Yes sir, at once.” the soldier replied, turning to execute his direct orders.

  Commander Ortega glanced from a large window that looked across the stars once more. He had always been taught to think of the Drifts as a sanctuary, though he had never personally visited. Many times he'd found himself understanding what must drive people to live here, among the fringe planets of deep space. Family, love, a man's word and the benefit of hard work.

  Things the rest of the Skyla System had long forgotten.

  The commander had taken a personal interest in protecting the most innocent civilians he could think of, and though the colonials were losing a war on all fronts, he'd be damned if he would allow such a peaceful people to fall victim to the Priests.

  His thoughts were backed with the remaining might of their fleet, evidenced by dozens of smaller ships, each full of soldiers who were armed to the teeth, descending to the planets below.

  They would confirm their targets and then begin to string napalm in the areas affected. A second wave would provide colonial boots to the ground in an attempt to break the spine of such a large zombie force and finally, his diminishing fleet would deliver supplies to those who were in need. Providing hope to those who wished to remain with their homes, while offering to bring any survivors aboard his ship for protection.

  Assuming they had arrived in time and his men were swift when taking the fight to the undead army.

  Godspeed.

  Ronica

  “They must think us fools!” one of the largest Husk stated firmly.

  “Relax Rylak. We must bide our time and strike when it is meant to be.” Troy responded.

  “If we take out the head of the snake, the rest of it will fall with swiftness.” Rylak replied.

  “I agree,” Troy stated. “But I have seen firsthand the abilities of the head of the snake. Vladris is not to be taken lightly. We must strike when it is least-expected. That is our only chance of winning.”

  “Then we will bide our time.” Rylak agreed, each of the men bowing their heads slightly. A common sight among the might Orc-like Husk.

  As Rylak and several of the muscle-heavy warriors walked away, each of them keeping their plans of deceit closely guarded, Troy began to think of a lot of times gone by.

  A man who was like a father to him, not to mention the greatest warrior he'd ever known. Roman Raines. Cut down by Vladris following one of the most epic battles recorded.

  Troy began to wonder if Roman would approve of his plan. If Roman would encourage the act of revenge or warn Troy off for his own safety. The young man had been trained in the arts of Husk war, and had excelled during each and every turn.

  He had become one of the best warriors among his people, even if he was human at the core. What he lacked genetically, Troy made up for with speed and wit, becoming one of the most respected warriors in Husk armor.

  Still, he knew of Vladris in battle. For many years the mighty Husk had tried to end the champion vampire. By all accounts, Vladris was responsible for hundreds of slain Husk, which provided extra incentive for the young man. Not that he needed an extra push.

  Watching a man who had been like a father to him, a man that had first trained him with a combat blade – watching him fall in battle was push enough.

  Troy knew that their time for battle was coming. He planned to strike the lion by surprise and then earn his right among Husk royalty by ending the reign of terror that was Vladris.

  -

  As Vladris approached Adam and his escort which was comprised of colonial soldiers and Benzan warriors, the man stood to his feet.

  A former ship's captain, colonial lieutenant and admitted smuggler, Adam had walked many paths in life. Though he understood the most important path was the one which lay beneath Vladris' feet as the vampiric warrior approached.

  “Our elders place great faith in
you Adam Michaels. They will allow your fleet to land on Ronica and use our far side as a staging ground under the terms that you proposed,” the vampire said, his words firm. “However.”

  “I'm listening.” Adam replied.

  “Should I even suspect this is a ploy; a trap to overtake our fine planet,” Vladris remarked, leaning in closely. “I won't hesitate to have my finest run you and your precious survivors down like fleeing cattle.”

  “That's not going to happen.” Adam said clearly, though it remained unclear as to which part of Vladris' statement he was referring.

  The champion vampire started at him for several moments, both of them unrelenting in eye contact; making it feel as though it were an eternity.

  “Should I find out you're here for Sarah,” the vampire warned. “You'll suffer a far-worse fate than death.”

  “I'm just here to help my people.” Adam replied.

  “We'll see.” Vladris warned, turning to begin a long journey back into the castle.

  “A bit of a prick, yes?” one of the colonial soldiers asked.

  “Yea,” Adam replied. “I would be too if this were my home.” he added.

  “Vladris!” Adam yelled aloud, jogging slowly as he caught back up to the seasoned warrior. “Thank you, truly.”

  As he finished his words, Adam extended his hand to the warrior of vampires, a gesture that was unheard of.

  “Are you sure you want to shake the hand of the warrior who cut your friend Roman Raines to his grave?” Vladris taunted.

  It was stunning news to Adam Michaels, a confession that mustered up a lot of hatred for Vladris as the smuggler considered drawing his revolver.

  “Yes,” he finally admitted, hand still extended. “The fighting has to stop somewhere for trust to begin.”

  “Interesting,” Vladris replied, studying Adam a bit. “Prove your integrity to me Adam Michaels.” the vampire added, shunning a handshake as he turned to head back into the castle, passing his queen on the way.

  “My lady, you should be under guard at such times.” Vladris said gently with a bow.