Gunship - The Series

by John Davis

  “I trust Adam and his group. Perhaps you would be wise to do the same?”

  “My queen, I mean no disrespect,” Vladris replied, biting a tongue that was growing ever-sharper for Adam Michaels. “It is in my nature to question the intentions of a race which has hunted us down for centuries.”

  “I understand your reservations,” Sarah responded. “And you are a better champion for it. I have known Adam for a long time. I could easily see through his story if it were not indeed the truth.” she added.

  “Of course my queen.”

  “Gather some men and begin to clear enough area for what I understand to be a large grid of ships landing,” she ordered. “And Vladris,” she added, keening the champion's focus on their conversation a bit. “Keep our warriors posted within the staging area at all times. As a precaution.”

  “Of course my lady.” Vladris replied with a grin, knowing Sarah's human side trusted Adam thoroughly, though her vampiric side trusted no one.

  “May we speak Adam?” Sarah asked, approaching the embattled smuggler as he motioned his small group away.

  There was a time when they communicated with the simplicity of a glance, the emotion of a kiss. But those times had become politically incorrect, which saddened the man throughout his heart.

  “Of course.”

  He listened, though he wanted to talk. Scoop her up and take her away, just to talk for hours. His heart, his very soul, having missed her so badly that it physically hurt.

  “I wanted to say I'm sorry,” she admitted. “About Sasha I mean. I had no idea.”

  “I'm sorry, is that sarcasm?” he asked, truly questioning her display of emotions for a woman he'd left with.

  “No, no. I am truly sorry. Becoming a Hunter has heightened my senses greatly and I can see the sadness in your heart. For that I am very sorry.” Sarah responded.

  Breaking down just a bit, Adam refrained from tears, though it seemed nearly impossible.

  “Part of that is indeed for Sasha. Her loss has been unbearable. But much of the sadness you pick up on is for you. Seeing you here, knowing it's because of a choice I made.”

  “Don't be silly, I'm fine with being here. They have accepted me and their race is truly remarkable.” Sarah replied.

  “When I look at you, I don't see sadness. I just have the eyes of a smuggler.” he said with a grin, bringing a grin to her face as well.

  “You always had wit. I'll give you that much.” Sarah replied, her face warming with an extended grin.

  “I see a woman who I was ready to marry and call my wife. I see war after war, each of them having pulled apart what was once my sole reason for living. I see what should have been.”

  His confession hit like a blindside of truth, stirring up many emotions that Sarah had dealt with as a human.

  “Now if that complicates matters, I'm sorry. I thought the loss of Sasha was unbearable, and at times it seems that way. But looking at you and not admitting my continuing feelings for you, that's unbearable. I'd rather be cut down by Vladris' blade than pretend I don't still care for you.” he added.

  Sarah was shocked by his statement, turning to retreat from such truth into her castle, stopping long enough to ask one final question.

  “Do you mind if I ask how Sasha died?”

  It was a very blunt question, though such an attitude was not uncommon among the Hunters.

  “She died protecting our son,” Adam replied, choking back tears. “The Priests took our ship and there was a single lifeboat left. Two man vessel,” he added. “I insisted on staying behind to provide them both time to escape, but Sasha pleaded with me, said I would be Avery's best chance of survival. That I would be able to protect him in the long run,” Adam said, a single tear beginning to trickle from his eye. “Sarah, I have to protect my son.”

  To avoid tears on her own end, Sarah nodded her understanding before turning to enter the castle. Adam's confession of a child and his helplessness in defending the young boy leading her to a single conclusion.

  Adam's son would be protected, even if it meant the death of every soul within the Hunter race.

  Drift Planet – Sandilia

  “I don't understand why we don't stay put now that they're gone. We have walls around us and a roof over our heads?” Cambria asked.

  “Best I can tell, these things are like stray dogs. They seem to move all over the place with no real direction, but I've learned enough about the son of a bitches to know that they do move with direction. They jump from place to place, each one a familiar spot,” Dalton replied. “I just think it's best if we scavenge what we can from the village and then hike our asses back up a bit. Find some well-hidden high ground.”

  “I don't know if I can,” Cambria admitted. “Not after getting to know these people.”

  “I understand,” Dalton replied. “You stay put here and cover our asses. Besides, there's a good chance the fuckers dropped ailing bodies for fresh ones.”

  Cambria nodded, letting Dalton know she understood. Though she appeared shaken.

  “We'll be done in fifteen, just keep your eyes open,” Dalton said, comforting the woman with a meaningful hold of her upper-arm. “Come on worker bee, we got shit to do.” he added, turning to Skulls with a smile.

  “What if I don't want to be worker bee? What if I want to be something else?” the sniper replied with sarcasm.

  “Carry your ass.” Dalton replied, cutting through the chase as the two men walked slowly from the cover of brush. Entering a freshly-fallen camp under the cover of darkness.

  “Looking for anything we might need for survival. Guns and grub, obviously, but anything that can make it more comfortable too. Blankets...” Dalton whispered, the two men having made it back to the deathly-quiet camp.

  “Whiskey?” Skulls asked with a sarcastic eye roll.

  “Well if the shoe fits.”

  “I figured as much.” the sniper replied.

  “Hey, don't knock my way of getting through things,” Dalton scolded, though he continued to whisper in doing so. “We all deal with shit in different ways, and I've been through enough for the both of us.”

  “It's cool, I get it.” Skulls admitted.

  “How about you then? How do you deal with shit like this?” Dalton asked.

  “Me? I just block it out. It plays out in front of my eyes, but I don't store it to memory.” Skulls replied, rolling the body of a grown man over in search of weapons, instead finding a slain toddler in which the grown man had tried to protect from the horde of undead.”

  “Yea. Good luck blocking that shit out.” Dalton said.

  Aboard Colonial Star Triumph

  “Sir,” Doctor Arness said as he slowly entered the private quarters of Commander Ortega. “Preliminary reports show mostly wasteland down below. We've found a few pockets of survivors, but mostly just rolling hordes of Priests.”

  “Keep the search efforts going.” Ortega replied.

  “Sir, if I may,” Arness replied. “These search choppers are using fuel that will eventually need. The tradeoff for only a handful of lives may not be worth it in the end. It may be in our own best interest to suspend the searches and focus on supplying our exodus fleet.”

  “I'm not in the business of doing what's in my own person interest. I'm in the business of doing what's best for my people. We don't know how many survivors are down there, but we know they are down there and in need. I won't leave them behind. You have my answer doctor. Continue the searches.” Ortega said.

  “As you wish sir.” Doctor Arness replied with a nod.

  Walking from the room, the doctor slowly closed the thick door of the commander's quarters.

  “Well?” a second adviser asked as they both walked from the commander's quarters and into the bustling interior of the large colonial ship.

  “Our commander has lost his way,” Arness said without hesitation. “He puts the survival of our fleet in great danger by continuing this pointless search for survivors.”
<
br />   “Perhaps now is our time to strike?” the adviser asked. “I have the support of several, many within the commander's own military ranks.”

  “No,” Arness replied. “At least not yet. Our move to power hinges on timing and execution,” he added. “If we jump too soon, Ortega will look as though he is a victim, and will have the sympathy of the fleet. However, if we wait for opportunity, eventually one will present itself. At the first overstep of his power, we can strike and look as though we are heroes in removing him from power.”

  “I understand,” the adviser replied with a smile. “It is a solid plan indeed.”

  “It hinges on your ability to gain support for our cause,” Arness said, staring onto the slim man of fine clothing. “We must have a good portion of military with us, otherwise those who back our great commander will stall our efforts quickly.”

  “Understood,” the adviser replied. “I'll get right on that.”

  “Cautiously,” Arness warned, pausing his conspiracy partner's walk. “Be weary of including someone who may not share our vision of the fleet.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Drift Planet – Sandila

  “Best be getting some sleep.” Dalton remarked, turning to welcome Cambria, who eased into a sitting position beside him; both of them sponging in the serenity of a cold – but clear night.

  “Hard for me to sleep, considering.” she replied.

  “Yea. I get that way with these stank-undead fucks roaming around here too.” he said with a grin.

  “Actually, I meant that,” she replied with a smile of her own. “Stank-undead fucks aside; it's a beautiful night. A bit chilled with a slight breeze. Quiet. Almost seems like a normal moment. At least what I can remember of normality.”

  “Yea I,” Dalton said with pause, eventually removing his brown duster and offering it to the welcoming hands of Cambria. “I can't get away from leaving those people behind. If there would have been any other way...”

  “I know,” the beautiful woman replied, snuggling into the oversized coat and feeling more secure than she had in a long time. “You didn't do anything wrong back there. If you hadn't of acted so quickly, Skulls and I wouldn't be here.”

  “I reckon.” Dalton said, turning for a moment to watch the sniper rest, a deep sleep to be envied.

  “I also have to admit,” Cambria said, her smile turning a bit more serious. “There's something to this brown coat. When I first met you, I was skeptical, but now I get it. You're a complex man Dalton James.”

  “Not by choice, I'll guarantee you that,” he replied with truth. “I've just been on the move so damn much I figure I'll bring the comforts of home with me. That usually means whiskey and a coat that doubles as a blanket.”

  “Sorry I've dragged you into all of this. Truly.” she admitted.

  “Ah, no need for that. I've been running with the undead at my heels for a long time now. Got nothing to do with you pretty lady.” he responded.

  “Also sorry for not seizing the moment. With you, I mean. I have this stupid way of not letting anyone get close to me. Even those I love.” Cambria confessed. Her eyes seeming to gaze onto him with a sky-blue truth.

  As Dalton began to lean in for a kiss, one that both had longed for; the smuggler froze. Staring into her eyes, though seemingly distracted.

  “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...” Cambria mumbled with regret.

  “Shh.” Dalton replied, holding the rough feel of his finger to her soft lips.

  Though it seemed an awkward situation, Dalton remained silent, his finger pressed to her lip. Partly because of his attention focused elsewhere, and partly because of her lip feeling so tender. So desirable.

  At that moment, loud blasts streaked across the sky. Each of them trailing from colonial ships traveling at high speeds.

  “Well I'll be a son of a bitch!” Dalton yelled, understanding their chances of survival had just increased drastically.

  “Does this mean we're safe?” Cambria asked, turning to Skulls who had snapped immediately from his dream world, battle-hardened grasp onto rifle.

  “Only if we figure out a way to flag 'em down.” Dalton replied, scrambling around and thinking the situation through.

  Finally, he began pouring what remained of his whiskey onto the ground. The dense soil soaking in both alcohol and curse words as Dalton felt bittersweet over the sacrifice. Striking his favorite cigar lighter, he then lit the alcohol and began grabbing any patch of desolate timber he could find.

  “I knew I did the right thing by bringing you in. I knew your experience would eventually save our lives!” Cambria said with a yell, vibrantly smiling as she thanked the Gods above.

  “Yea, well, you haven't paid me yet.” Dalton replied, his joking a sure sign of relief as the sounds of thrusters neared their makeshift bonfire, while others streaked across the night sky and slapped burning napalm to the ground.

  A moment later, Dalton was paid in full as her lips locked onto his; her statement one of truth. She was committed to the man who had earned her trust, and stolen her heart. Even if he reeked of cheap tobacco and tainted whiskey.

  Ronica

  It was a moment in which history would never forget. The colonials had begun staging their fleet on the surface of Ronica; large ships undergoing upgrades as they were stocked with supplies and munitions.

  However, the historic moment before them was much more. As the Husk began to land, topped off eventually with a glimmer-green shuttle that was carrying their leaders, Hunters awaited.

  For many years, thousands upon thousands, the Hunters and Husk had been at war. They had slain one another at every chance for as long as time could remember. The mighty Orc-like Husk clashing with the Hunters, a vampiric community which had remained shrouded in mystery.

  As the shuttle began to open, however, their mightiest warrior was quick to walk onto Ronican soil. A sign that caution had been thrown into the wind during such perilous times.

  Gore, the musclebound Husk, quickly approached the Hunters' welcoming party; which included several of vampiric society, among them Sarah and Vladris.

  Such an historic event turned heads, and rightfully so, as everyone seemed to pause and watch the exchange. Both curiosity and caution to blame.

  “My people appreciate your help. If I, or any of my kind can be of assistance, please let me know.” Gore said, extending his arm for a handshake.

  “What would our ancestors think if they saw their two finest shaking hands?” Vladris questioned, staring directly into the eyes of such a mighty Husk.

  “They would know that we are at the end of times. Yes, I truly believe they would want their finest to band together and write history against such an unbeatable foe.” Gore replied, his hand remaining extended.

  “Perhaps,” Vladris replied with authority. “And if you fight them with as much tenacity as you have fought us, together perhaps,” Vladris added. “We can prove them beatable.” the mighty vampire replied, finally offering his hand.

  It was merely a handshake, though both warriors knew it would be talked about for centuries to come. Perhaps longer, if anyone survived to speak of it.

  Though each warrior had fought for a different cause, they knew of the others ability in battle. Each becoming a legend to his own race while remaining a menace to the other. For them, the handshake symbolized a show of respect among warriors, nothing more.

  Though it was a sight that most remained locked onto, Sarah quickly pulled her eyes away from the warriors.

  Her attention fell to the shuttle as a familiar face exited, accompanied by one of the Hunter's own hellhounds.

  “Troy?” the queen said in disbelief, walking from her own group's protection in order to greet the boy who had turned into a young man, wrapped tightly in the leather of a Husk warrior.

  “Cookie!” the young man yelled, scolding the hell hound for baring its teeth as she approached.

  “Cookie?” she asked with a grin.

  “Could
n't come up with anything better at the time.” he replied, still possessing a child-like innocence.

  “I feel as though I owe you an apology.” Sarah admitted, sincerity in her voice.

  “You owe nothing. What is in the past, remains in the past. I just thank you for providing us safety as we try to save as many as we can.” Troy replied, the large sword of a Husk tied to his back with leather strapping.

  “Of course,” Sarah replied, looking to him with so many memories. “You've grown into a strong young man, and, from the looks of it, a mighty warrior. This makes me proud.”

  “The Husk have shown me the path of a warrior. They have accepted me as one of their own, and for that I am truly grateful,” Troy admitted. “Though I continue to wish the best for my old friends.”

  She answered his statement with a smile, though his mention of Adam sent her attention elsewhere; eyes scanning the background as they finally locked onto Adam Michaels.

  One of the system's most notorious smugglers, not to mention a ranking member of the Benzan Mafia – at least what remained of it. Yet there he stood. Off to himself a bit and holding a child, no more than a year old, in an attempt to calm his son.

  So many ships around, their massive cargo holds being filled, and colonials briefing others on the flight to come. Hulking vessels being welded for the trip to come. Firming their exterior for a trip that may indeed prove to be one way.

  Others tested thrusters, short bursts of flame firing from engines as pilots gauged their controls; watching as swordfish fighters were loaded into the landing bays.

  For all of the commotion, as though a small city had quickly formed by way of connected ships, there seemed to be a calmness in Adam Michaels. As if he held a son and thought nothing of the turmoil around him.

  “You still love him, don't you?” Troy asked.

  “Of course not, things are different now. Complicated.” Sarah responded. Taken off-guard a bit by the young man's direct question.

  “The world complicates things, but the heart doesn't,” Troy said, nodding his head a bit. “Just some advice from a Husk-raised human with a dog I can't get rid of.” he added with a smile.