Salvation (Rise Book 2)

by Nathan Hystad

  Sending out a weak, low-frequency pulse to assess its immediate surroundings, it turned the head part of the chassis towards the two humans, seeing basic information scroll beside their highlighted bodies.

  [MALE. ARMED. THREAT?]

  The internal process took only a fraction of a second, but the current protocols denied the assessment as a threat and SW-18 moved along to assess the other human holding a device.

  [MALE. ARMED. THREAT?]

  Again, the threat was denied, marking the outline of both human males in green to signify an agreed non-hostility. The device in the hand of the larger male flickered, scrolling text of symbols and numbers vertically down SW-18’s display, which assessed the type and speed of the link between itself and the device. The male tapped the device, and SW-18 responded by trotting towards the open door of the building.

  Something about how it was moving was… different. It stopped at the doorway, replaying the last few seconds of sound against a decibel meter before searching for older recordings to make a comparison. Much of the historical mission data was difficult to access, making it take a few seconds longer, but eventually, it recalled a similar environment and replayed that footage, although the footage had no geo-location metadata and no mission parameters to provide context.

  The recording was almost point-seven decibels louder, and even with a margin for error in environmental variations, the stealth ability of SW-18 had been increased. It tilted its head again, regarding the clawed appendages it walked on, and saw that rubber pads had been added. Deciding that the upgrade was an efficient one, it automatically alerted command structure to inform it of the percentage increase in stealth and recommend assessment for further upgrades but met another error code as communication to the network was temporarily unavailable.

  SW-18 logged the update for transmission when connection was possible and set off out of the door towards the urban area in search of humans it wasn’t permitted by protocol to kill.

  SW-18 adhered to the mission parameters and operated in stealth mode, which slowed its movement speed by over forty percent. That would reduce significantly should it encounter any sign of humans and other threats, which now included any and all drones, and it would adopt a stalking mode to further avoid detection.

  It searched systematically and adapted the examination pattern to the specific parameters by recognizing every access to a subterranean transport system through either signage or a characteristic of architecture in a sweeping metal entrance frame descending into the ground.

  SW-18 combed all of them, finding some collapsed and inaccessible from ground level, so moving on whenever the viability percentage of a human being able to utilize the entrance fell below fifty percent.

  The drone had no concept of time as it searched, as it fulfilled its mission, and didn’t fatigue or lose concentration through the boredom of task repetition.

  After four hours and eleven minutes, it located an open stairwell leading into a dark interior, which was only partially obstructed. Sticking to the right side of the steps, it assessed the narrow gap for any sign of trap as per its programming and included a thorough olfactory scan for any variation on the chemical compounds, abridged to so many lines of code, that any documented components of explosives emitted.

  That scan was scaled out to include predictable patterns of firearm cleaning products and residue from expended ammunition until SW-18 was satisfied for a percentage exceeding eighty-four percent. Trotting through the gap on rubber pads, it made almost no noise as it descended lower until the lack of ambient light forced it to switch to its active infrared vision matrix.

  The scene before it, a long platform with rows of pillars on both sides, would have seemed eerie and almost supernaturally daunting to a human, but SW-18 performed another low-frequency pulse and began another olfactory scan as it searched the platform methodically.

  Choosing the left-hand tunnel at the end of the platform, SW-18 dropped lightly onto the tracks and zig-zagged along the tunnel for almost a mile before a change in detected air pressure made it stop and reassess.

  The area ahead opened out into another version of the platform it had entered through, and this time, the olfactory sweep estimated percentage matches to recorded smell profiles.

  [SMOKE – 41%]

  [SEARING FLESH – 19%]

  SW-18’s processor added up the percentages and surmised a chance that there was a form of open heat on which a piece of organic material was burning.

  It pressed forwards until low-frequency sounds were checked against historical records, this time giving a much higher degree of probability that a human encounter was imminent.

  [MALE VOICE PATTERN. INDICATION OF ANNOYANCE. DISTANCE IN EXCESS OF ONE HUNDRED METERS]

  SW-18 entered stalking mode, reducing the noise profile of its chassis significantly as its slow progress took it close to the sources of new information.

  In the distance, lit up in the dark and green glow of the visual input, a red outline of a human appeared and flashed with an automated threat assessment. SW-18’s mission parameters rejected the option to treat as a threat, given that the only option available was to dismiss and not engage, and it crept forwards until three, four, five more outlines lit up.

  [CONFIRMED PRESENCE OF HUMAN IN SUBTERRANEAN TRANSPORT INFRASTRUCTURE], it reported. In response, a recall order flashed up in what approximated as SW-18’s mind, and it turned to trot back the way it had entered.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Soares said in a tone of voice that sounded almost admiring.

  “What?” Cole asked. “Has it found something?” Soares didn't answer, simply turned the tablet and smiled as Cole read the eight words, his lips moving lightly as his mind formed the sentence.

  “What do we do now?” he asked the older man. Soares shrugged before answering.

  “We go say hi, I guess.”

  Chapter 22

  Dex

  Dex banged on the door, using the flat of his palm. “I have to use the bathroom. Let me out of here!”

  It felt like forever before one of the guards arrived, unlatching the bolt loudly from the other side. “Settle down, Hunter. We hear you.”

  The door opened, and it took all Dex’s willpower not to throttle the little man.

  “So, can I use the bathroom or do my fifty captures mean nothing anymore?” Dex threw out his score of Roamers he’d caught over the years. It was an impressive number, and from what he gauged, among the best of all time. It used to make him proud, but now, he only felt empty at boasting of his own statistics.

  “Second door on the right. But be quick about it,” the man said.

  “What’s your name?” he asked as the man followed behind.

  “Terry,” he said, making the name sound like a question.

  “Thanks for coming, Terry. I was about to leak on the floor in there. We’re not animals, right?” Dex said it with a laugh, covering the hidden implications.

  “Make it quick,” Terry repeated.

  The bathroom was clean, the lights white and too bright. Dex did his business, washing after, and took an extra moment to rinse his face. The trip on the road had taken a toll on him, and while he hadn’t expected to be welcomed with open arms, he could never have anticipated such harsh treatment.

  He pressed through the door, about to make a quip to Terry when he spotted the huge man stalking toward him. It was Cleveland, his guild’s supervisor, and he looked angry.

  “Dexter, what the hell, man?” he asked, moving close.

  Cleveland was a wide man, and he ran a hand over his bald head waiting for a reply.

  “What?” Dex asked.

  “Why didn’t you come to me first?” he asked.

  “I couldn’t, I was caught in some shit.” Dex pulled his shirt up, exposing the bandage over his gunshot wound. “They ambushed us… the damned Vermin killed Kathy and Eric.” Eric had been the Hunter Dex had tracked using the Hovercar. It turned out it was really some guy named Crash wit
h the dead Hunter’s ID tags.

  “This is bad,” Cleveland said. “I’ll do what I can, but…”

  Dex’s blood ran cold. He’d never seen the big man so shaken up. “What is it?”

  “He’s here. With… one of them,” Cleveland said, and Dex saw the alien walking beside a man in a suit.

  Terry motioned Dex forward with his gun. “That way.”

  Dex grunted and followed his supervisor to another room, one at the far end of the warehouse. It had no windows; the door was metal and had a series of locks on it. A table centered the room with three chairs on the near side, and a single seat on the other. Dex knew which was meant for him.

  Cleveland whispered to him as he walked into the room. “Tell them everything. You might live to see tomorrow.”

  Dex nodded, a nervous sweat flushing over his body. He took the seat and watched as Cleveland stood near the door as the alien strode in, and from the look of its bland expression, he was unimpressed. Dex could instantly smell the Overseer, the scent overwhelming in the confines of the stale room. He did his best not to show his revulsion at his proximity to their Overseer. Another man walked in behind the alien, and Dex recognized who it was.

  The Colonel.

  He was legendary to the Occupation; many of the humans working for the Overseers idolized the man like he was some kind of rock star. There were countless rumors about where his scars came from, but the most prevalent was that he’d received it battling one of the aliens early on, hand to hand, for humanity’s survival. He’d won, killing the alien, but he’d been hideously scarred in the process. Many thought the Colonel was the sole reason the humans were even alive today. Dex thought it was bullshit.

  “Dexter Lambert,” the Colonel said, a smile crossing his face. The man wore a dark blue suit, a white shirt with a pink tie; all pressed perfectly to match his groomed appearance, only marred by the hideous scarring. His hair was thick and greying, and his left eye was a pale blue, a scar over his brow running over to his cheek. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” His words were spoken with a heavy lisp, an after-effect of the gunshot that had blown half his mouth away.

  “Likewise,” Dex said, trying to soften his expression. “Can I just say what a pleasure…”

  “Cut the shit,” the man spat. “Where have you been?”

  Dex was surprised at the change in direction, and Cleveland watched, shifting uneasily in his seat. Dex met the Colonel’s stare and spoke calmly. “I was chasing the Roamers, the ones from Detroit that had such a price on their heads. I have yet to determine why two missing humans caused such a stink, but maybe if we’d been more tactful about it, Kathy would be alive.” Dex laid it on a little thick, using some of his bottled up emotions about her death. Sure, it had been him who’d killed her, but he still felt sad about it. He couldn’t blame her for doing her job; she’d just gotten in the way of Dex and his conscience for the last time.

  “You let us worry about the importance of recovering Roamers and tell us the rest of your story.” The man remained standing and rested his palms on the tabletop, leaning forward. Dex nervously glanced at the alien, who was observing from the corner of the room, taking it all in with a cocky carelessness that made Dex want to strangle the creature.

  Dex told them about tracking the Roamers to a church along the highway, explaining how he’d tracked them using the warehouse videos. They asked him why he didn’t request assistance, and he claimed he contacted Eric and Kathy to meet him in Boise. He told them about the tablet, and instead of it showing Cripple Creek like it had, he said it was Boise.

  “Why don’t the IDs show that you went to Boise? We lost signals near Colorado,” Cleveland asked, making Dex wonder if the big man really was on his side. The answer was clear. Everyone was really only looking out for themselves.

  “I have no idea. We were there,” Dex said.

  “Check the tablet,” the Colonel told Cleveland. The big man pulled one from his inside jacket pocket and keyed in the IDs for the two Hunters. Dex kept his face devoid of any trace of fear and hoped Tom’s people had moved the tags to their old safehouse in Boise like they’d promised. It was the linchpin on which his lie dangled.

  Cleveland appeared to relax and flashed the screen toward his boss. “They haven’t moved.”

  “Dead?” the Colonel asked.

  “Dead.” Dex bowed his head, staring at his lap.

  “What did you find in Boise?” the Colonel asked.

  “A camp. There were hundreds of the Vermin. We were swarmed, shot before we could defend ourselves. They left us for dead. I was the lucky one. They evacuated, likely expecting more Occupation forces, and I found some supplies left behind to patch myself up with. Then I started walking,” Dex told them.

  “And if we go to Boise, we’ll find evidence of this?” the Colonel asked.

  Dex nodded. Tom had explained how there was a base there, but they hadn’t been active for a few years. The same Reclaimers planting the tags were supposed to put them on unrecognizable corpses and bury them in rubble. They were also going to make the base appear as though it had been used more recently.

  The alien chattered some unrecognizable words, and Dex nearly jumped out of his seat. He rarely heard them speak, and it caught him off guard. More surprisingly, the Colonel said a phrase in the indistinguishable language, and the alien left without so much as a glance in Dex’s direction.

  “We’ll see if you’re telling the truth. Wait here,” the Colonel said, following the Overseer from the interrogation room.

  “What do you make of all this, Cleveland?” Dex asked when they were alone in the room. He saw the guard, Terry, stationed outside the door as it swung closed.

  “I think you’re lying,” Cleveland said softly. The man was staring at him, as if trying to locate the truth, and Dex locked gazes, not willing to crack.

  “What the hell are you talking about? I was shot. They were killed. I don’t remember much else,” he told his supervisor.

  “Something’s off. I’ve known you a long time,” Cleveland said.

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so.”

  “Are you going to tell Scarface how you feel?” Dex asked, using the nickname some of the Hunters gave their human leader.

  He shook his head slowly. “Nope. And not just because you always brought me gifts from your travels. I like you, Dex.” He leaned closer, glancing to the door before speaking again. “But things are happening. You were right before. I’ve seen more hoverships, more of their vessels flying through the skies. There have been more aliens walking around our people in the last couple weeks than ever before. They’re making a move. I think we’re screwed.”

  This was music to Dex’s ears. Not the fact that the aliens were activating, but that it was making the hardest of humans on their side concerned. It was about time people like Cleveland saw their mortality.

  “It’s not going to end well,” Dex said.

  “No, I suspect we’ve all been preparing for this for some time. Twenty-five years, more or less, right, Dex?”

  “Right. Twenty-five years is a long time to bear witness. To participate in the enslavement of our race.” Dex spoke so softly, he almost didn’t hear his own words.

  Cleveland nodded along. “If only there was another way.”

  Dex wanted to tell him the truth, but he felt a trap. “Well, there isn’t. We’re in this with them until they decide otherwise. Believe me, there’s nothing out there but death and desperation. I’d rather be on the side with food and fast rides, at least until they decide to kill me.”

  Cleveland’s expression changed, as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he looked abashed. “Exactly. We have it good, my friend, yes we do.” Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, and eventually, the door opened again.

  The Colonel ran a hand over his tie, smoothing it. “The base checks out. We bombed it in case there were any rats hiding in the nest. Good work, Dexter.
” He turned to Cleveland. “See that he’s given a few days recovery, then find him a case. Shouldn’t be difficult with the recent influx of runners.”

  The door remained propped open, and the man with the lisp walked away, his dress shoes clicking off the tiled floor as he walked toward the warehouse.

  “What’s he talking about?” Dex asked.

  “With the shifting of sites and the pressure the Overseers are putting on manufacturing, a lot of the workers are growing worried. They think our doom is here, and we’ve had an influx of suicides over the last week. At least two hundred alone along the East Coast facilities.”

  “Including Detroit?” Dex asked, unable to stop himself.

  Cleveland nodded. “Including Detroit. Also had about a hundred Roamers. We gathered most of them up, but there are at least a dozen running free around out there. With you three missing, we were shorthanded…” Cleveland stopped himself, glancing at his wrist. The old supervisor might have made a joke about his word choice, but the humor appeared to have been sucked dry from the man.

  “We’ll bring you to St. Louis and prep you for the road in a few days. Sound good?” the supervisor asked.

  Dex’s stomach grumbled. He was going to be working again, the freedom of the road would be his, allowing him time to prepare for Tom’s advance. This was a good thing. “Sure. I can do that. But first, can we find something to eat?”

  This made the big man smile finally, and he rubbed his pronounced belly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter 23

  Tom

  Tom wandered impatiently until he was confident he’d walked the entire camp at least twice in the last six hours. It was pitch black outside, the moon high in the sky, telling him a new day had turned over. It felt peaceful out here, quieter somehow than Colorado, even though he was sure that wasn’t true. Maybe it was the noise of the waves lapping against the cliff face a half mile away or the soft breeze blowing against his face, but he felt comfortable being in the open air.