AntiBio 2: The Control War

by Jake Bible

  But the alpha is not the alpha because he runs from danger and conflict. He was not chosen as the primary vessel for the Other’s bidding because he retreats from a fight. He was chosen because he always does, and always will, hold his ground and destroy anything that dares to challenge him.

  He is the alpha.

  The vermin scramble over the pile of cooties and sick mutt bodies then stop as they see the huge and warped canine before them. Their lizard teeth grind together as their spider legs clack and chitter on the exposed bones of the dead beneath their claws.

  The alpha watches the mutated creatures, his predator mind sizing them up, waiting to see which one will break first and come at him.

  He is more than surprised when they charge as one, a single unit of ferocity. But surprise is not fear and the alpha is prepared for the attack.

  The sick mutt leaps to the side, letting the first wave rush past, and concentrates on the second wave. He rips into the three vermin at once, his jaws clamping and tearing, clamping and tearing, clamping and tearing, sending body parts flying about the hallway.

  Bodily fluids splatter against the walls and coat the floor as the alpha grinds his hefty paws into the backs of the dead vermin then kicks the corpses towards the other creatures. Cries of rage issue from the twisted mouths of the vermin and they charge, spreading out quickly to surround the alpha.

  But the sick mutt is ready as always. He lets them get in close then leaps into the air, coming down hard on two vermin then turning his body so he slams one into the wall and sends another into the rest. He grabs up the fallen one in his jaws and tosses it as hard as he can then follows right behind it, letting the body be a distraction, a barrier between him and the vermin.

  The crushed vermin body hits the rest of the creatures and the alpha dives right in, snapping legs, ripping open bellies, shredding throats and tearing off tails. The vermin cry in pain, scream in agony, wail in defeat. The alpha never lets up, never slows down, never gives an inch, always on the attack, always on the offensive, always on the winning side.

  In minutes he is left standing there, his body covered in slime and offal. He shakes hard, the gunk flying from his nose to his tail, but never coming really free from his matted fur. He is left with a coat of bloody armor, a sign to all that come across him that he will never be put down.

  The alpha turns from the carnage and makes his way to the supply room, his nose pointing him towards the air vent. He leaps onto the pile of crates then grabs the vent with his teeth and pulls, jumping backwards into the open air so his weight and momentum rips the vent from its bolts.

  The metal shreds his gums, adding more blood to his mouth, but he ignores the superficial wounds; he’s had considerably worse.

  Without a glance back at the bunker, the alpha shoves his bulk inside the duct and continues his hunt for the kid, continues his mission for the Other, continues his need to kill everything in the Sicklands…and beyond.

  16

  The orb floats over the ridge as the operators and Jersey pull themselves up out of the abyss. Below them the monstrosity crunches and munches in the dark, content with its meal of the GenSOF transport.

  “Anything else we need to know about?” Paulo asks as he backs away from the abyss, his eyes wary and waiting for the thing to come up at them. “Giants that roam the Sicklands? Maybe a plague of mutated locusts or toads?”

  “Toads?” Blaze asks. “Why toads?”

  “Because toads are a plague too, right?” Paulo replies. “I’m pretty sure I read that somewhere.”

  “It’s in the Bible, moron,” Claudette says.

  “Right,” Paulo nods. “In the Bible.” He points at the abyss. “That thing wasn’t.”

  “GenWrecks!” a voice announces from the transport behind them. “Stand down immediately or you will be fired upon!”

  Several cannons swivel towards the group, their glowing barrels ominous and deadly.

  “You have a way to take these guys without getting us all killed?” Blaze asks Jersey. “This is your plan, sugar.”

  “I have a way,” Jersey says. “Got it all worked out with Worm.” She pats the orb she holds in her arms. “We just have to get inside the transport. He’ll do the rest.”

  The back hatch of the transport opens and four GenSOF operators come rushing out, their static armor set to its highest level, their static rifles aimed at the GenWrecks that just stand there looking helpless.

  “Did we really need to leave our weapons back in the transport?” Marco asks. “I’m feeling a tad naked right now.”

  “Better than getting shot,” Ton says as he takes a step forward. “Operators! Identify your squad!”

  “You don’t give orders anymore, asshole,” one of the operators says. “Keep your mouths shut and get down on your knees!”

  “Unless you’re ranked higher than a lieutenant then you better state your name, son,” Ton orders. “You are talking to GenSOF Lieutenant Courier Class Alton Lane of Zebra Squad.”

  “I know exactly who I am talking to. And don’t call me son, old man,” the operator says as the opaque visor on her helmet turns transparent. “And you are talking to GenSOF Assault Class Captain Beverly Wallace. I have orders to bring you in alive, Ton, along with Sergeant Crouch. The rest of these bastards can rot out here in the Sicklands, for all GenSOF command cares. But, I am far from a heartless bitch, so if you play nice, I play nice. Get on your fucking knees, submit to the restraints without trouble, and you all get to go home.”

  “Caldicott City isn’t our home,” Red states.

  “I didn’t say you could come,” Wallace growls. “You get to stay right here.”

  Red looks past the transport at the mob of cooties heading their way, rifles held up over their heads like angry, deadly banners.

  “You leave us here unarmed and we’ll be dead within the hour,” Red says. “How about you give us a ride a few clicks away and drop us off?”

  “Captain? When did you get a promotion, Bev?” Ton asks as he presses a hand to Red’s chest. “I got this.”

  “Don’t sweet talk, Alton,” Wallace says. “You aren’t as good at it as you think. I got promoted as soon as you went off the rez. A few of us did. They needed more assault squads and less courier squads. I stepped up. Now I’m here to bring you back.”

  “I’ll go willingly, so will Sergeant Crouch, but you can’t leave these GenWrecks out here with hostiles incoming,” Ton says. “Even armed, they are severely outnumbered. How about you sedate them and bundle them in the cargo hold? As soon as we are a safe distance, you can dump them, give them a jolt to wake them up, and then we’ll be on our way back to CC without a single shot fired. Cool?”

  Wallace eyes Ton for a second then shakes her head.

  “I’ve lost two transports today already, Ton,” Wallace says. “No way I’m going back to the brass with a log showing I gave some GenWrecks a ride. I’ll be up on charges faster than stat mist can kill the clap. The abominations stay here. If they live, they live, but if they try to come with I can guarantee they will die.”

  The ground shakes and a massive claw slams into the earth right behind Coffin Squad.

  “What the hell is that?” one of Wallace’s operators shouts.

  Red and his squad don’t waste a second. They use the distraction to rush the GenSOF operators, throwing their bodies into the static armor, taking the shocks as best they can as they send the operators to the ground.

  “Shit,” Ton growls as he moves into the fight.

  Blaze and Paulo jump in too while Jersey sprints towards the open back hatch of the GenSOF transport, trying to find some safety from the monstrosity that is slowly pulling its bulk up out of the abyss.

  “Don’t kill them!” Ton yells at Red and the GenWrecks as he wrestles Wallace’s rifle from her hands and jams the barrel into her chest. “They aren’t the enemy!”

  Red slams a fist into the throat of an operator, grabs his rifle then turns it on a different man that h
as Marco pinned. He fires quickly, clipping the man in the shoulder, sending him rolling onto the ground.

  “Thanks,” Marco says as he grabs the fallen man’s rifle and scrambles to his feet.

  “Stand down!” Red yells, his rifle aimed at the rest of Wallace’s operators. “God dammit! Stand down or I will start blasting holes in your GenSOF asses!”

  The operators stop fighting and Coffin Squad quickly snatches up the static rifles.

  “Jersey!” Ton yells at the transport, his eyes never leaving the squad in front of him. “Jersey!”

  “I’m good!” Jersey yells from the transport. “Driver is cool with us all getting the hell out of here!”

  The creature behind them bellows as it tries to scramble up out of the abyss, but its bulk is too much for the crumbling ground around the edge. It keeps slipping backwards, its claws digging massive furrows in the ground.

  “Go!” Red shouts, kicking at the operator on the ground. “Get your ass up and go!”

  Everyone, GenSOF and GenWreck, sprint inside the transport, all grabbing a seat as soon as the hatch closes behind them.

  “Captain?” the driver asks.

  “Just drive, Lewis!” Wallace yells. “We’ll sort this mess out on the way!”

  “You got it,” Lewis nods as he punches the accelerator and spins the transport around so they are facing back the way they came.

  Facing the armed mob of cooties and loping sick mutts.

  “Drive right through them,” Red says. “We do not want what’s behind us to get out of that hole before we are a long ways away.”

  “Do it,” Ton adds.

  “Listen to them,” Wallace sighs. “They’ve got the guns.”

  “Ms. Cale?” the orb asks in Worm’s voice. “I would appreciate a little more space for my Ai protocol, if you do not mind. I can feel subsystems start to degrade due to the hurried compression I was forced to make.”

  “Not now, Worm,” Jersey says as she stares at the fore view screen and the mob of cooties they are racing towards. “Let’s survive this first. Then you can get some leg room.”

  17

  “You have to hold up a second, kid,” Milo says, his hand to his side. “I’ve almost given everything I can today. We need to find a place to rest.”

  Before Jude can answer, Zeus and Ajax turn on Milo, their brows furrowed over their pure black eyes.

  “Never mind,” Milo says. “I get the hint.”

  “Sorry,” Jude says. “I really am, but we have to get to the next bunker. It’s not that far, trust me. Let me take that pack from you.”

  “No, I got it,” Milo says, cinching up the straps on the supply pack he picked up from the cache. “Just keep pointing us in the right direction. I’ll keep up. No way I’ll let Hoagie’s sacrifice go to waste. Ignore my bitching, kid. I’m just tired.”

  “Me too,” Jude says. “But we can sleep when we get to the bunker.”

  They walk for a few more minutes before Milo speaks up again.

  “How do we know the next bunker isn’t compromised?” Milo asks. “If there were vermin in the last one, couldn’t there be in this one?”

  “No,” Jude says. “Well, maybe, but it won’t matter.”

  “Why won’t it matter?” Milo asks. “What’s different about this place?”

  Jude doesn’t answer.

  “Come on, kid, out with it,” Milo pushes. “What’s different?”

  “The place we’re going isn’t so much a bunker as it is…a prison,” Jude says. “Or was. We don’t use it anymore. Too hard to maintain. But it doesn’t have any place for vermin to hide. It’s simple. No air ducts, no vents.”

  “Does it have more supplies?” Milo asks.

  “No, that’s why we had to stop by the cache,” Jude says. “But it’s way more secure than the other bunker. You have to trust me on that.”

  “Then why the hell didn’t we go there first?” Milo snaps. He reaches out and grabs Jude’s arm swinging the boy around. Ajax gives a low growl, but Milo just glares at the bug hound. “Fuck off, pup. This is between your master and me.”

  “Let go,” Jude says.

  “Tell me where we’re going,” Milo insists. “And why we didn’t go there first. Hoagie could still be alive if we’d gone to someplace more secure!”

  “He never would have made it,” Jude said. “The place isn’t exactly a bunker, like an underground bunker. It’s more of a subterranean tower.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense,” Milo says. “What the fuck is a subterranean tower?”

  “You’ll see,” Jude says, yanking his arm free. “It’s hard to explain. You just have to see it.”

  “I swear to God, kid, I will gut you if you’re fucking with me,” Milo says.

  “I’m not and no you won’t,” Jude replies. “Just keep walking. That’s all you have to do. You can rest when we get there. Okay?”

  “Fine,” Milo says as they start back on their trek. “But I wasn’t kidding about gutting you.”

  “I know,” Jude says. “But you’d never get past Ajax. Not in your condition.”

  “Whatever,” Milo sighs. “Just walk.”

  18

  The GenSOF transport collides with the cootie mob, crushing several under its wheels. The denizens of the Sicklands dive out of the way, bringing up rifles and firing wildly at the passing vehicle. They do more damage to each other than to the transport, but that does not stop them from emptying their guns. They quickly give chase as the transport pushes through the mob and continues across the terrain, back to the main road.

  Most of the cooties are so focused on attacking and capturing the fleeing transport that they neglect to pay attention to the thing that has finally clawed its way out of the abyss and is slowly pushing itself up into a standing position. Those that are paying attention fall to their knees, their sick-addled brains unable to handle the reality of what is before them.

  Nearly fifty feet tall and swaying back and forth, the monster stands, its body an elongated, scaly mess of muscle and open sores. Muscular arms and legs branch out from the beast, but in a way that would suggest Nature was slightly drunk when putting the creature together. The things roars, its voice shaking the very ground it stands on, then collapses forward onto all fours as it decides to give chase to the transport as well. Cooties in its way are crushed, turned to squishy pulp with one stomp. It is almost a mercy for them since their minds were turning to madness from the impossible sight of the beast.

  The mob senses the threat and many turn to see what is behind them. Most are granted only a second of realization before they too are crushed and killed. The rest must choose to flee before the monster or keep pursuing the transport. Barely able to make even the most rational decision, dozens continue to chase the transport, one by one, two by two, three by three, dying horrible deaths under the weight of the creature’s claws.

  The beast doesn’t even bother to eat any of the pulverized corpses, its desires leaning more towards the metal machine that has reached the main road and is busy making an escape. It got a taste for the crunch and pain of the transports and it wants more. It feels its insides tearing, being shredded by broken shards of metal, but it pays those feelings no mind. The taste of technology, the lure of destruction pushes it on.

  The monster changes directions, cutting across the Sicklands at an angle, looking to cut off the transport’s escape route. But it quickly tires, unable to keep up with the vehicle. Slowly it turns and regards the cooties. With a resigned shrug, the beast lumbers towards them and begins to feed.

  19

  “What the hell is going on?” Dr. Charter asks as she runs down the corridor towards the isolation cell holding Dr. DeBeers. “Dr. Benz? Don’t we have more important matters to attend to right now?”

  Dr. Benz stands before the isolation cell, his eyes focused on the subject inside.

  “You have to see this,” Dr. Benz says. “I could have sent you a vid feed, but you must witness this in pers
on.”

  Dr. Charter reaches his side as the doors at either end of the corridor open, the rest of Management responding to their summons as well.

  “What is she doing?” Dr. Charter asks. “What is that she’s writing?”

  “AiSP? Please inform the doctors as to what we are witnessing,” Dr. Benz says, a sick, satisfied smile on his face.

  “Yes, Dr. Benz,” the Control AiSP responds as Drs. Lopez, Sheffield, and Whittaker stop in front of the isolation cell, their mouths hanging open. “It appears that Dr. DeBeers is sketching out a rather complex circuit diagram. If this design were to be built then it would more than likely become a transmitter protocol.”

  “Transmitting what?” Dr. Charter asks.

  “What is she writing with?” Dr. Lopez asks, his hover chair groaning under his weight. “Is that blood? Is she using her own blood?”

  “Yes, she is,” Dr. Benz says. “I’ve been watching her for a few minutes and she is regulating her blood loss remarkably well. If it wasn’t for the obvious manic state she’s in, and the blood, of course, I’d say she is looking more stable than when we first isolated her.”

  “AiSP? What is the circuit designed to transmit?” Dr. Charter asks, glaring at Dr. Benz for his last comment. “What is she creating?”

  Dr. DeBeers, naked and smeared pink by her own blood, stops sketching and stands back, admiring her work like a fine artist in her studio. She moves forward quickly and adds two more pieces to the middle of the circuit then claps her hands together, sending blood splattering across the cell.

  The woman turns and regards the doctors standing in the corridor.

  “She can’t see us, can she?” Dr. Sheffield asks. “Her view is blocked from the inside, right?”