AntiBio 2: The Control War

by Jake Bible

  “Son of a bitch,” Ton says, hurrying after.

  “What the fuck?” Nick says and takes off as well.

  “Really disciplined crew here,” Wallace growls then nods to her people and catches up to the rest.

  Jersey quickly puts herself between Wallace and Buntu.

  “Not so sure of the GenWreck’s theory, eh?” Buntu asks.

  “I figure if he gets himself killed, you guys can still get me to GenSOF Tower,” Jersey says.

  “And see your man again, right?” Buntu pushes.

  “That’s the hope now,” Jersey says.

  “Now? What was the hope before?” Buntu asks.

  “To save the world,” Jersey says. “Turn it back to how it was so we don’t have to live in the shadow of the Strains.”

  “My auntie was a historian,” Buntu says. “The way she talked, it didn’t sound like the way things used to be was all that great either.”

  “Has to be better than this,” Jersey says, more to herself. “Has to be.”

  Red reaches the door to the warehouse and stops. Everyone catches up and they wait, their ears straining to hear the hushed conversation from inside.

  “They are talking in circles,” Red says. “Two voices. One for, one against.”

  “Waste of time,” Wallace says. “If we are going to do this then let’s do this.”

  “What exactly are we going to do?” Nick asks. “Just wondering.”

  “We’re going to go in there and see who wants to go to GenSOF Tower,” Red says. “The more the better. We need numbers to get that far. It’s been hard enough getting through the Burn and this is nowhere as close to the wall breach as GenSOF Tower.”

  “So we’re recruiting?” Nick asks.

  “Yep,” Red says.

  “Fair enough.”

  “You two good with this?” Red asks, looking from Ton to Wallace. “I don’t want to go in there and propose something only to have one of you guys shoot it down because of some loyalty to GenSOF regulations.”

  “I stopped being GenSOF a while ago,” Ton says. “And I think regulations are out the fucking window right now.”

  “I don’t think regulations are out the window, but the idea of having some numbers on our side makes sense,” Wallace says. “But I can’t make any promises to these people. If we get to GenSOF and the brass refuses to give them sanctuary then that’s the end of that. I’m not going to fight for a bunch of civvies.”

  “Then what is there to fight for?” Jersey asks. “GenSOF is supposed to be there for the people, not the other way around.”

  “You keep believing that,” Red snorts.

  “We’ll be honest and tell them we don’t know what we’ll find when we get to the tower,” Ton says. “No promises, just a chance at getting somewhere safe.”

  A loud wail is heard from a few blocks over followed quickly by shouts and then screaming.

  “Yeah,” Buntu frowns. “Safe.”

  “In we go,” Red says and throws the door open.

  He walks slowly inside, his rifle pointed at the ground and one hand up and out in a placating gesture. All heads in the warehouse turn and look at him. There is nothing but fear staring back with panic a breath away.

  “It’s cool,” Red says. “I think we can help.”

  “We’re GenSOF,” Ton says.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Wallace says quietly.

  “Don’t fuck this up,” Jersey snaps at her with enough force to keep the captain from replying.

  The mention of GenSOF doesn’t make things better. Folks begin to back away, moving into angry, tight knit groups. Some of the people glance towards a stack of crates up against the far wall of the warehouse. This doesn’t escape the operators’ notice.

  “Weapons,” Maloch says. “Those are GenSOF! They’ve raided the tower!”

  Instantly rifles are up and operators are shouting while the scared civvies begin to panic and scream.

  “Stop!” Jersey yells. “Everyone stop!”

  No one pays any attention and civvies sprint towards the crates. Wallace, Buntu, and Maloch fire static blasts at their feet, sending several people tumbling to the ground, singed, but unharmed.

  “STOP!” Jersey yells again. “DAMMIT!”

  She stomps up to Wallace and punches the woman, wresting the rifle from her grip. In a split second, Wallace has a glowing rifle barrel jammed in her face.

  “Knock it the fuck off! All of you!” Jersey yells.

  Buntu and Maloch turn their rifles on her, but Red, Ton, and Nick step between them, their own rifles up and pointed at the operators.

  “Alton, you can’t come back from this,” Wallace snarls. “We had a truce and I trusted you. After this? Not happening again.”

  “You jumped the gun, Beverly,” Ton says. “We need to talk to these people, not go after them. They’re scared and that’s understandable.”

  “Put the weapons down,” a woman’s voice yells from the panicked crowd.

  “Not happening quite yet,” Red says.

  “Not you, GenWreck,” the woman says. “I was talking to everyone else.”

  Red glances over his shoulder to see an older woman placing her hands on the static pistols and static rifles the civvies have retrieved from the crates. Slowly, the people begin to lower their weapons, some even setting them on the ground and taking a step back like they feel contaminated somehow by the weapons.

  “You speak for these folks?” Red asks.

  “Not officially, no,” the woman says. “But I helped get them here and I’ve been trying to keep them calm. You sorta ruined that.” She looks at the crowd and the few remaining armed civvies. “I said to put the weapons down. Don’t think for a second you’ll be able to win against these men and women. They are GenSOF trained. You’ll be dead in seconds.”

  “Here. I’ll make it easier,” Red says and sets his own rifle down. “See? Not a threat, folks.”

  Wallace twitches and Jersey shoves the barrel of the rifle right against her nostril.

  “I will pull this trigger,” Jersey snarls.

  “Jersey? Be cool,” Red says. “I think I finally know what’s going on.”

  “You do?” Ton asks. “Because I don’t.”

  Red looks at the civvie woman and narrows his eyes. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

  “Not in person, no,” the woman says. She is in her mid-fifties with mostly grey hair streaked with black. Her eyes are bright green and her skin is a deep olive. While not muscular, she looks fit and strong. “But we have met in a roundabout way, Mr. Blakely.”

  “She knows your name,” Ton says. “Why does she know your name?”

  “I haven’t been completely honest with you, Ton,” Red says. “It wasn’t Worm that started the resistance. He had a nudge. Someone pointed him in the right direction. Someone pointed all of us in the right direction. Wasn’t sure who until now.”

  “Very true,” the woman says. “Ms. Cale? Would you step back from Captain Wallace? I don’t believe she enjoys sniffing that rifle.”

  “Not unless her people put their rifles down,” Jersey says.

  “They will,” the woman says. “Right, Sergeant Buntu? Sergeant Maloch?”

  “I’m thinking no,” Buntu says.

  “That would be a shame,” the woman sighs. “Because while I said to these scared folks that they can’t win against you GenSOF operators, I didn’t say my people couldn’t win.”

  There’s a scuff of feet from above and Buntu glances up quickly. “Ah, fuck me.”

  “No time for fun, operator,” the woman smiles.

  Red, Ton, and Nick glance up as well. Red can’t help but smile.

  “Well, I’ll be,” he chuckles and pats Ton on the shoulder. “I think we may have found the help we need.” He looks at the woman. “At least I hope so.”

  “Yes, Mr. Blakely, you have,” the woman says.

  Buntu and Maloch set their rifles down then take a couple steps back. Nic
k and Ton do the same thing. All eyes are on the woman then they turn to Jersey who is still holding a rifle to Wallace’s face.

  “Ms. Cale? Please?” the woman asks.

  “Red? Who is she?” Jersey asks. “I want to know that before I do anything.”

  “Why not just ask me?” the woman laughs. “After all, we are almost family. You have been in love with my son for a very long time, Jersey Cale. You’re like a daughter I never had.”

  Jersey’s arms go weak and Wallace makes a move, but Ton jumps in and grabs her by the shoulders.

  “No,” Ton says, restraining the captain before she can attack.

  Jersey slowly turns around and studies the woman.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Jersey snaps.

  “I’m Tanya Crouch,” the woman says. “Simon Crouch is my son. I guess you all call him Blaze.”

  “Oh…” Jersey mutters.

  “So what now?” Wallace snaps. “We all just act stunned and bow to her? To hell with that. The mission is to still get to GenSOF Tower.”

  “Yes, Captain Wallace, it is,” Tanya smiles. “The sooner we get there the sooner we can take back this city and then move on to our offensive.”

  “We can do what then the what?” Jersey asks.

  “Take back the city then move on to our offensive,” Tanya says. “Control is down and we need to get there and bring it back up or the Other will wipe humanity as we know it from this continent then from the entire planet.”

  “Oh,” Jersey nods. “Shit.”

  “Yes,” Tanya frowns. “Shit.”

  30

  Civvies and cooties crowd against the building’s entrance. They wedge themselves into the doorway, their bodies pressed against the cold metal frame, pressed against each other, pressed so hard that bones snap and skin tears, all so they can get inside and kill the intruders.

  Then the mood suddenly shifts. Instead of trying to get inside, instead of fighting each other for position, the cooties and civvies are fighting to get away, trying to run from the entrance and what is coming at them.

  A woman screams just before a fist punches through her skull, sending her brains out the back of her head and splattering against the crowd. A man cries out as his head is ripped off and thrown out into the street. Another woman, another man, shriek as their bellies are torn open and their guts sent flying over the heads of those trying to flee.

  Blaze lifts a man up over his head then brings him down across his knee, snapping him in half. He tosses the broken corpse aside and grabs a man by the arm, yanking it from its socket, before flipping the man over onto the ground and stomping on his face. There’s a crack like a nut shell and then a liquid sploosh.

  Blaze doesn’t care about any of it. If he cares about anything at all, it would be impossible to tell by his expression. His mouth is set in a straight, hard line; his eyes narrowed and determined; his brow furrowed in concentration.

  Two men, unable to get away from him fast enough, each find themselves grabbed by the backs of their necks. Blaze slams their heads together and the conk echoes out into the street as their skulls crack and bleed. Blaze slams again and the contents of those skulls spill out onto his hands. He lets the corpses fall to his feet and shakes the brains from his hands.

  A woman, her eyes filled with mercy, reaches up to Blaze, rationality pushing through the bacterial madness.

  She finds no mercy from Blaze as he jams his fingers in her eye sockets and picks her up as if lifting a bowling ball. With a shake of his wrist, her neck snaps and he lets the corpse dangle for a second before he drops it to the ground.

  Those that haven’t turned to flee do so now. The constant voice of the Other echoing in their heads not enough to hold back their fear and utter terror.

  But no matter how fast they try to run, there are just too many of them. The street is filled with affected cooties and civvies; bodies pressed against bodies in a mob of pure panic. Those in the back are unaware of what is cutting through them so they do not run, instead they push against those that are trying to escape. It is a case of opposing forces crushing the unlucky in the middle.

  And crush Blaze does.

  With fists, with boots, with elbows, with his forehead. Anything and everything he comes in contact with is pulverized. His arms move like jackhammers, his legs like trash compactors. His rage is an incinerator set to its highest heat, scorching its way through the unlucky mass of people.

  The foolish see him coming, ignore the ones around them trying to flee, and find out the hard way as Blaze rips into them. Limbs flip through the air, legs are tossed aside, torsos tumble to the ground.

  Behind it all, stunned and traumatized, stand Paulo and Collette. They watch from the empty entranceway of the building as Blaze single-handedly clears a path for them. Neither speak as they step from the building and follow in the wake of Blaze’s destruction, their empty rifles dangling in their grips.

  Paulo looks down at a stray cheek, torn from its owner’s face and left to litter the concrete with the other body parts and hunks of flesh.

  Collette shakes her head as a man pulls himself across the ground, his legs snapped from him mid-thigh. The man mutters and whimpers as he sorts through the multitude of severed legs that are everywhere. He finds one and rolls onto his back and struggles to make it match one of his stumps. With a cry of anguish, he tosses the leg aside and looks up at Collette.

  “I—” he starts to say, but doesn’t finish as his face is crushed by one of Blaze’s boots.

  “You are nothing,” Blaze growls. “Nothing.”

  Collette looks at the operator and flinches, seeing the homicidal rage that boils over inside his eyes.

  “Hey, buddy,” Paulo says, his hands out as he steps in front of Collette and smiles at Blaze. “Thanks for the assist there. You cleared quite a few of them out of our way.”

  Blaze nods then looks at the dozens of cooties and civvies that remain on the street. A few start to move towards the operators, unable to help themselves, driven by the voice of the Other inside them.

  “Hold on,” Blaze says, turning and walking towards those that haven’t run or given in. “Not done yet.”

  “Blaze!” Collette shouts. Paulo grabs her arm and shakes his head. She glares. “He’s killing all of them.”

  “Isn’t that what we wanted?” Paulo asks. “They are affected. Nothing can be done for them.”

  “That’s what everyone said about GenWrecks,” Collette says. “Which is total bullshit.”

  “They were going to kill us,” Paulo says. The snapping of more than a couple spines echoes through the street. “Or they were going to try. I don’t think it turned out exactly how they thought it would.”

  “That’s the problem,” Collette says. “Look at these people. They can’t think. They’re being controlled by whatever is in them. They are being controlled by something else.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Paulo shrugs. “GenSOF, the cities, the Clean Nation, the Sicklands. The Clean Nation controls our movements, who we socialize and work with, how many of us can be in one area at the same time. It controls our food, water, air, our clothes, what happens to our shit, our piss, our bodies. Life is all about control. Shit, Collette, there’s even an entity called Control. Kinda in the name there.”

  “But we can stop,” Collette says. “Some of us have. We fight back, we organize, we do what we can to stay free. These people don’t even have that choice. Look at them!”

  She points at the ones that had fled, but are now starting to turn and come back, drawn by the need to kill Blaze, driven to attack those not affected.

  “Just seconds ago some of those people were nearly begging not to die,” Collette says. “Now here they come again. It’s sick.”

  “That’s life after the Strains,” Paulo says. “Sick.”

  “You know what I mean,” Collette says. She sighs and her shoulders sag. “It’s all so depressing.”

  “Yeah, I won’t argue that,” Paulo nods.
A woman’s scream is cut short as Blaze rips out her vocal cords then shoves them into her mouth. “Okay, maybe he is going a tad too far. Blaze! Dude!”

  Paulo walks past the wounded, the dying, the dead, and stops a couple feet from where Blaze stands, a man’s scalp in his hand, dripping blood onto a woman that is bent in half.

  “Blaze? Time to stop the rampage, alright? We need to get to GenSOF Tower,” Paulo says, smiling. “Maybe you have checked out. Kinda dove off the deep end a little, don’t you think?”

  “Feeling the best I’ve felt in a long time, Paulo,” Blaze replies, tossing the scalp aside. He wipes his hand on his armor, but only smears the gore that covers him. “It’s like the first time I kissed Jersey. I feel more like me than I ever have. Feels good.”

  “Feels good for you, but not so much for the rest of these poor fucks,” Paulo says. He points at a man with his left arm shoved up his ass, his fingers dangling from inside his mouth. “That, man. That isn’t cool. I’m not all huggy like Collette—”

  “Hey!” Collette shouts.

  “—but come on, brother, this might be classified as excessive force.”

  Blaze looks about and his face scrunches up.

  “They were trying to kill us,” Blaze responds.

  “I know, I know,” Paulo says. “I get that argument. Just made it myself. But, man, we have a mission. Time to stick to that mission.”

  “GenSOF Tower,” Blaze states. “Right. I forgot.”

  “Understandable,” Paulo nods. “You’ve been busy.”

  “Really busy,” Blaze smirks. “Busy as fuck.”

  “Busy as fuck,” Paulo replies. “You think we can get back to work? Work that doesn’t involve…that?”

  He points at a woman that is slumped against a pile of bodies, her head in her lap, her tongue yanked down and out her open neck.

  “I did that?” Blaze asks, his voice wavering. “Shit. Don’t remember doing that.”

  For the first time since he changed in the stairwell, Blaze looks about and actually sees what has happened.

  “Holy fuck,” he whispers. “I went batshit on these people.”

  “Yes. Yes, you did,” Paulo says. “Which, considering we don’t have rifles with power anymore and your batshit saved our lives, isn’t exactly a bad thing. But, and I couch this but with quite a few disclaimers, maybe you don’t get so extreme if we come in contact with more cooties and civvies.”