This Is the End: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (7 Book Collection)

by Craig DiLouie

  Law had to confess, it had been quite some time since he’d seen anything so beautiful.

  He moved to fire a final missile, which would surely strike true and blast the vehicle into flaming wreckage. Right before his fingertip touched the button on the LED display, he stopped, pulling his hand back to his side.

  I want to see them. I want to see them die with my own eyes, if I can.

  In order to do that, he would have to reverse course and navigate around the ridges. The upthrust he was parked on had far too sheer a face to safely maneuver the vehicle across, and he had no intention of dying out here with Andrews and the others. So, he cautiously reversed the rig in the direction he had come.

  ***

  Andrews and Choi set up in the rocky abutments several hundred meters from the overturned SCEV. The wind continued to mount, and dust swirled through the air. Andrews made sure the dust cover on his assault rifle was closed, then checked to ensure the grenade launcher was ready to go. He hadn’t heard anything from Laird or the others, nor did he expect to; they were to observe radio silence unless something untoward occurred. Even though their channels were encrypted, Law had military experience, and it was conceivable he could use the signal-hopping radios in SCEV Four to find the channels reserved for their use. Not very likely, of course—while Leona had been very informative in describing to Law how to use the vehicle, he had only had access to her for a few hours, and something such as spoofing an encrypted communications channel likely hadn’t been one of his priorities.

  In the distance, through the billowing clouds of dust, Andrews caught a glimpse of movement.

  SCEV Four appeared, bouncing out of the ridgeline. Once it made it down to the flat plain, it accelerated toward the overturned hulk of SCEV Five. Andrews looked to his left, where Choi was positioned about fifty meters downrange. Choi met his gaze and he nodded, pointing at his grenade launcher. Andrews motioned for him to hold his fire. There was no sense in alerting Law to their presence if he already thought they might be dead.

  He turned his attention back to the SCEV as it advanced through the dimming light of the day. It stopped two hundred meters from the wrecked vehicle and sat there, its turbine engines whining, missile pod extended, miniguns oriented toward SCEV Five. The FLIR turret on the rig’s nose slewed left and right, as Law used the optics to surveil the area. After thirty seconds or so, the rig began to trundle forward, slowly bumping its way across the plain, drawing closer to SCEV Five’s shattered form. It circled the dead rig, slowing every now and then, the FLIR turret turned toward it, as if Law thought he could use the device to peer through the armored hulk and see what lay inside. The rig circled around the wreckage twice before it accelerated back toward the ridge. Two hundred meters away, it turned back until its snout was pointing more or less at the destroyed SCEV.

  Come on, guy … Get it over with.

  Andrews didn’t have to wait for long. Seconds later, another Hellfire missile leapt out of the extended pod on SCEV Four’s back and roared across the darkening plain on a pillar of fire. Andrews had only an instant to crouch down behind the rocks he was using as cover before the projectile climbed up, gained altitude, and nosed down. It slammed into the overturned rig’s belly and exploded. Even several hundred meters away, Andrews was shocked by the ferocity of the explosion. One moment, the wrecked SCEV was there, the next, most of it vanished in a gout of flame and smoke and thunder that sent a shockwave racing across the wasteland. The missile managed to decimate the rig’s self-sealing fuel tanks and ignite the propellant that remained inside. The remains of the SCEV began to burn, bright and furious, the flames dancing in the gale that carried the black smoke to the west. A moment later, pieces of debris began raining down on him. Something clanged against one of the rocks beside him, and Andrews saw it was an access plate to one of the MEP electronics racks, twisted and burned. Just like the remainder of SCEV Five.

  Andrews peeked around the rock, exposing half of his face. He knew the suits the team wore would help mask their thermal image, but the FLIR on SCEV Four was extremely sensitive; if Law knew what to look for, he might see a small sliver of heat through the gloom. That would be bad news for all of them. He watched as the SCEV sat unmoving, while SCEV Five continued to burn. A sudden series of pops erupted from the flaming vehicle as the 7.62 millimeter rounds in its magazines cooked off in firecracker-like detonations, which were made tinny and insignificant by the howling wind. Andrews studied the idling rig for a full minute, watching the vehicle’s FLIR slew from side to side.

  What the hell is he waiting for?

  ***

  Law sat in the cool, climate-controlled environment of SCEV Four’s cockpit, his right hand on the FLIR control yoke. The immense heat given off by the burning rig distorted a good portion of the infrared picture, and the mounting wind began to drive flying dust even harder, which made visual inspection of the conflagration even more problematic. The vehicle’s millimeter-wave radar returned nothing suspicious; there was no sudden movement in the wasteland other than that driven by the winds, and the only sizeable metallic signature was on its back before him, burning away.

  Still, Law wasn’t convinced. Andrews and the others had had ample time to evacuate the overturned SCEV, unless they had a procedure in place to sit tight and wait for rescue. But would they do such a thing when they were under attack? Would they follow the usual SOP when they knew an armed aggressor was closing on them? Had they all been killed, or so severely injured during the rollover that they had been unable to exit the vehicle?

  Judging by the sturdy straps that kept him anchored to the pilot’s seat of SCEV Four, and the numerous straps and handholds spread throughout the rig, he rather thought death and injury, while possible, was unlikely. At least for the entire crew.

  He began tracking the FLIR to the left, away from the burning remains of SCEV Five. To the left, the landscape rose slowly into a series of small, low-lying ridges. Law panned the sensitive infrared device across them, zooming in occasionally when a feature caught his interest, but for the most part, the landmarks were rather unremarkable and, like the rest of the plain, exhibited a definite lack of life.

  Something moved among the rocky ridgeline. Law zoomed in on it immediately, and he caught a quick glimpse of a head peering over the rock, a head that was hidden beneath a white hood and a gas mask of some sort. Definitely a person, and whatever he or she wore very closely resembled the same suits Andrews and the others had been wearing in San Jose. The heat signature was barely above the ambient temperature of the ridge itself. If he hadn’t been paying close attention, he would have missed it. As he watched, the head dipped down behind the rock, disappearing from view.

  Law slewed the miniguns in that direction and ripped off a burst, watching as the 7.62 millimeter rounds pulverized rock and earth, sending great gouts of dried soil exploding into the air. He walked the turrets from side to side, strafing the entire area until it disappeared beneath a cloud of dust and fragments of shattered rock. He ceased fire. He was down to just over seven hundred rounds of ammunition in the SCEV’s magazines. He would have to be less indulgent in the future. Zooming in with the FLIR, he surveyed the target site, looking for any sign of life. As the dust cleared, he saw no movement, nothing that resembled a human being. That could mean they were either dead, or the attack had been ineffective—there was a good amount of rock sticking out of the ridge, and if the survivors from SCEV Five had managed to dig in or find a depression in which to lie, the minigun attack might have been useless.

  A missile should take care of that.

  ***

  When SCEV Four suddenly opened fire on the ridgeline he had directed the others to, Andrews knew the gig was up. Law had seen something up there that had attracted his attention, and the target area was too close to where he believed Laird had led the others. He gauged Four’s position to be just inside the max range of a forty-millimeter grenade, but figured the wind might give an attack a little more reach. When h
e saw the Hellfire missile turret rotate to the left, Andrews figured he had no time to sweat it. He had to act.

  He raised his rifle, flipped up the grenade launcher’s windage sight, aimed for the missile pod, and fired.

  And prayed.

  ***

  Law jumped back in his seat as something exploded against the copilot’s viewport, filling the cockpit with a thunderclap of sound and fury that left him with ringing ears and a headache. The viewport itself didn’t buckle, but the explosion gouged several deep chips out of it and ripped the wiper blade from its mount and sent it hurtling through the dirty air. The LED displays on the copilot’s side of the cockpit flickered for a moment, then resumed their normal operation. No alarms sounded, but several caution lights came on—one for the FLIR, which was now apparently stuck in a fixed position, glaring up at the ridgeline Law had just attacked.

  Another explosion erupted right in front of the SCEV, causing it to rock on its suspension. A beeping alarm sounded, and the FLIR display went dark, fatally damaged. Law pulled back on the control column and sent the SCEV hurtling in reverse for a hundred meters until he braked to a shuddering halt. Without the FLIR, he was now dependent on the millimeter-wave radar and his own eyes. He had already noticed the effectiveness of both systems was being slowly compromised by the approaching storm; the tempest’s electromagnetic discharges were sufficient to degrade the radar’s performance, and the blowing dust was most certainly reducing his visibility.

  But Law had another tool at his disposal.

  “All right, Andrews,” he said aloud. “All right. My turn, now …”

  He learned back in his seat and relaxed as much as he could. Reaching into himself, he clicked on the switch in his mind that allowed him to extend himself, to let his mind detach itself from his body and float into the distance, connected to his body by only a small thread of consciousness. He became hyper-aware of his surroundings: the susurration of air moving across him from the cockpit vents, the smell of sweat and metal and oil, the light but steady vibration of two turboshaft engines running at low idle power. Then more, from outside the vehicle: the surprising dry heat of the air, the pressure of the wind as it continued to build, the vague sensation of dust whispering across his phantom hand as it reached out across the wasteland with probing fingers, reaching for something—anything—that might indicate life outside of his own. It took a great physical toll upon him, extending his consciousness in such a way; his body began to break down fat reserves to provide fuel for the action, and his heartbeat and breathing elevated, as if he were in the middle of a hotly contested marathon. Law was only peripherally aware of these things; the vast majority of his attention was focused on that great hand of his, reaching out from the SCEV as it explored the environment outside. One of those phantom digits brushed against something that possessed a restrained bioelectric field, something he had been altered and then trained to detect, even if it lay outside his field of view. Law focused on the signature, bringing all his talents and decades-old training to bear. As he did so, he caught spectral glimpses of other bio-signatures in the area—four on the ridgeline he had attacked, and another closer to the first. All diminished by the suits they wore, he knew, but still detectable, despite everything.

  Law fixed on the first signal and redoubled his efforts, sending a suggestion along the ethereal connection he had established, even as his body screamed for him to stop, to disconnect, to stop himself from pushing past his limits. He ignored the warnings for as long as he could, hoping he could maintain contact long enough to do what was needed.

  ***

  Andrews felt a queer sensation in his gut, and he had the disconcerting notion he was being watched. A wave of panic crested in his breast as he realized he had felt that sensation before—when he had first met Law, only moments before that horrible, terrifying pain had taken hold of his body and threatened to decimate his mind. Andrews felt the bolt of wild-eyed fear begin to take hold, and he might have actually cried out, but mysteriously, Law’s presence retreated, fading but not disappearing, growing dimmer with each passing second until it was barely a glimmer of memory. Andrews gasped for breath, surprised at the fear and loathing he had felt, but thankful that unendurable agony had not come.

  How did he do that?

  “Skipper …” Choi’s voice was soft and somewhat slurred over Andrews’s radio earphones as he broke radio silence. “I feel really funny …” There was a peculiar lilt to the younger man’s voice, as if he were drugged, swept up in some sort of narcotic dream.

  It’s Law. He’s got a fix on Tony!

  “Choi, I’m headed for your position now!” Andrews pushed himself to his feet. Keeping to a crouch, he ran toward Choi’s position, but found he couldn’t see him any longer—the wind had picked up to at least sixty miles per hour, and the thick dust was flying hard and fast. Andrews stumbled as the gale tore at him, like a living thing trying to grab him and throw him to the ground. He pressed on against it, fighting his way through the maelstrom, his crouched position not helping, given the heavy environmental gear and body armor he wore. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, moving as quickly as he could and stumbling over grapefruit-sized rocks and loose earth. Through the deepening murk, he saw Choi kneeling behind his cover. He was facing Andrews, but he gave no indication he saw him. He trembled and shook, as if deep in the grips of a seizure. As Andrews drew nearer, he saw Choi’s eyes were wide and panicked behind the visor of his facemask. Inexplicably, he slowly pulled his rifle against him, the collapsible stock fully retracted. Andrews slowed, and a worrying thought wormed its way through his mind.

  Is Choi going to shoot me?

  “I can’t stop myself,” Choi mumbled. “Help me, I can’t stop …”

  He watched as Choi placed the barrel of the rifle under his masked chin. Andrew lunged forward, stumbling over a large stone as he reached out to knock the rifle away. His gloved fingertips barely grazed the weapon’s upper receiver as he lost his balance, collapsing to the hard ground right in front of Choi. He grabbed Choi’s boot and pulled with all his might, trying to jar his aim. The rifle barked, and he knew he was too late. Horrified, he watched as the 5.56 millimeter round punched a hole through the top of Choi’s skull, blasting his mask askew and ripping apart the protective hood. Choi shivered once, then slowly listed to the right until he collapsed to the parched earth. Dark blood pumped from the horrible wound in his skull for a moment before it stilled as his heart beat its last. Andrews cried out and scrambled toward Choi’s corpse on his hands and knees, but it was far too late for him to do anything. Choi’s eyes were still visible through the crooked visor, and they were wide and staring, one looking to the left while the other stared straight on behind a half-closed lid.

  “Choi. Oh, Tony …”

  Another voice came over his earphones. “Mike, are you all right?” Rachel asked.

  Andrews squeezed his eyes shut, both to shut out the grim visage before him and to bite back the scathing response that came to him automatically when she broke radio silence. But it didn’t matter—if Law could somehow exert enough influence over someone to force them to commit suicide, then a little something like chatter on an encrypted radio channel wasn’t going to weigh heavily against them.

  “I’m all right,” he responded. “Choi’s dead … I don’t know how, but that fucker in my rig made him kill himself.”

  Rachel started to respond, but Laird stomped on her transmission. “Four’s on the move again—you’d better break off and get up here,” he said. “We can hide out until the storm’s pulse effect craps out the rig’s radar. He’s not going to be able to find us when the shit really starts to fly.”

  Andrews pushed away from Choi’s cooling body and peered around the rocky outcrop he had been hiding behind. True enough, SCEV Four was slowly rolling forward. As he watched, the vehicle disappeared behind a filthy halo of light as its floodlight array snapped on, cutting a brilliant swath through the dust-f
illed air. It turned toward the ridgeline and Andrews lost sight of it momentarily as it disappeared behind the smoldering ruins of SCEV Five. It emerged on the other side of the smoking conflagration and deviated again, resuming its slow progress toward Andrews’s general position.

  “Roger that,” Andrews said. He turned back to Choi’s body and pulled the rifle off the corpse, then fussed with the tactical carry rig strapped to Choi’s body armor. He figured he would need every magazine and grenade he could get his hands on. He pulled the body into a sitting position, trying not to watch as Choi’s ravaged head tilted toward him, exposing the hole the round had made as it passed through his crewmember’s skull. He unfastened the rig’s Velcro tabs and pulled it off the body and hooked it over his left arm. He slowly lowered Choi’s body back to the bloodstained ground as gently as he could and bowed his head for a moment.

  Looks like I’m going to have to leave you here, buddy. I hope you won’t hold it against me, okay?

  Laird spoke again, this time with greater urgency. “Come on, Andrews—move it! He’s closing in on you!”

  Andrews raised his head and looked toward SCEV Four. It was still coming, though very slowly. Andrews wondered if Law might have lost the FLIR. That would explain why he had switched on the lights. If he was relying on those to see with, then Andrews saw no reason to let him keep the advantage. While the SCEV and its various components had been built tough, the floodlights weren’t especially immune to physical damage.